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rainbowfic2015-05-27 06:11 pm
novel_machinist) wrote in rainbowfic2015-05-27 06:11 pm
Literary /Octarine 4
Author: novel_machinist
Story: The Devil is a Gentleman
Theme: Literary / Octarine 4. The truth may be out there, but lies are inside your head.
Word Count: 739
Summary: Alan's life is a bit depressing. Introducing Carl, his best friend. Also introducing his worst enemy, his job.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Talk of cancer/death
Notes: This is a rough draft of chapter 1 of the story that stars Alan. I'm hoping to get the gumption up to finish this one, so any words of encouragement are welcome and appreciated
The laptop made a click as it was shut and the fan whirled to a halt in the heavy atmosphere of Alan′s office. The last thing that he wanted to do was take his work home but there didn′t seem to be any other option available to him. As though the threat of work was a weight about his neck, his head drooped against one hand as he stared down at the grey Di-Tell. The fingers on his right hand drummed silently along the warm surface of the laptop.
While the fan on his laptop quieted, Alan focused on the “inspirational poster” that hung on his far wall. One man stood at the top of a mountain; he looked down at another who appeared to be lugging both of their things. The poster proclaimed “teamwork” despite the sheer cliff that separated the two men. The man at the top had his arms extended in what could be victory while the one at the bottom ledge was focused on the wall. There was no rope between the two and the lower man didn’t look like he was going to be scaling the cliff side anytime soon.
Alan dropped his computer into its bag and scowled. He felt more offended than what was reasonable at the poster. Part of him was certain that they were made by someone with too much money and time. Time that they used to dig at people without enough of either. None of them really made any sense and they were so prevalent that he felt like he was missing something obvious. Alan would never understand the people who could afford to agree that a picture of bridge means "perseverance" or that a raging sea means "success".
"Hey Al, why not leave that damn thing here overnight for once?"
Alan wasn’t startled and waved his hand at the speaker in his doorway.
The other man sighed and shook his head. He gripped the door-frame as he leaned into Alan’s office. Over his broad shoulder and partly obscured by the door, another motivational poster could be seen; this one of that raging sea. “Al, come on, you only live once.”
Alan shot the man an offended glare. “We have to work tomorrow, Carl.” He wondered if there had ever been a boat in the picture. If there was, it obviously wasn′t very ′successful′.
Carl rubbed at his large belly and un-tucked his shirt. “Doesn’t mean you live twice.” He eased his way into the office fully and then motioned to the elevators. “I had to kick a little old lady out today for the megga mart.”
That was enough to soften Alan’s expression. He had some sort of retort about life and death burning on his tongue, but it could wait till after a few sympathy beers. “You do what you gotta do, Carl.” The words weren’t helpful, but it was one of their rituals. They had banded together and some days that meant pretending that the work they did wasn’t painful.
The hallways were already darkened and empty, timed lights fluttered out as Alan locked his door. While waiting for the elevators, Carl was overtook by a coughing fit. Quickly, he moved to cover his mouth and curled his shoulders. Once the fit had passed, he leaned against the wall to catch his breath. One hand supported him against the wall and the other dug into his pockets to fish out a pack of cigarettes. He tapped the bottom of the pack while he cleared out his throat and pulled a stick out. One final, explosive cough flew into his arm and he set the cigarette into his mouth.
Alan's eyes narrowed. "You were supposed to quit."
"Already got cancer, can't make it worse." The elevators dinged.
Alan yanked his tie off and shoved it into his computer bag once he got into the elevator. "Yeah, you can make it worse, idiot. Your doctor said you needed to stop.”
“It’s not like it’ll stop me from dying, Al. Sure as taxes and displacement.″ He smiled around the white stick. ″Maybe I′ll move up to a nice condo when my time′s up. Isn’t that what we’re supposed to tell the little old ladies?”
Alan stared at the corner of the elevator instead of responding. They didn’t say anything else as they left the office. The sun was setting and one by one the streetlights were snapping on.
novel_machinistStory: The Devil is a Gentleman
Theme: Literary / Octarine 4. The truth may be out there, but lies are inside your head.
Word Count: 739
Summary: Alan's life is a bit depressing. Introducing Carl, his best friend. Also introducing his worst enemy, his job.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Talk of cancer/death
Notes: This is a rough draft of chapter 1 of the story that stars Alan. I'm hoping to get the gumption up to finish this one, so any words of encouragement are welcome and appreciated
The laptop made a click as it was shut and the fan whirled to a halt in the heavy atmosphere of Alan′s office. The last thing that he wanted to do was take his work home but there didn′t seem to be any other option available to him. As though the threat of work was a weight about his neck, his head drooped against one hand as he stared down at the grey Di-Tell. The fingers on his right hand drummed silently along the warm surface of the laptop.
While the fan on his laptop quieted, Alan focused on the “inspirational poster” that hung on his far wall. One man stood at the top of a mountain; he looked down at another who appeared to be lugging both of their things. The poster proclaimed “teamwork” despite the sheer cliff that separated the two men. The man at the top had his arms extended in what could be victory while the one at the bottom ledge was focused on the wall. There was no rope between the two and the lower man didn’t look like he was going to be scaling the cliff side anytime soon.
Alan dropped his computer into its bag and scowled. He felt more offended than what was reasonable at the poster. Part of him was certain that they were made by someone with too much money and time. Time that they used to dig at people without enough of either. None of them really made any sense and they were so prevalent that he felt like he was missing something obvious. Alan would never understand the people who could afford to agree that a picture of bridge means "perseverance" or that a raging sea means "success".
"Hey Al, why not leave that damn thing here overnight for once?"
Alan wasn’t startled and waved his hand at the speaker in his doorway.
The other man sighed and shook his head. He gripped the door-frame as he leaned into Alan’s office. Over his broad shoulder and partly obscured by the door, another motivational poster could be seen; this one of that raging sea. “Al, come on, you only live once.”
Alan shot the man an offended glare. “We have to work tomorrow, Carl.” He wondered if there had ever been a boat in the picture. If there was, it obviously wasn′t very ′successful′.
Carl rubbed at his large belly and un-tucked his shirt. “Doesn’t mean you live twice.” He eased his way into the office fully and then motioned to the elevators. “I had to kick a little old lady out today for the megga mart.”
That was enough to soften Alan’s expression. He had some sort of retort about life and death burning on his tongue, but it could wait till after a few sympathy beers. “You do what you gotta do, Carl.” The words weren’t helpful, but it was one of their rituals. They had banded together and some days that meant pretending that the work they did wasn’t painful.
The hallways were already darkened and empty, timed lights fluttered out as Alan locked his door. While waiting for the elevators, Carl was overtook by a coughing fit. Quickly, he moved to cover his mouth and curled his shoulders. Once the fit had passed, he leaned against the wall to catch his breath. One hand supported him against the wall and the other dug into his pockets to fish out a pack of cigarettes. He tapped the bottom of the pack while he cleared out his throat and pulled a stick out. One final, explosive cough flew into his arm and he set the cigarette into his mouth.
Alan's eyes narrowed. "You were supposed to quit."
"Already got cancer, can't make it worse." The elevators dinged.
Alan yanked his tie off and shoved it into his computer bag once he got into the elevator. "Yeah, you can make it worse, idiot. Your doctor said you needed to stop.”
“It’s not like it’ll stop me from dying, Al. Sure as taxes and displacement.″ He smiled around the white stick. ″Maybe I′ll move up to a nice condo when my time′s up. Isn’t that what we’re supposed to tell the little old ladies?”
Alan stared at the corner of the elevator instead of responding. They didn’t say anything else as they left the office. The sun was setting and one by one the streetlights were snapping on.
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So I really love this and SOB CARL and I adore Alan. <3
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And I'm glad you like it. I am hoping to post more today. <3 BUT I HAVE A LOT TO READ
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Thanks for reading!