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What was it? What was it about that specific day? As days go, it had been pretty much the same as any other.
Being woken at 2am by the screaming baby, which was suffering from unbearable nappy rash. Comforting him until he fell back to sleep at 5.30, going back to bed only to be woken by the high-pitched monotone screaming of my alarm at 6. After receiving a brief, lifeless “mornin” when I head out the front door; as my wife is more concerned with getting to her cup of coffee first thing then wishing me a pleasant day at work.
Sitting at the end of my road, watching the early morning rush go by. As 12 foot of road is much more important to the glum faced individuals I spot within their cars, then meeting my glance, offering a brief smile and letting me in.
Arriving at the local village police station, where I have worked for the last 17 years. Looking in vein hope for a parking space in the employee’s car park, before giving in and parking in Stilton Street, (a 10 minute walk away). Walking in 3 minutes late, receiving “that” disappointed look from my superior officer. I would have been on time if “that lady” in the BMW had let me in, but I guess I wasn’t important enough to her to have 15 seconds extra added to her commute.
Regimentally swallowing my unsweetened weak coffee, 17 years I’ve known them, and every day they confirm that we’re college’s/acquaintances rather then friends by failing to remember, strong two sugars.
Hearing the phone, (on my average sized desk), spring into life everyday at 9.15, knowing it would be Mrs Burdock calling to complain that the young man next door had kept his music on the previous night until well gone 11.30pm. 11.40am: The old man at number 14 would call to, “let us know”, that the children that pass his house on their way to school had taken a few minutes out to stop, throw stones at his front door and shout a little abuse before they carried on their way.
Opening my lunchbox, to be greeted by the usual aroma of Tesco’s long-life bread, value lettuce and mild cheese that had been lovingly slapped together the night before by my wife, savouring the flavour and enjoying the usual texture of slightly warm lettuce and soggy bread.
After lunch, hitting the streets, to try and provide a safer environment for everyone, only to feel everyone’s eyes burning a loathing hole in my back.
What was it? What was it about that specific day?
I guess it was that there was nothing specific about it, nothing to differentiate it from any other.
That is why. That is why I find myself here. Standing over my wife’s still body, she, growing evermore cold. Lying there, she just looks so peaceful, like all her care’s and problems matter no longer.
I look at my watch, realizing I have been watching her for hours since I removed the pillow from her face. 1.59am, and I know the baby will not be crying in a minute’s time.
Being woken at 2am by the screaming baby, which was suffering from unbearable nappy rash. Comforting him until he fell back to sleep at 5.30, going back to bed only to be woken by the high-pitched monotone screaming of my alarm at 6. After receiving a brief, lifeless “mornin” when I head out the front door; as my wife is more concerned with getting to her cup of coffee first thing then wishing me a pleasant day at work.
Sitting at the end of my road, watching the early morning rush go by. As 12 foot of road is much more important to the glum faced individuals I spot within their cars, then meeting my glance, offering a brief smile and letting me in.
Arriving at the local village police station, where I have worked for the last 17 years. Looking in vein hope for a parking space in the employee’s car park, before giving in and parking in Stilton Street, (a 10 minute walk away). Walking in 3 minutes late, receiving “that” disappointed look from my superior officer. I would have been on time if “that lady” in the BMW had let me in, but I guess I wasn’t important enough to her to have 15 seconds extra added to her commute.
Regimentally swallowing my unsweetened weak coffee, 17 years I’ve known them, and every day they confirm that we’re college’s/acquaintances rather then friends by failing to remember, strong two sugars.
Hearing the phone, (on my average sized desk), spring into life everyday at 9.15, knowing it would be Mrs Burdock calling to complain that the young man next door had kept his music on the previous night until well gone 11.30pm. 11.40am: The old man at number 14 would call to, “let us know”, that the children that pass his house on their way to school had taken a few minutes out to stop, throw stones at his front door and shout a little abuse before they carried on their way.
Opening my lunchbox, to be greeted by the usual aroma of Tesco’s long-life bread, value lettuce and mild cheese that had been lovingly slapped together the night before by my wife, savouring the flavour and enjoying the usual texture of slightly warm lettuce and soggy bread.
After lunch, hitting the streets, to try and provide a safer environment for everyone, only to feel everyone’s eyes burning a loathing hole in my back.
What was it? What was it about that specific day?
I guess it was that there was nothing specific about it, nothing to differentiate it from any other.
That is why. That is why I find myself here. Standing over my wife’s still body, she, growing evermore cold. Lying there, she just looks so peaceful, like all her care’s and problems matter no longer.
I look at my watch, realizing I have been watching her for hours since I removed the pillow from her face. 1.59am, and I know the baby will not be crying in a minute’s time.
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Thanks a lot mate, :)
I was a little nervous about trying something new.
I was a little nervous about trying something new.
I found that chilling. The way the lead character spoke so calmly and logically, and [in the end] so coldly. Excellent stuff.
The baby was male.
And, cheers :)
And, cheers :)
Why do so many of the stories on here end up with women being killed?
Other than that it was good.
Other than that it was good.
Ok, this is my first ever attempt to write something that wasn’t a sarcastic/humours look at life. This is my first draft and constructive criticism is welcomed, snide comments will be ignored.
What was it? What was it about that specific day? As days go, it had been pretty much the same as any other.
Being woken at 2am by the screaming baby, which was suffering from unbearable nappy rash. Comforting him until he fell back to sleep at 5.30, going back to bed only to be woken by the high-pitched monotone screaming of my alarm at 6. After receiving a brief, lifeless “mornin” when I head out the front door; as my wife is more concerned with getting to her cup of coffee first thing then wishing me a pleasant day at work.
Sitting at the end of my road, watching the early morning rush go by. As 12 foot of road is much more important to the glum faced individuals I spot within their cars, then meeting my glance, offering a brief smile and letting me in.
Arriving at the local village police station, where I have worked for the last 17 years. Looking in vein hope for a parking space in the employee’s car park, before giving in and parking in Stilton Street, (a 10 minute walk away). Walking in 3 minutes late, receiving “that” disappointed look from my superior officer. I would have been on time if “that lady” in the BMW had let me in, but I guess I wasn’t important enough to her to have 15 seconds extra added to her commute.
Regimentally swallowing my unsweetened weak coffee, 17 years I’ve known them, and every day they confirm that we’re college’s/acquaintances rather then friends by failing to remember, strong two sugars.
Hearing the phone, (on my average sized desk), spring into life everyday at 9.15, knowing it would be Mrs Burdock calling to complain that the young man next door had kept his music on the previous night until well gone 11.30pm. 11.40am: The old man at number 14 would call to, “let us know”, that the children that pass his house on their way to school had taken a few minutes out to stop, throw stones at his front door and shout a little abuse before they carried on their way.
Opening my lunchbox, to be greeted by the usual aroma of Tesco’s long-life bread, value lettuce and mild cheese that had been lovingly slapped together the night before by my wife, savouring the flavour and enjoying the usual texture of slightly warm lettuce and soggy bread.
After lunch, hitting the streets, to try and provide a safer environment for everyone, only to feel everyone’s eyes burning a loathing hole in my back.
What was it? What was it about that specific day?
I guess it was that there was nothing specific about it, nothing to differentiate it from any other.
That is why. That is why I find myself here. Standing over my wife’s still body, she, growing evermore cold. Lying there, she just looks so peaceful, like all her care’s and problems matter no longer.
I look at my watch, realizing I have been watching her for hours since I removed the pillow from her face. 1.59am, and I know the baby will not be crying in a minute’s time.
Being woken at 2am by the screaming baby, which was suffering from unbearable nappy rash. Comforting him until he fell back to sleep at 5.30, going back to bed only to be woken by the high-pitched monotone screaming of my alarm at 6. After receiving a brief, lifeless “mornin” when I head out the front door; as my wife is more concerned with getting to her cup of coffee first thing then wishing me a pleasant day at work.
Sitting at the end of my road, watching the early morning rush go by. As 12 foot of road is much more important to the glum faced individuals I spot within their cars, then meeting my glance, offering a brief smile and letting me in.
Arriving at the local village police station, where I have worked for the last 17 years. Looking in vein hope for a parking space in the employee’s car park, before giving in and parking in Stilton Street, (a 10 minute walk away). Walking in 3 minutes late, receiving “that” disappointed look from my superior officer. I would have been on time if “that lady” in the BMW had let me in, but I guess I wasn’t important enough to her to have 15 seconds extra added to her commute.
Regimentally swallowing my unsweetened weak coffee, 17 years I’ve known them, and every day they confirm that we’re college’s/acquaintances rather then friends by failing to remember, strong two sugars.
Hearing the phone, (on my average sized desk), spring into life everyday at 9.15, knowing it would be Mrs Burdock calling to complain that the young man next door had kept his music on the previous night until well gone 11.30pm. 11.40am: The old man at number 14 would call to, “let us know”, that the children that pass his house on their way to school had taken a few minutes out to stop, throw stones at his front door and shout a little abuse before they carried on their way.
Opening my lunchbox, to be greeted by the usual aroma of Tesco’s long-life bread, value lettuce and mild cheese that had been lovingly slapped together the night before by my wife, savouring the flavour and enjoying the usual texture of slightly warm lettuce and soggy bread.
After lunch, hitting the streets, to try and provide a safer environment for everyone, only to feel everyone’s eyes burning a loathing hole in my back.
What was it? What was it about that specific day?
I guess it was that there was nothing specific about it, nothing to differentiate it from any other.
That is why. That is why I find myself here. Standing over my wife’s still body, she, growing evermore cold. Lying there, she just looks so peaceful, like all her care’s and problems matter no longer.
I look at my watch, realizing I have been watching her for hours since I removed the pillow from her face. 1.59am, and I know the baby will not be crying in a minute’s time.
Page: