Writing My world (pt 1)

[Angelus_Necare]

Here's the first part, or chapter, of a story I've been writting for a good couple of months, I'd like to get replies on this so I can keep adding parts. I'd put it all up but it's really a big read, well, here's the first...
-------------------------------------------------------

Things were quiet, too quiet even nowadays. People lived their lives, their daily scheduels never interupted by the unusual, or anything out of the ordinary that made life dull. The world moved on each day, never caring, emotions couldn't stop the day from comming, or bring rain from the sky or kill your boss who over worked and underpaid you. Justices couldn't be won by inflicting superior mental harm on anyone, nor would god-like power. Normal people wouldn't, no, couldn't operate that way. Nope, life was normal, and Stan liked it that way. Stan Witerson was an average everyday Joe, or so he constantly reminded himself. He was twenty eight, seven years out of college and pushing papers at a low rate office job. Stan didn't complain though, it brought in all the money he needed to survive and gave him something to do monday through saturday eight to five. his daily regemen was always the same, get up, shower, bus to work, stare at the cubicle wall, eat, stare some more, bus to the bar then walk home ***** faced and do it all over again the next morning. Yes, life was plain and normal, and Stan liked it that way.


Thursday night came slowly that late August day. Stan had been continualy checking the large faced clock on the office wall for it to say he was free, free to booze it up down at Dancing Carl's. The clock read 4:56, four more minutes and he could leave. He sighed back at his desk, a multi colored morphing ball warped on his computerscreen against a black background. He watched it bounce around the screen idly as blue square changed into a purple oval to a red star and so on. Stan sighed again glancing up at the clock, 4:57. Feeling that he could take no more of this slow torture he stood up, looking left to right to see if anyone would witness his early leave. Most of his fellow workers were still pounding away at their keyboards, while the others were leaning over cubicle walls shooting the breeze waiting to leave. Stan looked around once more, grabed his jacket and made a bee-line to the office door, his hand was on the handle when someone stepped in behind him.

"Witerson" came a deep gravely voice, Stan stole a glance at the clock, 5:00, he sighed releived that he wasn't in trouble. He turned away from the door to his boss, a short squat man with wispy graying hair and sagging jowels. His work shirts always held the appearance of being too tight against his large body and gut, and his suit pants exposed hi brown socks prooving too short even for him, he always had a humorous appearance and a terrible temper, anyone would with a name like Herbert Googlemier. Stan looked down at his dwarfvish boss, making himself quite sincere looking, it always helped if you kissed up to higher management every once and a while.

"yes Mr. Googlemier?" Stan asked innocently.

"Witerson, I need you to come in on Sunday, we need to reach this month's quota, we're falling behind." his jowels shook when he spat 'behind'.

Stan's friendly ***-kissing exterior faltered for a moment before he could reform himself.

"Sunday, yes sir, I'll see you there" He managed before turning through the door behind him.

"I won't be here Witerson, I'll be in The keys on vacation" Googlemier called after a retreating and nearly seething Stan.


Later at Dancing Carl's, Stan sat at the sparsely populated bar nursing half a glass of lukewarm beer. He just wasn't in the mood for drinking, or anything for that matter. Around seven 'o clock, people started to come into the bar, soaked through from the downpour outside. He watched them through the long mirror found behind any bar you went into, partialy covered by half full liquor bottles that were rarely used to make any kind of special drink. Stan looked at his reflection lazily as he had with the screensaver, taking in his features carefully. His dark brown hair lay limp feathered across his forhead. It was a bit shaggy but he liked it that way, his skin was pale, yet flawless, he never had acne as his former classmates did when he was younger. His office clothing hung limp around his wiry frame, he wasn't the best built man in the world, but it didn't bother him in the least, muscles were over rated anyway. Above all, he stared back at his own clear blue eyes, someone had once told him that eyes were the windows to the soul. If that was true, then he was an open book, there for reading. All and all Stan thought he was attractive, but his steely cold attutude kept people far away, he wasn't interested in relationships, or love for that matter.


A burst of uproarus laughter errupted at the end of the bar, Stan shifted his gaze slightly to watch what was occurring. A man named Lou sat with his back to the bar both arms wrapped securely around two lether-clad barflies. He apparenty had told them the funniest joke in the world, it sounded like it anyway. Stan didn't know Lou very well but he could bet his life on what he was doing tonight. Regardless of what his manly "charm" was displaying, he'd go home alone and cry himself to sleep wishing he were dead. Stan nodded seeming to agree with himself as he finished off his beer. More loud irritating laughter floated down in his dirrection, as he stood to leave placing his money on the bar, he had a terrible headache. One of the girls shreiked with laughter as Lou pinched her, Stan coldn't stand it anymore. He glared in their dirrection, opening something that had long since been shut in his mind. With a scream and a loud string of cussing the barstool underneith Lou snapped in two. Stan left only moments later, leaving the commotion behind with a large grin on his face. He felt he was alive again.

----------------------------------------------

tell me what you think.