Menu
Now that I'm getting close to the end of my degree I've allowed myself the time to start work on a novella called Paradoxia Grande. The namesake of the story is a hotel in which the ambience is drawn from the mental images of its guests. Murder after murder haunts the place as Sebastian Rook (Now called Galileo Rook because I saw two T.V. programmes with Sebastians as butlers and thought it was perhaps exhausted as a staple. 04/06), the only employee willing to remain there, endeavours to create from his memory the perfect dream of his dead family. My current thought on this is that I have used little, and I mean very little, narrative. It is predominantly dialogue. I'm not 100% sure that it is a great idea but in this case I wanted to foreground the absence of all the "He said...He thought, He articulated with a solemn air..."blah blah that makes up a large part of writing (I recinded this idea but still keep it limited. 04/06). The chapters are small and the narrative, when it does appear, is either innanely detailed or subjectively focalised. In either case the Paradoxia Grande is a showcase for the imagination when left to its own creation. Below is the first five draft chapters Chapter One
The first feeling of the day should be hope. Every day should start with it and, if possible, everyday should end with it. I’m a hopeful guy, love being optimistic, always seemed to be lucky, never had to know why. The universe and I have a very close relationship, it watches out for me, I amuse it. We work. For that reason, I am writing to you to submit my application for the newly opened Paradoxia Grande. As a candidate I think that my optimistic attitude would help in the creation of a very welcoming environment for patrons and staff alike. I have very many mental images of serene landscapes, both polar and savannah, that I can bring to muster in a moment’s notice. I feel that with minimal effort I would be able to come to terms with the paradoxia system and utilise it to effectively create worlds that are near indistinguishable from real-world locations. I have been preparing myself for this position in the hopes that this day would eventually come. Spending my time pursuing my hobby of literature, I feel, has provided my mind with a create creative flair. The numerous fantasy and science fiction novels I have read has given my imagination a broad tileset of objects for just this purpose. Please find enclosed a recent copy of my C.V. and artistic portfolio. Kind regards Sebastian Rook. “Sounds pretty good don’t you think?”, “maybe I use I a bit too much. Never really been good with fancy writing. It all happens up here you know, with pictures. Putting it down on paper is something entirely different. I mean how do you describe the movement of leaves on a whole tree. Can’t exactly list them off now, can you? … I suppose you could number all the leaves but even then, how do you explain the movement of atoms when you have to number them? Nope words and stuff are a poor imitation of what goes up here. That’s where art is you know. Up there in the mind where it’s completely useless to anyone. Can’t ever get it out.” “hmmm” “That’s what the Paradoxia is going to be good for. Finally, we’ll be able to see the art in someone else’s head. I can’t wait, I’ve got so many things going on up here it’s like an art gallery. But of worlds. Oh yesss, it’s going to be Fan-effing-tastic. Yes yes yes. I cannot wait.” “That’s good” “Good! That’s absolutely mind-blowingly, super-good is what it is. And I don’t use that term lightly!” “It’s better than ‘reet winsworthy’ then?” “Y’alreet it is.” “Come on, I know you’re excited but she’s growing up now. She’ll start repeating what you say Seb and then she’ll sound like a god awful Northerner.” “It’s only your ignorance of a different culture showing. Her voice is no reflection of her character and her charm.” “I don’t know why I put up with you.” “Because I can dance like this. Ohh, yeah. Look at them hips, see that. That’s one hundred percent prime latino heat right there. No no. Not too close, you don’t want to get burned by the fire.” Sebastian rhythmically gyrates his hips, gently soothing the air around him he flicks the screen of his phone to play Richie Valens La Bamba. The sweet song soaks the air with the sizziling serpentine symphony of Sebastian’s sensual hips and delectable legs. From the wood panel floor to ivory walls parsed by a gloss white dado rail, the music reverberated making subtle changes to the skin of the peaches in the hand-made tribal fruit bowl. The light coming from the east facing window that stood about one and a half metres from the ground, and about twenty centimetres over the top of the kitchen sink, was tainted by the red roll-down blinds creating a velvet warmth through which Sebastian cut gracefully. She did her best to ignore him but his moves were relentless. Sliding and spinning like a ballerina maddened by her own sexuality he grew ever closer to her ample body. Gently at first his hand grazed her side, letting her know the dance was coming, the dance of desire. A quick pirouette and he was back-facing her his head turned seductively and his lips pursed through his unkempt beard. She twinged. It may have been a smile but he knew it was more. It was desire. The dance was an unstoppable force of nature. Its magic dance rays bounced from washed plate to plastic bin bag of clothes. Nothing was free from its grasp. But just as soon as it started the song ended, the spirits of the dance could slumber again. Sebastian stood still posing to her left. She went back to chopping potatoes on the wooden chopping board with light and dark brown streaks. She was using the red knife; her hair was in a bun. “Sooo, I was thinking” “When do you ever stop thinking Sebastian. When? You’re never paying goddamn attention.” Sebastian was staring idly at her face. A smile on his face let her know he was mischievous now. As ever the prospect of dancing had lit up the childishness in his head. He’d be a pain for at least an hour now. “If you only knew the massive amounts of nothing that goes on up here you’d be surprised. Nothing at all most of the time. I think most of the time I’m just looking at stuff and mind touching it. I mind touch you all the time. All the time.” “You were saying” “Yes I was saying, ermmm. There was something. Give me a minute. It’s that damn penny over there, the sun caught me in the eye and now I can’t stop looking at it. Give me a minute. Nope, wait. It was…..It was….I want to say letter.” “I got a letter?” “Nope that’s not it.erm a letter. Letter, letter. Erm. It was…B. Bored, Boar. Barrel, Bastinet, Bread. That was it! It was bread. They sent us a form to fill out and we can get free bread for filling it out.” “If you want to do it then do it.” “Great. Have you seen it?” “Seen the bread letter?” “Yes.” “No I haven’t. Are you going to show it to me? Can I see it later?” “Err, no I was hoping you’d seen it. It had a picture of an old guy on it, he was holding corn.” “So, you have this bread letter you want to tell me about but you’ve lost it.” “Yes.” “You are so…I don’t even know what I want to say Sebastian” “So awesome that people want my opinion about bread and are willing to give me bread just to get it!” “No.” “So knowledgeable about bread that companies are hiring me to unlock the complex mysteries of taste with a critical eye and enquiring mind?” “Not that either, no. I think idiot will suffice.” “Idiot when it comes to things that are not bread related because surely I am the world’s foremost bread authority from which there can be no disagreement because as far as bread is concerned I am the judge, jury and executioner.” “Naturally that as well.” “I’m glad we’re in agreement then.” “Well I’m taking her out this morning, we’re going shopping. Do you want to come?” “Of course not. I hate shopping.” “I didn’t think you would.” “No, I got stuff to do anyway. I need to rewrite that covering letter about a million times until I can get rid of all the Is in it.” “Have fun” The whitey-yellow bed sheet is wrapped around the clothes on the stairs and the bannister is slidey and bumpy. The wall paper is coarse to the fingers but only slightly as it ascends the stairs which have a brownish carpet. The light is on as usual even though it is the middle of the day. So is the bathroom light poking round the slightly open white gloss door with a purple towel hanging from its handle. A little girl in red dungarees and a yellow top skirts round the hall with a piece of tissue paper in hand. She isn’t there. She smiles with the dark red of her gums visible between her hand and lips. She gurgles jovially and turns back into the room. The office is neat. Has all the books laid along the pine shelf perpendicular to the window and has the T.V. and couch positioned on the opposite wall. The desk sat in front of the window it was bright as ever at this time of day. The little Venus fly trap sat open, the remains of the last meal still stuck to its inner lip. Black dried husk of a fly. Chapter Two “Hello, Sebastian Rook” “Yes Mr. Rook. I’m Dc00099398 Inspector Carter with the North Yorkshire police department. I’m afraid there has been an accident involving your wife and child. I can’t give you too many details yet, but I know they have both been taken to the local accident and emergency. If you can make it there I’d advise you to do so.” … “Mr. Rook. If you need a lift or anything, please just let me know and I’ll send someone to take you there as soon as possible.” … “Mr Rook.?” “No, I heard you. I’ll make my own way there. Goodbye” Clanck. Chapter Three “Welcome to the Paradoxia Grande. I am your concierge Sebastian. How long will you be staying with us?” “One night” “But of course sir, no one ever stays any longer but it does well of me to check each time.” “How long have you been here Sebastian?” “Not taken a day off in two years now. Be a bit difficult since I’m the only person who works here. Everyone else quit, as you may imagine. In fact, it is because you imagine. Ha Ha. No. Seriously though. The place was running but no-one was home when I got here. Abandoned. I wrote letter after letter to anyone connected to the building and eventually was allowed to start work here on the agreement that I take a psychological evaluation once a week.” “Once a week?” “Yes, keeps the psychologist society happy.” “And everyone else went mad?” “Not everyone, the main occurrences of violence were between husband and wife. Fantasies of sex with other people painted graphically on the wall will have that effect on a marriage. People couldn’t accept the difference between dreams and reality here. It all seemed so…how should I say…. important. no. What I mean is that people couldn’t rectify the person they saw on the walls with the person they knew in real life. Well then again what is real if not the walls of the Grande.” “What do you mean?” “What I mean is sir, what we see in our heads, how much of that is real to us and how much is fantasy. It is a lot easier to draw a distinction when it’s locked away in here. When it’s out, when you see it and feel it. Well then the simulation is indistinguishable from reality. Except no-one was ever that good at it. The mind doesn’t need all the details for the pictures in our head. Its focus always shifts.” “I must admit it is not what I expected it to be. It all seems so blank. The walls, and desk around you seem to be the only place with any life.” “I am usually the hotel’s only resident. Myself and Cynthia the A.I. of course, but we are still a-ways from counting her. The hotel adjusts to demand and Cynthia is great for loading prefabricated experiences when you want them. That’s the way of the place sir. The system only creates what it needs to in order to conserve energy. There are rooms that are pre-loaded with décor and if you like I can provide you with a list of our highly recommended immersive experiences. Though for the most part the hotel remains in stand-by. As you move around it will become accustomed to your depth perception and you’ll soon notice the white walls receding from your vision.” The man’s eyes spread around the room taking in the garnet coloured walls and mahogany desk. The whole entrance was largely decorated in this fashion. Deep red and wood effect furniture. The candelabra glittered gold above Sebastian’s work station which aside from the white computer was a rich warming fibre. As the man started to look more closely the veneer of the wood began to change, faces and shapes danced over its surface. The images resembled clouds taking one form then the next as he eyed them with suspicion. Sebastian watched as the man became accustomed to the situation he found himself in. Like a child drawing he saw the spell of creation sweep a smile over the man’s face. “Will you and your wife be wanting separate rooms sir? We advise it due to the strain another person’s mind puts on a person.” “My wife?” “Yes sir, your wife” Sebastian points to the man’s right. “But…who…is…she?” “I assumed it to be your wife sir, my apologies. It must be a shade sir. Pay it no mind.” “A shade?” “Yes sir, a half-thought. Some kind of representation of a person from the psyche, they’re quite often like this.” “What is it doing?” “It appears to be looking at you, sir. Reaching out. The usual kind of thing.” “How long will it do that?” “Well they tend to come and go depending on what you’re thinking of sir. I suppose because it is the object of your attention, and mine, that this one shall persist for a while.” “This shade is a little disconcerting. It’s trying to touch me? Can you make it go away please?” “Now, now sir. I’m sure as soon as you take an interest in some of our exceptional facilities it’ll be gone in a jiffy.” “Are you sure?” “I’m almost positive sir.” “Almost?” “Well I’m not in the habit of certainties anymore sir.” “I think I might go elsewhere. I thought this would be something I could manage but these shades as you call them. They’re menacing.” “Look, I understand the vacant face and overly wide smile may come across a little, erm... unusual. But as you can see it cannot hurt you in anyway. It is, after all, not real.” “Is it supposed to do that?” “It is supposed to do nothing sir, I can assure you it merely reacts to how we perceive it.” “But it’s growing more grotesque.” “That’ll be your fear of it sir. Funny thing how the mind begins making things worse for itself. It’s what caused most of the issues here. People just can’t let go of their nightmares once they see them. See sir.” Sebastian remained perfectly still as it appeared a jumble of spider came pouring out of his mouth and scattering over the desk. Forcing their legs from behind his eyes and out of his nostrils Sebastian’s perfectly calm face only added to the horror the man was witnessing. “Oh my god.” “Yes, quite tragic really, I hate the idea of being eaten by spiders and I’ve seen too many horror films where this sort of thing happens. But as you can see I’m no worse for wear of it sir.” “I don’t want to be here. I don’t know what I was thinking, I thought….” “You thought it wasn’t that bad sir. It happens, people are driven to this place and find their hubris here sir. No offence of course.” “How can you live here?” “I am particularly resilient to horror; I merely accept the vision without being affected by it. Real horrors sir, real horrors are felt not seen.” “I am going to go I think” “As you wish sir, would you like me to phone you a taxi?” “Yes please, I’ll wait outside.” “Certainly sir.” “Good bye Sebastian.” “Good bye sir.” The man in the charcoal suit with the white cashmere scarf walked towards the revolving door. As he walked, an increasing amount of shades gathered around him. The walls began to turn ashen black and the man’s pace increased as it did so. In the darkness the amble of legs spindly and misshapen scurried around the walls, thick strands descended a pearl-drop white material around him which without thinking he tried to bat away. A moment later and he was gone into the sunlight. The shades turned their attention to Sebastian and began to slowly shuffle forwards. Sebastian sighed. “Cynthia do you mind?” he said as he returned to the morning paper. “The shade was not a representation of his psyche. Sebastian.” “Thank you Cynthia. I am aware of that. Now if you will, Trafalgar square.” Sebastian looked up as the shades caressed his face. Sir Henry Havelock looked down on him in sunlight. Occasionally the birds broke their shadows across the ocean-blue sky and a faint breeze skipped what little rubbish there was along the pavement. One shade lingered holding Sebastian’s face as he tried to read the article before him. Its weightless touch preoccupied his mind. “It’s no good Cynthia, I need to go outside for a bit and clear my head.” “As you will Sebastian.” He stood up and walked with dalliance towards the front door. Pushing through he saw the man still waiting for his taxi. Pulling out a cigarette Sebastian began a conversation with the man. Probably the same conversation he has had a hundred times. How much he hates this place. Not long after the man’s taxi departed Sebastian returned into the hotel. The change was evident straight away as the décor changed to wood panel floors and egg-shell walls. He has gone back to that day; it is what brings him back. It is why he can never leave the Paradoxia Grande. Not long and he had cordoned off a section of the hallway for himself. Sliding panels left and right until he has the exact dimensions of that kitchen to hand. The same system again and again. “Cynthia. Load up our progress will you.” Sebastian requested absently. The bath of velvet swung over the room with maroon orange radiance as he turned like a conductor of some grand harmony. The kitchen island, as yet grey and untextured, sprung from the ground opposite the window. A further wave of activity brought the door and cupboards into pace in varying levels of completion. The canvass for his great work had once been nothingness. From that nothingness he was gradually constructing an entirely subjective representation of his former kitchen. The machine was capable of loading the texture files from the many photographs he kept of the room but he refused this offer in favour of his own devices. Otherwise it did not ‘feel’ right. Slowly, over the course of two years he had come so far and yet was still nowhere near his goal. The more he poured himself into his work the faster it grew. He never turned off his memory device, the patterning software that rendered his imagination. There were hundreds of playbacks. Brief moments in time that he has recorded to fill his kitchen with life. These were more than just shades; they were colourful vibrant creations more human than apparition. The failing always returned upon their faces though. The haunting absence of detail made them little more than vacant smiles in black patched skin. He won’t allow himself to remember them. Yet. They are to be his final endeavour once he has finished his kitchen. “Cynthia. Play me some pixelling music. Something relaxing.” Two steps from Hell – Heart of courage. I think today we’ll have finally put this whole apple conundrum to bed. I’m fairly certain it was this yellow and red one. And in fact, the green things were pears.” “Do you wish me to discard the green apples from system memory?” “No, no. We’re not that certain, we’re never that certain. Keep it in the ‘could be’ folder with the plums.” “File saved” “Excellent. Well what do you think?” “It appears a very good representation of a Jonagold apple Sebastian” “Hmm. Maybe that’s not right. Jonagold sounds a bit fancy to be an apple from the Tesco Express. Can you change it to a Red Delicious size?” “Is this correct?” “Hmm, well put the original in the ‘could be’ file and let us carry on with this one for now.” “File saved” “Now then Cynthia, I’m going to need a palette of pear type colours. Greens, brownish colours and something close to, but not actually, black.” “How many…” “Four hundred for now but we’ll probably work our way up. Also can you load me some pre-generated pears to copy from.” “Which variety of pear?” “Green ones for now.” Chapter Four There was little but broken shops and empty pockets in Lowden End after the collapse of the Paradoxia project. All the scientists, glitterati and journalists left soon after they realised that place was a curse. There is still a healthy trade in thrill seekers and wannabe prophets coming to experience the hotel but not enough to sustain the rampant economy that grew during the hotel’s construction. What was left to the townsfolk of Lowden End was a free pass to the world’s craziest amusement park, one that attracted all manner of sadists and weirdos looking to find a fast thrill in the darkness of their mind. The townsfolk rarely bothered after each spending a turn or two in its grounds, they realised any momentary happiness one gleaned from that digital nightmare was not worth the years of therapy after witnessing yourself commit every atrocity you can think of. Worsened by the fact that other people witnessed them too. You can never unsee a person’s thought once you’ve seen it. That thought becomes yours as much as theirs. Memories have a way of haunting people like that. Memories can never be truly gone, not the strong ones, not the bad ones especially. Two citizens of Lowden End were sat in the town square finishing the last of their coffee on the park bench. They’d come to the park to smoke weed on their lunch break, same as every day. “A murder mystery?” “At Paradoxia Grande” “It’ll never work; it’d show us who the murder is straight away.” “Don’t you see, all we have to do is write a really detailed murder get everyone to read it and then everyone will imagine themselves as the killer. It won’t matter.” “I’m not sure I want to go there. You remember the stories” “Yeah yeah, people going mad and killing one another. That’s just because they were pussies. Rich self-centred pussies.” “How many people? Because I’m only going to go if there’s a lot.” “The more the merrier.” “Not in that place” “Exactly, it’ll be perfect and if it works we can start it as a business idea.” Under the glare of the excited eyes Cunningham imagined all the hassle it would take for them to pull off a party at the Grande. Nightmarish goddamn place. If it wasn’t so damn impressive they would have turned off the lights the week after opening. Now it’s free, a monumental Babel to warn people that we should never be closer than we already are. Reminding us that we are the darkness that inhabits our own world. We create it, we imagine it, and worse than the cursed hotel, we physically carry it out. “No, I can’t be bothered man. If you sort it out, I’ll tag along. Never actually been in it.” “You’ve never been in the Grande?” “Never wanted to” “I used to go there all the time, great if you’re really focused on jacking-off.” “I don’t want to hear about that.” “Honestly you should try it, it’s the only good thing that ever came of the place.” “So you want to write a murder mystery then?” “Hell no, wouldn’t know where to begin. I was just going to download the script for one.” “Make sure it’s going to fit the people. I don’t want to spend the whole night being Mrs White or some crap like that.” “No worries.” “What you been up to anyways?” The conversation drifted away from important things and became a verbatim complaint about all the ailments and maladies Cunningham had faced since yesterday. As his story rolled on the eloquent and refined Mrs Batty stopped by the Grocers for a chat. She was always quite the strong-blooded woman, grew up in the war times and never let a chance pass to show her stiff upper lip. Even at the funeral of her late husband, and only life partner, it was rumoured that beyond a salute she proffered no other sentiment of remorse. Meanwhile Sebastian put the last few pixels in place for his first pear. It was not a success, it lacked the gentle curvature of nature and was too polygonal to be acceptable. Work must go on. Also meanwhile the Angel-chip began constructing a series of pears. It stored them in the archive folder “Rook_Room_Kitchen_Fruit_Pears”. A third meanwhile pushes it but it is necessary to say that the driver of the car that killed the late Ms. Rook and her daughter was being taken before a prison board for a chance at early release. The board had heard testimony of the man’s sober reflection on a drunken mistake and are considering his release pending another review in six months’ time. It was 13:31pm. It was a Tuesday in March. Chapter Five “No sir, I did not witness the attack myself but I can have Cynthia load up the footage from the internal cameras if you like?” Sebastian watched the police change the scenery of his hallway. Images of the murdered man were scattered all around the walls. “Can you turn them off please? It’s bad for morale.” The detective asked Sebastian. “No can do I’m afraid. The projectors I can turn off but then we’ll need torches since they’re what lights the place.” “Was it always like this?” “Always. It’s surprising just how much misery we walk round with. Least outside it doesn’t stare you in the face.” “So about the footage” “Cynthia tells me it is pretty straight forward. I’ll not watch it since I have to live here, but, I can have her burn it to disc.” “Makes you wonder about the kind of idiots who’d try and set up a murder thing here. Poor girl, she’ll get diminished capacity. Who honestly would be in their right mind after watching everyone around her murder her. And sometimes more” “It wasn’t my place to judge their reasons for coming. I merely keep the doors open.” “Yes about that. Why are you the only employee here. Do you even get paid?” “Of course I do. The hotel receives funding for academic research. Very rare that any academics turn up though. They tend to write about it from their own homes rather than risk coming here to see it first-hand.” “What about you? Surely you’ve seen your share of nightmares?” “I was always an optimist sir. The bad thoughts I have are only ever a moment from forgotten. Best not to dwell on sad things. Doctor says my mind is chronically predisposed to nonchalance, nothing matters to me. I disagree because it’s completely contrary to my aims but the doctor says I’m crazy, holding onto things that are not real and ignoring the reality around me. Delusional as it is.” “So, you are crazy?” “Quite, quite crazy. But not dangerous crazy. More of a …piteous crazy sir.” “And your name again sir?” “Sebastian, Sebastian Rook. That’s like the chess piece, no ‘e’.” “Well Sebastian I’d be expecting an upcoming law suit. There’s always people after money.” “Not to worry, the hotel is beyond responsibility for the actions patrons make.” “Seems prudent” “All the spousal murders that went on here the first few weeks. Made a lot of sense to the owners at the time to swing things their way in court. A few papers later and now it’s your crazy that kills, not the hotel making it happen. That’s the rule.” “Should I be concerned about your crazy killing?” “My crazy is not in the least interested in killing sir, quite the opposite. It is the creating of life which makes me crazy sir. Every single day I work, when free, on a project to recreate my family just as I remember them. Two years now and I only just started work on the pears if you can imagine such a thing.” A collection of pears floated by the two men on the desk top. “But they’re only ever pictures on a wall. Why bother?” “Well sir, not that people tend to care but the Paradoxia is capable of a lot more than people ever gave her credit. Cynthia and I, have managed to create three dimensional holograms that can be seen as well. We’re a long way from touch or taste but I am sure those will come in time. It is all a matter of detail. If we can replicate an item down to its very molecular structure, then I am sure we can make it happen.” “Have you made anything in that way?” “Nowhere near it sir, I can barely make something with a natural looking curve. The system wasn’t as fine-tuned as I had hoped so it takes a lot more effort to get things out of here.” The detective stood deep in thought. His moustache-lip sucked slightly into his mouth for a short duration as he looked around the room for distraction. Sebastian was lying to the detective as he had lied to all the residents who came here. He forbade the computer from disclosing the information and as the administrator of the system no-one else was aware of the changes he had managed to instil upon it. The first of his changes was, as he had said, the implementation of a three dimensional projection, but that was within weeks of being here. Remarkably, despite his intelligence being not so much higher than average, Sebastian’s gift was an absolute focus on the task in hand. He would relentlessly pursue whatever was necessary for him to learn in order to create his dream. The system had yielded to him its calibrations and he had tuned the light it projected to such as degree that he was able to knock single electrons out of place in order to create minute flashes. The speed and power of these changes were what constituted the hue of the location in space. He was at this time convinced that light was the key ingredient to creation. That with light he could make all things real. “Would you be wanting a statement from me then detective?” “No, I think the tape and eye-witness testimonies will suffice. Open and shut case.” “Very good then sir.” “Were you always like this or is it something you put on?” “Whatever do you mean sir?” “This butlering and sir this and sir that. You can’t say that’s who you are really?” “It didn’t use to be sir but I am, if anything, completely a method man at heart.” “Method man?” “An actor sir, as you act the part of a detective and make yourself think as you think a detective does, so do I do the same with a concierge. I merely act how I think I should. It has its own rewards. A butler aesthetic is not the prestige of a master but the honour of a servant. Master and slave, each with their own perception sir. Best to be the happy slave than the sorrowful master. We are all slaves to something after all.” “You are a strange man Sebastian; I am worried I may be meeting you on different terms in future” “I’ll try not to take that as an insult sir.” “Yes, well.” “Will there be anything more sir?” “Not for now Sebastian. Not for now” The detective turned away as a wide grin spread over Sebastian’s malicious face. The room’s décor shifted ever so slightly whiter as something ticked over into blankness. The words “Ha-ha” began to appear on the floor below Sebastian’s feet. They circled faster and faster as his smile persisted. The detective turned and they were gone. “One more thing” the detective said. Sebastian laughed. “That is almost too ironic sir” “What do you mean?” “Oh, just a butler joke sir. There is always one more thing.” “We’ll be sending someone to clean the mess up for you, health and safety team please support them as best you can.” “But of course sir.” “And Sebastian…I will be waiting” “Very ominous sir, great delivery.” “You patronising son of a bitch Sebastian” “I apologise sir, this level of butlering occasionally meets with this response. I shall try to be less respectful with you in future sir.”
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorI write what comes to mind when I think about writing something that is on my mind. Archives
November 2019
Categories |