Well, despite all my intentions to post various things (including a poetry bus entry) another week has passed me by and we are back in time for another Wordzzle.
As regular readers will know the Wordzzle is instigated by Raven and anyone can play along if they are feeling creative. The idea is to take a list of 5, 10 or 15 words and utlize them in a story, poem or other work of creativity
This week Raven was struggling to think of words, so I looked at the jacket of "Exile On Main Street" by The Rolling Stones and selected some random words to help her
Words for the week's 10-word challenge are: rocks, rip this joint, casino, tumbling dice, frayed, angel, cup, on the run, ventilator, face
And for the mini: wine, plundered, signifying, river, survivor
As I had set the words I thought it only fair to use them all in this week's installment of my ongoing story. Don't worry, we're only 2-3 episodes away from the end now, and things are developing nicely
For a catch up you can read Part 1, Part 2 or Part 3, but for those of you already up to date here is:
Sleeper, part 4
Sophie bought herself a coffee from the vendor outside Pimlico. Every morning she promised herself that she would quit the same as she had done the day before. Too much caffeine frayed her nerves, made her jumpy, but still she kept on returning to the stand like some sad junkie for caffiene.
She sucked at the small opening in the cup lid as she crossed the Thames, walking towards the large building opposite. The river was quiet this morning, the water almost motionless beneath her.
She smiled at the guard in recognition, ‘Hi James’ she greeted, ‘What’s with all the additional security?’
James scowled and grumbled. Even with twenty years living around London his accent was still spliced with a hint of New York
‘Hey Soph’ he drawled, still calling her that name despite all her requests, ‘didn’t you get the me-mo?’ he shrugged his shoulders, signifying his usual level of disinterest, ‘some bigwig coming to visit today, so everyone gets a free cavity search’ he laughed at his own joke, ‘just kidding Soph. Jeez, I don’t know why they bother: a paper-bag would be more trouble to break into than this place. They aught to rip this joint down and start again if you ask me’
Sophie tuned out the noise of the conversation and waited for the search to be over. Like most security guards James was a retired cop looking for an easy retirement. Mostly he issued visitor forms, so his search was little more than perfunctory. When it was finally over she went inside, swiping her pass at every turn until she reached her desk, placing her bag on the edge and the still untouched coffee next to her keyboard. Someone had plundered her chair during the night, so she spent ten minutes searching for it.
Finally she returned to her desk, catching it quite hard as she pushed the chair into place.
The bag fell, contents spilling out like tumbling dice at a casino. She swore loudly, catching her head on the edge of the desk and having to brush a cobweb from her face as she bent down to pick up the contents.
Lipstick, keys, a couple of dull rocks that she and Mark had collected on a beach somewhere and she had forgotten about and…
She paused, looking at the small black box with some bemusement. The casing had cracked slightly upon impact, revealing the computer connection. She picked up the rest of the contents of her bag and dumped them on the desk, sitting heavily on her chair. The ventilator above her head was half-way through it’s mid-morning scream, but she barely noticed it.
She looked at her computer and wondered whether to plug the device in: but the security in these machines was much tighter than that on the doors – if the device was what she thought it was then she would soon find herself on the run from more than just the police.
There was only one way it could have got inside her bag: and that could only mean one thing.
She stepped outside of the building, looking for some fresh air. Across the road and down the street a little the doors of The Angel stood invitingly open and she strode towards it with shaking legs, feeling like the survivor of some zombie-induced holocaust
Once inside she ordered a glass of wine despite the early hour and tried to clear her thoughts. She needed to talk to someone quickly, to set her thoughts straight, but who could she trust? Not Mark, that much was certain.
She pulled her phone out of her pocket and dialled Richard’s number, but there was no signal in the room so she tried again from the payphone, waiting impatiently for him to answer
‘Hello?’ the voice on the other end was muffled, indistinct, but still recognisable.
She dropped the receiver, her mind running round in circles
The voice on the other end had not been Richard’s
It had been Mark’s.