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Mark listened to the message from his secretary then hung his telephone up.
“I’m sorry,” he apologised to his wife “but the death certificate I’ve been waiting for has just arrived on my desk. I have to go in to the office. You look fabulous tonight in that new dress by the way”
His wife threw a pretend punch at him and laughed “Don’t try flattery with me! Will you make it to the ball?” She’d been through this before; his job was very important to him and often interfered with their social calendar.
“Yes,” he replied simply. “It is only a small case but if I don’t close it…”
“You will not be able to relax tonight.”
He smiled at her understanding then turned to their driver and gave him the new instructions to drop him at the office, drop his wife at the ball, then return to the main entrance and wait for him.
“You’ll extend my apologies to our host?” he asked, as they drew up outside his office.
“Of course” she replied. She leaned over and kissed him. “I’ll see you later but please do not get caught up in your file.”
He promised he wouldn’t as he stepped out of the car and strode to his building. The office was dimly lit at this time of evening but the lights from the private hospital across the road reflected brightly from all the glass making the early evening very light. Letting himself in he nodded to the night guard and rode the elevator to the top floor. His secretary was still there and waiting for him. She’d worked late, taking the time to catch up on some paperwork, while they had been waiting for the death certificate.
“Evening Mark” she greeted him “It’s on your desk and I’ve put a pot of coffee in there for you”
“Thanks Rosie, I’ll see you in the morning” he replied.
His mind already on his case he didn’t even turn as Rosie picked up her coat and wished him goodnight. The file and certificate sat in the middle of his immaculately tidy desk; a reflection of his ordered mind. Walking to the sideboard, he poured himself a coffee before taking his seat, shrugging off his tuxedo jacket, and opening the file.
Paul Watkins had been one of the most brilliant and unassuming men he’d ever known. Not the tallest, not the most handsome by far but he’d possessed a certain magnetic power, a charismatic drive and an innovative mind that had made him one of the richest men alive. Yet for all this wealth and power he had always been in the background, unrecognisable by the general population. He could have walked down any main street and no one would have run to him and say “Hey, I know you”. He had been the driving force behind the new transport system which was economically and environmentally friendly and which had gotten the majority of the working populace out of their cars and off the road. He’d been happiest in the background, enjoying the anonymity, while others dealt with the publicity and glare of the spotlight. Exactly 1 month ago he’d been diagnosed with brain cancer. The day after the diagnosis Paul had kept his usual monthly appointment with Mark.
Dr. Mark Roddick was a leading psychologist and he’d worked extremely hard to achieve that position. Paul Watkins had been meeting him once a month for over five years. When Paul had walked into his office 1 month ago there had been a marked difference in him. There seemed to be a difference in way he held himself, talked and an unusual arrogance had been present.
His opening greeting had not been the exchange of the usual warm pleasantries but the bald statement that he had brain cancer and had something very important to tell Mark about his future. He was sick of the anonymity, of not being recognised by the general public but that was all going to change. Mark listened in astonishment and sadness while he held his professional face in place and noted what his patient had to tell him.
According to Paul the man in the moon had paid him a visit last night with a deal for him. The man in the moon was bored of always being there for people to smile at, wave at, stare at, talk to and worship. As Paul was dying perhaps he would consider taking his place and letting him move on? At first Paul had refused to listen to him but after a while he hadn’t been able to help himself. He’d argued that people didn’t want to see a new face on the full moon: that the fear this would generate would be beyond calculation, that he didn’t want recognition. Slowly, as the night moved on, he’d listened to what was being said and promised to consider it. With those words Paul had stood and strode out of Marks’ office without a backward glance.
Shocked, Mark had typed up the notes himself. He was a little rusty as it had been a long time since he’d done this instead of his secretary but he felt he’d owed it to the Paul of old to not let this go outside his own private office.
At 10.00 am that morning Paul had again kept his usual monthly appointment. He hadn’t looked any different, he was still vigorous in body and arrogant in spirit but there had been a muted excitement about him. Again there had been no exchange of greetings as Paul got straight to the point and again Mark had listened in silence and sadness. According to Paul the deal had been struck last night. He’d agree to be the new man in the moon and everything was now in place for his death. The meeting had been very short and as Paul had been leaving the office he’d turned to Mark and grinned. “I’ll not say goodbye, I’ll be seeing you soon” had been his last words.
Less then two hours later Mark heard the news that Paul had died and he’d been waiting all day for the death certificate. Rich and powerful men do not lie around in the Coroners office but are attended immediately. The death certificate had put the cause of death as brain cancer which had been expected yet unexpected. Paul had not seemed like a dead man walking earlier that day. Mark placed the death certificate in the file and locked it securely in his safe. With a sigh of regret he put the day behind him after all he had a ball to attend and a wife to dance with.
Mark walked from his office and retraced his steps to the ground floor and his waiting driver. As he left the building he couldn’t help himself and glanced at the newly risen full moon.
“I’m sorry,” he apologised to his wife “but the death certificate I’ve been waiting for has just arrived on my desk. I have to go in to the office. You look fabulous tonight in that new dress by the way”
His wife threw a pretend punch at him and laughed “Don’t try flattery with me! Will you make it to the ball?” She’d been through this before; his job was very important to him and often interfered with their social calendar.
“Yes,” he replied simply. “It is only a small case but if I don’t close it…”
“You will not be able to relax tonight.”
He smiled at her understanding then turned to their driver and gave him the new instructions to drop him at the office, drop his wife at the ball, then return to the main entrance and wait for him.
“You’ll extend my apologies to our host?” he asked, as they drew up outside his office.
“Of course” she replied. She leaned over and kissed him. “I’ll see you later but please do not get caught up in your file.”
He promised he wouldn’t as he stepped out of the car and strode to his building. The office was dimly lit at this time of evening but the lights from the private hospital across the road reflected brightly from all the glass making the early evening very light. Letting himself in he nodded to the night guard and rode the elevator to the top floor. His secretary was still there and waiting for him. She’d worked late, taking the time to catch up on some paperwork, while they had been waiting for the death certificate.
“Evening Mark” she greeted him “It’s on your desk and I’ve put a pot of coffee in there for you”
“Thanks Rosie, I’ll see you in the morning” he replied.
His mind already on his case he didn’t even turn as Rosie picked up her coat and wished him goodnight. The file and certificate sat in the middle of his immaculately tidy desk; a reflection of his ordered mind. Walking to the sideboard, he poured himself a coffee before taking his seat, shrugging off his tuxedo jacket, and opening the file.
Paul Watkins had been one of the most brilliant and unassuming men he’d ever known. Not the tallest, not the most handsome by far but he’d possessed a certain magnetic power, a charismatic drive and an innovative mind that had made him one of the richest men alive. Yet for all this wealth and power he had always been in the background, unrecognisable by the general population. He could have walked down any main street and no one would have run to him and say “Hey, I know you”. He had been the driving force behind the new transport system which was economically and environmentally friendly and which had gotten the majority of the working populace out of their cars and off the road. He’d been happiest in the background, enjoying the anonymity, while others dealt with the publicity and glare of the spotlight. Exactly 1 month ago he’d been diagnosed with brain cancer. The day after the diagnosis Paul had kept his usual monthly appointment with Mark.
Dr. Mark Roddick was a leading psychologist and he’d worked extremely hard to achieve that position. Paul Watkins had been meeting him once a month for over five years. When Paul had walked into his office 1 month ago there had been a marked difference in him. There seemed to be a difference in way he held himself, talked and an unusual arrogance had been present.
His opening greeting had not been the exchange of the usual warm pleasantries but the bald statement that he had brain cancer and had something very important to tell Mark about his future. He was sick of the anonymity, of not being recognised by the general public but that was all going to change. Mark listened in astonishment and sadness while he held his professional face in place and noted what his patient had to tell him.
According to Paul the man in the moon had paid him a visit last night with a deal for him. The man in the moon was bored of always being there for people to smile at, wave at, stare at, talk to and worship. As Paul was dying perhaps he would consider taking his place and letting him move on? At first Paul had refused to listen to him but after a while he hadn’t been able to help himself. He’d argued that people didn’t want to see a new face on the full moon: that the fear this would generate would be beyond calculation, that he didn’t want recognition. Slowly, as the night moved on, he’d listened to what was being said and promised to consider it. With those words Paul had stood and strode out of Marks’ office without a backward glance.
Shocked, Mark had typed up the notes himself. He was a little rusty as it had been a long time since he’d done this instead of his secretary but he felt he’d owed it to the Paul of old to not let this go outside his own private office.
At 10.00 am that morning Paul had again kept his usual monthly appointment. He hadn’t looked any different, he was still vigorous in body and arrogant in spirit but there had been a muted excitement about him. Again there had been no exchange of greetings as Paul got straight to the point and again Mark had listened in silence and sadness. According to Paul the deal had been struck last night. He’d agree to be the new man in the moon and everything was now in place for his death. The meeting had been very short and as Paul had been leaving the office he’d turned to Mark and grinned. “I’ll not say goodbye, I’ll be seeing you soon” had been his last words.
Less then two hours later Mark heard the news that Paul had died and he’d been waiting all day for the death certificate. Rich and powerful men do not lie around in the Coroners office but are attended immediately. The death certificate had put the cause of death as brain cancer which had been expected yet unexpected. Paul had not seemed like a dead man walking earlier that day. Mark placed the death certificate in the file and locked it securely in his safe. With a sigh of regret he put the day behind him after all he had a ball to attend and a wife to dance with.
Mark walked from his office and retraced his steps to the ground floor and his waiting driver. As he left the building he couldn’t help himself and glanced at the newly risen full moon.
Rats! Sorry - mixed the names up. I've corrected it now thanks :)
Ineedsleep wrote:
> Paul placed the death certificate in the file and
> locked it securely in his safe. With a sigh of regret he put
> the day behind him after all he had a ball to attend and a wife
> to dance with.
>
> Paul walked from his office and retraced his steps to the ground
> floor and his waiting driver. As he left the building he
> couldn’t help himself and glanced at the newly risen full moon.
Is this on purpose or did you get mixed up?
Good story anyway.
> Paul placed the death certificate in the file and
> locked it securely in his safe. With a sigh of regret he put
> the day behind him after all he had a ball to attend and a wife
> to dance with.
>
> Paul walked from his office and retraced his steps to the ground
> floor and his waiting driver. As he left the building he
> couldn’t help himself and glanced at the newly risen full moon.
Is this on purpose or did you get mixed up?
Good story anyway.
Nicely played out. Sort of subtle, realistic. The final sentence was essential.
Well if you liked any part of it then it was worth missing my lecture for :)
Interesting story. I like the twist, wasn't expecting the story to go that way!
Mark listened to the message from his secretary then hung his telephone up.
“I’m sorry,” he apologised to his wife “but the death certificate I’ve been waiting for has just arrived on my desk. I have to go in to the office. You look fabulous tonight in that new dress by the way”
His wife threw a pretend punch at him and laughed “Don’t try flattery with me! Will you make it to the ball?” She’d been through this before; his job was very important to him and often interfered with their social calendar.
“Yes,” he replied simply. “It is only a small case but if I don’t close it…”
“You will not be able to relax tonight.”
He smiled at her understanding then turned to their driver and gave him the new instructions to drop him at the office, drop his wife at the ball, then return to the main entrance and wait for him.
“You’ll extend my apologies to our host?” he asked, as they drew up outside his office.
“Of course” she replied. She leaned over and kissed him. “I’ll see you later but please do not get caught up in your file.”
He promised he wouldn’t as he stepped out of the car and strode to his building. The office was dimly lit at this time of evening but the lights from the private hospital across the road reflected brightly from all the glass making the early evening very light. Letting himself in he nodded to the night guard and rode the elevator to the top floor. His secretary was still there and waiting for him. She’d worked late, taking the time to catch up on some paperwork, while they had been waiting for the death certificate.
“Evening Mark” she greeted him “It’s on your desk and I’ve put a pot of coffee in there for you”
“Thanks Rosie, I’ll see you in the morning” he replied.
His mind already on his case he didn’t even turn as Rosie picked up her coat and wished him goodnight. The file and certificate sat in the middle of his immaculately tidy desk; a reflection of his ordered mind. Walking to the sideboard, he poured himself a coffee before taking his seat, shrugging off his tuxedo jacket, and opening the file.
Paul Watkins had been one of the most brilliant and unassuming men he’d ever known. Not the tallest, not the most handsome by far but he’d possessed a certain magnetic power, a charismatic drive and an innovative mind that had made him one of the richest men alive. Yet for all this wealth and power he had always been in the background, unrecognisable by the general population. He could have walked down any main street and no one would have run to him and say “Hey, I know you”. He had been the driving force behind the new transport system which was economically and environmentally friendly and which had gotten the majority of the working populace out of their cars and off the road. He’d been happiest in the background, enjoying the anonymity, while others dealt with the publicity and glare of the spotlight. Exactly 1 month ago he’d been diagnosed with brain cancer. The day after the diagnosis Paul had kept his usual monthly appointment with Mark.
Dr. Mark Roddick was a leading psychologist and he’d worked extremely hard to achieve that position. Paul Watkins had been meeting him once a month for over five years. When Paul had walked into his office 1 month ago there had been a marked difference in him. There seemed to be a difference in way he held himself, talked and an unusual arrogance had been present.
His opening greeting had not been the exchange of the usual warm pleasantries but the bald statement that he had brain cancer and had something very important to tell Mark about his future. He was sick of the anonymity, of not being recognised by the general public but that was all going to change. Mark listened in astonishment and sadness while he held his professional face in place and noted what his patient had to tell him.
According to Paul the man in the moon had paid him a visit last night with a deal for him. The man in the moon was bored of always being there for people to smile at, wave at, stare at, talk to and worship. As Paul was dying perhaps he would consider taking his place and letting him move on? At first Paul had refused to listen to him but after a while he hadn’t been able to help himself. He’d argued that people didn’t want to see a new face on the full moon: that the fear this would generate would be beyond calculation, that he didn’t want recognition. Slowly, as the night moved on, he’d listened to what was being said and promised to consider it. With those words Paul had stood and strode out of Marks’ office without a backward glance.
Shocked, Mark had typed up the notes himself. He was a little rusty as it had been a long time since he’d done this instead of his secretary but he felt he’d owed it to the Paul of old to not let this go outside his own private office.
At 10.00 am that morning Paul had again kept his usual monthly appointment. He hadn’t looked any different, he was still vigorous in body and arrogant in spirit but there had been a muted excitement about him. Again there had been no exchange of greetings as Paul got straight to the point and again Mark had listened in silence and sadness. According to Paul the deal had been struck last night. He’d agree to be the new man in the moon and everything was now in place for his death. The meeting had been very short and as Paul had been leaving the office he’d turned to Mark and grinned. “I’ll not say goodbye, I’ll be seeing you soon” had been his last words.
Less then two hours later Mark heard the news that Paul had died and he’d been waiting all day for the death certificate. Rich and powerful men do not lie around in the Coroners office but are attended immediately. The death certificate had put the cause of death as brain cancer which had been expected yet unexpected. Paul had not seemed like a dead man walking earlier that day. Mark placed the death certificate in the file and locked it securely in his safe. With a sigh of regret he put the day behind him after all he had a ball to attend and a wife to dance with.
Mark walked from his office and retraced his steps to the ground floor and his waiting driver. As he left the building he couldn’t help himself and glanced at the newly risen full moon.
“I’m sorry,” he apologised to his wife “but the death certificate I’ve been waiting for has just arrived on my desk. I have to go in to the office. You look fabulous tonight in that new dress by the way”
His wife threw a pretend punch at him and laughed “Don’t try flattery with me! Will you make it to the ball?” She’d been through this before; his job was very important to him and often interfered with their social calendar.
“Yes,” he replied simply. “It is only a small case but if I don’t close it…”
“You will not be able to relax tonight.”
He smiled at her understanding then turned to their driver and gave him the new instructions to drop him at the office, drop his wife at the ball, then return to the main entrance and wait for him.
“You’ll extend my apologies to our host?” he asked, as they drew up outside his office.
“Of course” she replied. She leaned over and kissed him. “I’ll see you later but please do not get caught up in your file.”
He promised he wouldn’t as he stepped out of the car and strode to his building. The office was dimly lit at this time of evening but the lights from the private hospital across the road reflected brightly from all the glass making the early evening very light. Letting himself in he nodded to the night guard and rode the elevator to the top floor. His secretary was still there and waiting for him. She’d worked late, taking the time to catch up on some paperwork, while they had been waiting for the death certificate.
“Evening Mark” she greeted him “It’s on your desk and I’ve put a pot of coffee in there for you”
“Thanks Rosie, I’ll see you in the morning” he replied.
His mind already on his case he didn’t even turn as Rosie picked up her coat and wished him goodnight. The file and certificate sat in the middle of his immaculately tidy desk; a reflection of his ordered mind. Walking to the sideboard, he poured himself a coffee before taking his seat, shrugging off his tuxedo jacket, and opening the file.
Paul Watkins had been one of the most brilliant and unassuming men he’d ever known. Not the tallest, not the most handsome by far but he’d possessed a certain magnetic power, a charismatic drive and an innovative mind that had made him one of the richest men alive. Yet for all this wealth and power he had always been in the background, unrecognisable by the general population. He could have walked down any main street and no one would have run to him and say “Hey, I know you”. He had been the driving force behind the new transport system which was economically and environmentally friendly and which had gotten the majority of the working populace out of their cars and off the road. He’d been happiest in the background, enjoying the anonymity, while others dealt with the publicity and glare of the spotlight. Exactly 1 month ago he’d been diagnosed with brain cancer. The day after the diagnosis Paul had kept his usual monthly appointment with Mark.
Dr. Mark Roddick was a leading psychologist and he’d worked extremely hard to achieve that position. Paul Watkins had been meeting him once a month for over five years. When Paul had walked into his office 1 month ago there had been a marked difference in him. There seemed to be a difference in way he held himself, talked and an unusual arrogance had been present.
His opening greeting had not been the exchange of the usual warm pleasantries but the bald statement that he had brain cancer and had something very important to tell Mark about his future. He was sick of the anonymity, of not being recognised by the general public but that was all going to change. Mark listened in astonishment and sadness while he held his professional face in place and noted what his patient had to tell him.
According to Paul the man in the moon had paid him a visit last night with a deal for him. The man in the moon was bored of always being there for people to smile at, wave at, stare at, talk to and worship. As Paul was dying perhaps he would consider taking his place and letting him move on? At first Paul had refused to listen to him but after a while he hadn’t been able to help himself. He’d argued that people didn’t want to see a new face on the full moon: that the fear this would generate would be beyond calculation, that he didn’t want recognition. Slowly, as the night moved on, he’d listened to what was being said and promised to consider it. With those words Paul had stood and strode out of Marks’ office without a backward glance.
Shocked, Mark had typed up the notes himself. He was a little rusty as it had been a long time since he’d done this instead of his secretary but he felt he’d owed it to the Paul of old to not let this go outside his own private office.
At 10.00 am that morning Paul had again kept his usual monthly appointment. He hadn’t looked any different, he was still vigorous in body and arrogant in spirit but there had been a muted excitement about him. Again there had been no exchange of greetings as Paul got straight to the point and again Mark had listened in silence and sadness. According to Paul the deal had been struck last night. He’d agree to be the new man in the moon and everything was now in place for his death. The meeting had been very short and as Paul had been leaving the office he’d turned to Mark and grinned. “I’ll not say goodbye, I’ll be seeing you soon” had been his last words.
Less then two hours later Mark heard the news that Paul had died and he’d been waiting all day for the death certificate. Rich and powerful men do not lie around in the Coroners office but are attended immediately. The death certificate had put the cause of death as brain cancer which had been expected yet unexpected. Paul had not seemed like a dead man walking earlier that day. Mark placed the death certificate in the file and locked it securely in his safe. With a sigh of regret he put the day behind him after all he had a ball to attend and a wife to dance with.
Mark walked from his office and retraced his steps to the ground floor and his waiting driver. As he left the building he couldn’t help himself and glanced at the newly risen full moon.