Post by Shades on Aug 10, 2005 15:51:20 GMT -5
I wrote this back in grade 7 about the time I first started writing short stories, I know it isn't up to the same callaber as some of my toher stuff but I thought it was worth posting.
James, a business man, sat at his mahogany desk, backing the window that looked out onto Denman St. and out across town. Working long and hard hours had gained him a cozy job, and in his eyes and many others he deserved it.
Diverse people lined the streets speaking to one another like equals. It was not this way in the business world. Your rank was determined by the label on the edge of your desk or the space of your work area.
His eyes shifted from the people on Denman St., he looked onto English Bay. This was one of the high points of his job, he could look out onto the shimmering water of English Bay, and the people who perused by it, wishing he was there he sighed and returned to his dull work.
He sat there staring at the computer screen, wondering what sort of life he leads that his life is dictated by a machine and a boss with a stomach bigger then the executive office he had received last year. He reached into the top left drawer of his desk and pulled out a portfolio of work hoping something in there would be less repetitive then what he was already doing. His eyes drooped in disappointment as he put the thick folder of bleached paper back into his desk.
He swiveled back around in his chair to peer over the many people walking along the streets. Each person marched to their own drummer. He spotted a woman with two kids as she held bags of food walking to the car, the two kids ran around her playing tag. A little off to the right by “The Computer Shack” two men walked by holding hands and laughing into the gay, bright sun. A man, maybe 50 years old, walked out of a piercing parlor with a woman his own age holding hands and rubbing his soar tongue, as she kissed him on the cheek. A load Harley Davidson rolled passed the two, the man riding it had multiple tattoos, and a shaggy beard ran along the bottom part of his face. What he would give to be down with them, he would give his high executive job, his mahogany desk, his warehouse apartment, his money, his suits, he would give almost anything to be down there with them. Tears started to swell in his eyes as he wondered what kind of mark he would leave on the world and the people surrounding him, remembering he had no friends giving all that up for his job.
That’s when the call came.
“Hello, I’m I speaking to a Mr. McConnelly?” asked the raspy voice on the other end.
“Yes you are and how may I help you fine sir?” replied James in his cheer business voice.
“I’m sorry your uncle has passed away in a Dublin hospital. While visiting some friends, he came down with the chills, he was admitted to a hospital the next day and shortly after telling the children in the hospital some life lessons,” said the man on the other side, with a little chuckle to the side he continued. “He walked over to his bed and said goodbye, that’s when he died.”
“That’s horrible,” said James. His uncle, his only uncle had been his most eccentric family member, and quite frankly his favorite, the only one with color to his life.
“Actually, it is quite the opposite, all the children in the hospital because of your uncle, are quite cheery now. They keep repeating something to the doctors and their parents ‘What doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger,’ I thought you would like to know this.
“Thank you so much when can I expect a funeral,” asked James, eager to show his respects to his uncle.
“There will not be one, that was in his will, the only other thing in his will was his house which he left to you.”
“He left me his house,” repeated James in astonishment, remembering the gentle looking flowers in his backyard that bloomed in the spring.
“Yes he did if you would like to collect the deed, you could come around my office anytime.”
“Thank you, I will come around as soon as I can get off work.”
With a quick goodbye and an exchange of the lawyers address James hung up. He raced out of his office, faster then what would have been necessary, afraid someone might stop him. He got into his new convertible, another perk to his job and raced off.
He raced past Haro St. down Robson St, and across to Graville, he parked the car opened the door ran into the building. The visit was short. He ran out with the deed and keys to the house.
He paced Mole Hill Park and past Bute St. and then turned left on Jervis where he saw his uncle’s house. Along side smaller houses stood a palace, he walked up the front steps on the patio where a book lay spread open, face up. The front door was locked so James decided to try the side door.
James walked through the archway with a well established flowering vine they kept the plain metal of the archway from sight. Large azaleas rubbed his face on both sides as he walked the narrow path, into the oasis, his uncle had called a backyard. A large wisteria hide the side of his house in full bloom, the scent slowly drifted over to James and ran up his nostrils bringing back memories. The path ended, and the way was blocked not by grass, but by lush moss. It seemed as if he were to step onto the moss this un-earthly place would come crashing down, but James yearned to see the rest of the yard. His slowly rolled his steps trying not to destroy the moss. A small clump of strawberries emitted from the ground, each plant with 20 or so berries on it. The Kitchen window was hidden by large vine roses climbing the walls, and large rose bushes. It would seem his uncle was not to fond of the look of his own house. A large tree stood in the middle of the main part of the yard. Bulb plants were lush around the base of the tree. Iris’, tulips, and many others work together to create such a stunning beauty.
James walked up to the back door which was open, he was leery at first, afraid someone might have entered this house in the absence of his uncle, but his fears were false and ass he walked into the kitchen a large envelope lay on the island in the middle of the laminate floor.
“Water the plants, retire early, and have common sense. Enjoy your life. I will be waiting for you, but take your time do not rush, live life one day at a time, and don’t worry about tomorrow. The best thing I learnt in life I now teach you. The meaning of life in not some complicated answer philosophers have been seeking but instead it is two words long. The meaning of life is ‘Too Live’, it isn’t more then that. So enjoy your life, live it too the fullest, and don’t follow people, march to your own drummer”
James flipped the page over and found 23 bonds, dating 1837. These bonds would take care of one part of his uncle’s advice, but this didn’t mean much to him. He walk back into the yard, tears swelling in his eyes for the second time that day. He sat down on a wooden bench encircled by a bunch of tiny white flowers. He fell asleep, the gentle scents from the yard lulling him into slumber.
He awoke later on after the sun had passed the horizon. He stood up and looked across the yard. His jaw dropped, the yard was now ten times as beautiful. The white flowers by the bench were glowing, sending an eerie light off the petals of other flowers, acting as ghost lights. He sat back down, laughing to himself, he looked over to the side of the house where the wisteria hung, white flowers dotted in between the clusters of oddly shaped flowers the wisteria bore. The wisteria looked heavenly, unearthly, beautiful. He lay down contemplating what he was too do now. Quit his job, use the bonds, and most importantly march to his own drummer.
James, a business man, sat at his mahogany desk, backing the window that looked out onto Denman St. and out across town. Working long and hard hours had gained him a cozy job, and in his eyes and many others he deserved it.
Diverse people lined the streets speaking to one another like equals. It was not this way in the business world. Your rank was determined by the label on the edge of your desk or the space of your work area.
His eyes shifted from the people on Denman St., he looked onto English Bay. This was one of the high points of his job, he could look out onto the shimmering water of English Bay, and the people who perused by it, wishing he was there he sighed and returned to his dull work.
He sat there staring at the computer screen, wondering what sort of life he leads that his life is dictated by a machine and a boss with a stomach bigger then the executive office he had received last year. He reached into the top left drawer of his desk and pulled out a portfolio of work hoping something in there would be less repetitive then what he was already doing. His eyes drooped in disappointment as he put the thick folder of bleached paper back into his desk.
He swiveled back around in his chair to peer over the many people walking along the streets. Each person marched to their own drummer. He spotted a woman with two kids as she held bags of food walking to the car, the two kids ran around her playing tag. A little off to the right by “The Computer Shack” two men walked by holding hands and laughing into the gay, bright sun. A man, maybe 50 years old, walked out of a piercing parlor with a woman his own age holding hands and rubbing his soar tongue, as she kissed him on the cheek. A load Harley Davidson rolled passed the two, the man riding it had multiple tattoos, and a shaggy beard ran along the bottom part of his face. What he would give to be down with them, he would give his high executive job, his mahogany desk, his warehouse apartment, his money, his suits, he would give almost anything to be down there with them. Tears started to swell in his eyes as he wondered what kind of mark he would leave on the world and the people surrounding him, remembering he had no friends giving all that up for his job.
That’s when the call came.
“Hello, I’m I speaking to a Mr. McConnelly?” asked the raspy voice on the other end.
“Yes you are and how may I help you fine sir?” replied James in his cheer business voice.
“I’m sorry your uncle has passed away in a Dublin hospital. While visiting some friends, he came down with the chills, he was admitted to a hospital the next day and shortly after telling the children in the hospital some life lessons,” said the man on the other side, with a little chuckle to the side he continued. “He walked over to his bed and said goodbye, that’s when he died.”
“That’s horrible,” said James. His uncle, his only uncle had been his most eccentric family member, and quite frankly his favorite, the only one with color to his life.
“Actually, it is quite the opposite, all the children in the hospital because of your uncle, are quite cheery now. They keep repeating something to the doctors and their parents ‘What doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger,’ I thought you would like to know this.
“Thank you so much when can I expect a funeral,” asked James, eager to show his respects to his uncle.
“There will not be one, that was in his will, the only other thing in his will was his house which he left to you.”
“He left me his house,” repeated James in astonishment, remembering the gentle looking flowers in his backyard that bloomed in the spring.
“Yes he did if you would like to collect the deed, you could come around my office anytime.”
“Thank you, I will come around as soon as I can get off work.”
With a quick goodbye and an exchange of the lawyers address James hung up. He raced out of his office, faster then what would have been necessary, afraid someone might stop him. He got into his new convertible, another perk to his job and raced off.
He raced past Haro St. down Robson St, and across to Graville, he parked the car opened the door ran into the building. The visit was short. He ran out with the deed and keys to the house.
He paced Mole Hill Park and past Bute St. and then turned left on Jervis where he saw his uncle’s house. Along side smaller houses stood a palace, he walked up the front steps on the patio where a book lay spread open, face up. The front door was locked so James decided to try the side door.
James walked through the archway with a well established flowering vine they kept the plain metal of the archway from sight. Large azaleas rubbed his face on both sides as he walked the narrow path, into the oasis, his uncle had called a backyard. A large wisteria hide the side of his house in full bloom, the scent slowly drifted over to James and ran up his nostrils bringing back memories. The path ended, and the way was blocked not by grass, but by lush moss. It seemed as if he were to step onto the moss this un-earthly place would come crashing down, but James yearned to see the rest of the yard. His slowly rolled his steps trying not to destroy the moss. A small clump of strawberries emitted from the ground, each plant with 20 or so berries on it. The Kitchen window was hidden by large vine roses climbing the walls, and large rose bushes. It would seem his uncle was not to fond of the look of his own house. A large tree stood in the middle of the main part of the yard. Bulb plants were lush around the base of the tree. Iris’, tulips, and many others work together to create such a stunning beauty.
James walked up to the back door which was open, he was leery at first, afraid someone might have entered this house in the absence of his uncle, but his fears were false and ass he walked into the kitchen a large envelope lay on the island in the middle of the laminate floor.
“Water the plants, retire early, and have common sense. Enjoy your life. I will be waiting for you, but take your time do not rush, live life one day at a time, and don’t worry about tomorrow. The best thing I learnt in life I now teach you. The meaning of life in not some complicated answer philosophers have been seeking but instead it is two words long. The meaning of life is ‘Too Live’, it isn’t more then that. So enjoy your life, live it too the fullest, and don’t follow people, march to your own drummer”
James flipped the page over and found 23 bonds, dating 1837. These bonds would take care of one part of his uncle’s advice, but this didn’t mean much to him. He walk back into the yard, tears swelling in his eyes for the second time that day. He sat down on a wooden bench encircled by a bunch of tiny white flowers. He fell asleep, the gentle scents from the yard lulling him into slumber.
He awoke later on after the sun had passed the horizon. He stood up and looked across the yard. His jaw dropped, the yard was now ten times as beautiful. The white flowers by the bench were glowing, sending an eerie light off the petals of other flowers, acting as ghost lights. He sat back down, laughing to himself, he looked over to the side of the house where the wisteria hung, white flowers dotted in between the clusters of oddly shaped flowers the wisteria bore. The wisteria looked heavenly, unearthly, beautiful. He lay down contemplating what he was too do now. Quit his job, use the bonds, and most importantly march to his own drummer.