Post by Mary-Anne on Feb 3, 2015 6:43:21 GMT 7
This is the start of a short story (possibly) and any comments would be really helpful. It's another 'mystery' but I do know what it is!!!! Mary-Anne
George Baxter
I knew in that moment that something wasn’t right. When I heard Dr. Edmund say my name so formally: ‘George Baxter,’ he said, even though we’d met before and there was no-one else in the room.
I looked up from my book. I was always studying in those days. Determined that we’d have a good life, Susie and me. Or maybe I was just plain ambitious. The book? Oh yes … it was The Detection of Micro Fractures in Plate Welds. You might think it’s strange that I can remember what I was reading after all these years. And, of course, the book had no significance whatsoever. And yet, every little detail is there, from that moment when Dr. Edmund said my name.
I’d a cigarette in my hand, a Strand tipped – I was twenty five years old and already off the shop floor, climbing the ladder among the white-collar workers. No more rollies or Woodbines for me. Tipped cigarettes now, to show the factory men I wasn’t one of them any more.
So, there I was, smoking in a relaxed sort of way and not worried at all. There was nothing to be worried about and I was making good use of the time studying micro fractures while vaguely looking up at the big plain clockface above the door every now and again as the hours passed. Of course, you wouldn’t be allowed to do that now, would you? I mean smoke. Not in a place like that.
Dr. Edmund wasn’t smiling. But then again, he was a serious type, a solid middle-aged man who must’ve seen it all, life, death and everything in between. We just looked at each other, me trying to gauge his face and him seemingly finding it hard to focus on mine. The thing was, I really couldn’t fathom what his expression was, what it meant. Nothing alarming (thank god) but there was something … an uneasiness. And then I got it! I recognised what his look was.
That was the first hint I had of something being … not right. I knew it. And he knew it too.
George Baxter
I knew in that moment that something wasn’t right. When I heard Dr. Edmund say my name so formally: ‘George Baxter,’ he said, even though we’d met before and there was no-one else in the room.
I looked up from my book. I was always studying in those days. Determined that we’d have a good life, Susie and me. Or maybe I was just plain ambitious. The book? Oh yes … it was The Detection of Micro Fractures in Plate Welds. You might think it’s strange that I can remember what I was reading after all these years. And, of course, the book had no significance whatsoever. And yet, every little detail is there, from that moment when Dr. Edmund said my name.
I’d a cigarette in my hand, a Strand tipped – I was twenty five years old and already off the shop floor, climbing the ladder among the white-collar workers. No more rollies or Woodbines for me. Tipped cigarettes now, to show the factory men I wasn’t one of them any more.
So, there I was, smoking in a relaxed sort of way and not worried at all. There was nothing to be worried about and I was making good use of the time studying micro fractures while vaguely looking up at the big plain clockface above the door every now and again as the hours passed. Of course, you wouldn’t be allowed to do that now, would you? I mean smoke. Not in a place like that.
Dr. Edmund wasn’t smiling. But then again, he was a serious type, a solid middle-aged man who must’ve seen it all, life, death and everything in between. We just looked at each other, me trying to gauge his face and him seemingly finding it hard to focus on mine. The thing was, I really couldn’t fathom what his expression was, what it meant. Nothing alarming (thank god) but there was something … an uneasiness. And then I got it! I recognised what his look was.
That was the first hint I had of something being … not right. I knew it. And he knew it too.
