Ywrighting: First-Person

Showing posts with label First-Person. Show all posts

Sell Hard

This is an once in a lifetime opportunity, Mr. Lane. Now, I'm not trying to sell you anything here, but just to remind you the profit you could have gained from just this one investment. Think of this as a game, and you are the person who designed the game, you knows the ins-and-outs, down to every little details. And you are the one who's going to play this game, and you know you are going to at least play through the game with a familiar feeling, and that feeling is that you are going to win the game at your first try. No one knows the game as much as you do. So by investing to this product with such potential and so little risk, you are in for the biggest slice of the share when the price went BOOM! It's definitely profitable and you can look forward to a payout of at least a ten times of your investment, according to our most prudent estimation. Think of what you could do with that kind of profit there? Do you not have a dream house waiting for you to move in? Do you not have a luxury yacht waiting for you to take her out into the ocean? Do you not have a super sports car waiting for you to drive and drift? It's all yours, Mr. Lane. It'll happen. And that's not the crazy thing. The crazy thing is that you can use the money to fulfill many other fantasies of yours. Are you not tempted to travel around the world, living in five star hotels, the best suites, the best view, without waiting in the line because you can afford to pay the premium to get one. You can be the boss of yourself and everything else. Think of your future as present as your dreams are. And acting is always better than just thinking. What do you say, Mr. Lane. Just think of all the possibilities out there in the world.

The answer is: __

Bright

Up ahead lay the blockade made by the villagers, they were in civilian clothings, not armed and definitely not as dangerous as the resistance force. The armored truck came to a stop before the barrier made of mostly haystacks and a few bricks. John told us the drivers was asking the villagers for permission to let us pass this section of the road while we sat at the back, waiting for their hospitality to open the door for us. Sara who sat next to me was uneasy, she moved her shoulders around and covered her face with wrinkles and sweat. From her left I saw her anxiety grew as the talking between the driver and the villagers went long and loud. I didn't understand a word they said but could guess from the villagers expression that we were not welcomed here.

"What's happening?" I said, eyes on Sara. Her legs was trembling like a girl who just experienced period in her bare pants.

"They want money, weapons to defend themselves. They'd be lucky if they could salvage anything from our truck." said John, our guide to the area, he had been my source for the past few years. He was very short but fat, like a teenager who never grew up in height but weight. And though the impression of his eyes were deep and dark, he didn't have that heavy of an accent as others contacts I had. John climbed behind the driver and handed him a few dollar bills and exchanged a few words.

Presently the road was cleared and our truck was moving again. The road was clear though sandy and uneven. We held on to the bars on the ceiling of the truck on this bumpy road and didn't say anything to each other for a long time.

Carpenter

My old man was a carpenter, and so was his father, my grandfather. They were young once but they were steady and hardworking and trustworthy. They had built great many houses for the common folks around the now greater Philadelphia areas, and their names were reputable among the carpenters secret association.

Grandpa had taught me how to do the handiwork when I was just six. I remembered being ugly to him whenever he pushed me to do the wood trimming and steel bending. I hated the work though I dreaded through it every time. My attention to details had him impressed and made my old man proud once, but as I grew up, they same praise never came. I would help out my dad's construction whenever I had time, not that I was that much into school nor did I had a good grade, I was never fit for the books. It was hard work that paid, my old man used to say. So during every school holiday or even just a few hours after school, I would be at whatever project, houses that he was working on. And since almost everyone at work knew me because of my father and grandfather, I never felt the isolation or being treated as a newcomer, an incompetent piece of trash. Instead I would really help out with what I can do at my age.

When I was younger, I would just help the worker with passing the base materials and maybe ran a few errand of water and foods and towels, and sometimes be a messenger to pass invitation to folks around town. I grew up to be as stocky as my grandpa, and my old man was said to be ranking the third in the family in the body build meter. His older brother was the second. And grandpa and I were the first. And as I had the power, I began to do the heavy lifting and nail banging when I was just twelve. I was not a kid to them anymore and I was being treated much harsh. My old man had high standard to his work and I compiled to his demand. But all the time I grew more and more tired of this work. I hated it, I had always hated it growing up.

At seventeen, I dropped high school and went out with a few friends to New York, and spent a year chasing our dreams and later opened a bar in a favorable location. We were lucky and I had earned quite a lot at first as one of the associated partners, and I had sent almost a third of what I earned every month to my mother, which I later found out she had saved every penny I sent in a bank account.

But every story had to had a sordid end, as with every friendship. Let's just said that our partnership faced an unsolvable problem and we had a huge fight and that broke us apart after the shop was just two years and a half. For another year I littered around the city with my remaining savings, I didn't sent money to my mother during that period. I had moved from a studio apartment from the upper east side which our partnership shared, to a tiny apartment in downtown near the Chinatown. I didn't took up a job or did anything for that matters. I just wasted it in bars and clubs and girls.

Finding a Needle in a Barn Full of Haystack

To find a needle in a haystack is considerably easy, as our good ole pale, the Mythbusters partially busted this one ole saying.

But to find a needle in a barn full of haystack, is like finding a rock in a pool of dirt and water. One could not possible have the idea as to where to begin with, less when would they find it. Luck is essential, but what is luck to us other than hoping and anticipating to the moment when the sheer chance happened that we found the needle?

Such strange task is not unusual. As we can see in the law enforcement to private detective, they all have to carry out such a task every once in a while. It is not unusual at all, considering how many people are trying to reconnect on social media these days.

How easy did the social media helped finding another person, tracking their life and conversations.

If one was to stay offline, went complete off the digital grid, left no digital footprint, then he or she would of course, harder to track. It may take much longer at a time, but there's always a way to find someone, just as there's always a way to hide.

Inside A Container

I felt kind of offended when that Umos lady from the estate agency called me about the place she had just for the kind of people like me. Maybe partly because I wasn't expecting to hear such judgmental thought from her, and partly because she had half yelled at me throughout our conversations. Maybe her monthly target had been raised after the new year, or maybe she was just pissed about what I had to say about the owner during our last visit.

Apartment hunting, as the name disguised under the camouflaged good will of the word hunt, I knew it would not be an easy task but require a lot of planning and calculation. The prey out there were limited, and many had high demands. To find the one that matches and fits, that was the hardest part. Too many variables at the end ruined the prefect space of a loner's home.

Anyway, I told the lady that I would be available on the alternate scheduled date, which was a Sunday, and wrote down the details about when and where to meet up. After that she just hissed a goodbye like a civilized and educated person and hung up on me.

Truth to be told, I had got nothing going on the first scheduled date, but I wanted to make myself look really busy and knee deep in what I told Umos I was doing, which was a translator for some giant corporations in the city. I had to be consistent with my story, my life.

So we met up, at the east side of the Columbus Circle at ten in the morning. Sunday in the summer was sunny yet sour to the skin, and someone should really stop smoking.

"How's it going?" I tried to converse.

Umos threw me a stare and exhaled the mist through her wrinkled lips. "Follow me," she ditched the cigarette butt on the sidewalk so casually among the crowd, and skillfully rubbed the life of the flame away with the tip of her high heel.

We traveled seven floors upward and when she opened the door to the apartment, I felt dead inside my head.

I felt dead so that I could felt reborn.

"Now, we've got companies backing up on this project and the city is also betting on this, so this unit is free for you to live for a year, see it as a complimentary gift from me. But the people behind this will need to collect your opinions about living in here every single month, that sounds like something you would be willing to do?" said Umos.

"Sure," I replied.

"Alright, I'll put you on the list then."

***

I moved in about a week later. It had me dazed for a while with its merely 160 square feet of space like a standard freight container, except it had everything from bed to kitchen. Unlike those illegal immigrants that was shipped from oversea inside a real container, mine was way better.

Space didn't matter, the price did.

And while I enjoyed the free meal, there were a certain restrictions and duties that I had to follow when I signed the contract and the non-disclosure agreement.

Besides the no roommates nonsense, and the mandatory monthly interrogation by two corporate dummies and maybe another freak from the marketing department, everything went just as smoothly as one could get when living in a pseudo container environment.

And the view beat every other place I lived, along with the sound, the beat, the vibe of the city, it was at last, perfect.

Though I had reserved opinion about the wall, which they had painted it with a thin layer of pink. Not that I could not live without the traditional white, but seriously, who would paint their wall pink anyway? And when I tried to convince them to let me, or the worker to paint it white, they refused my request. And I soon gave up on the idea because I knew, I was obliged to keep the apartment at its original state as per the contract.

Walking

I came to the street where the market was in a weekday afternoon. It was raining lightly and the sky was bright gray, where the sun struggled to shine through even a slightest crack in between the heavy clouds. Sweat dripped down my chin under the hot and stuffy weather as My black runner shoes stepped on the wet and uneven rocky ground, I navigated myself through the path.

The street was crowded with people trying to find the right ingredient for the next meal. It was not easy to advance forward or look backward. People stopped in front of a tent and that temporarily paused a flow. I walked slowly, following the unmarked line while trying to get a look of everything put on display.

Shops were setup under a small, dark green tent. However, the cubical space was packed with products: fresh flowers, different vegetables and fruits, dried seafood and meats, and many more.

The eye-catching red orange light bulbs shown on the racks gave life to the products on sales. Especially for the vegetables and fruits, they looked even better as the rain dropped on them and reflected the vibrant colors on them. The red of the apple became fuller, the green of the vegetables became richer, the purple of the eggplant became a darker version of the grapes resting besides them.

The market, too, was thrived with life.

The old folks either sat on their little crappy plastic chair, or on a worn bamboo made chair that stayed with them in many difficult times. They would each held a big yellow brown hand fan or sat under an electric fan and listen to the ambient noise in the background. The younger one, though, stood with their arms crossed, glancing at the passing by, and shouted what they had to offer occasionally to get the customer poking into their establishment.

There was also shops behind these tents, those are bigger, normal shop under the concrete building. Many were closed, only a handful was open.

There was a shop selling fresh seafood. Fish, clam, crab, oyster, anything that people would like to eat. Those separated small tanks of water housed every kind of seafood, the space was cramped, not comfortable at all. I could see there were several fishes turning to their sides or bellies, grasping for air while trying to find a spot to stay. The competition ended when they were dead, or sold.

The slowly stroll on this particular street made me think of scenes from movies, games and TV shows. There was a scent, a trace of that cinematic effect at the moment, at that time. I could feel it right there. I could have captured it, and I did, in my mind. Now I turned it into words.

The atmosphere, the crowd, the products, the tents, the weather, the light bulbs, the wet road, the crowded street, the flow, the vibe, the surroundings, the ambient noise, the position I was standing.

Interstate Travel Agency

As Gomez strolled past a Ramen place inside the alleyway at a warm night, the stench of swine almost suffocated him. How could people endure the foul smell and taste of it? He hated people who ate meat, especially because he himself is a vegan. To him, killing animal is a sin that deemed unforgivable. Every single living animal that based their life on other living animals should be executed immediately.

No way could he not quicken his pace and walked out of that dark alley. The bright blue spotlights shone at him as he stepped out from the shadow, he was blinded for a second while the eyes adjusting to the sudden brightness. The main road was crowded with tourists and vehicles, they were on the street as well as the sky level. The vibrant neon signs and spotlights overhead rendered the place like a giant stage, everyone could be in character, everything else could be the props.

He squeezed through a line of Korean speaking in English and hurried to the next block. There he struggled pass another group of Japanese and Chinese, eventually reaching his destination. The Interstate Travel Agency.

It was just eight at night and foreign tourists from all over the state were already lining up for the overnight service. Most of them were coming from the Asian countries that have an almost inverted time zone, the state thought it would be great to open up the agency at night to process these people's inquiry and applications to balance the work flow in the day.

Ever since the US announced the visa-free visit to Asia countries, New York had been overwhelmed by the number of visitors everyday, and the limitation on crossing the state border had also increased the workload of the Travel Agency. The screening of the applicant to another state was as easy as checking their personal belongings and signing a good behavior letter, but the actually process was a nightmare.

The most common problem he had to deal with was language, the Japanese and Chinese had absolutely spoiled his bad temper, nothing he said or point at could be of any help. Sometime people weren't willing to let them perform a scan on their bag or body, which of course, in most case they carried potentially illegal properties.

The day off work was the day to sleep till his brain stopped functioning. But sometime he would take a walk in Central Park with his dog, Willie, and enjoy the peaceful moment at a corner of the city's paradise. It had been quite a year for him, he had been promoted at work and had his own place and a dog to look after, it was the most accomplished year that he could ever remember.

Bat Me

I had never swung a bat at people. Until now.

A baseball bat wasn't that heavy, but the swing from a powerful arm could deliver a devastating blow. Imagine you were hit by a bat swung for home run, do you get the idea? Good. Now, if the baseball bat was the only thing available to you as a weapon other than your fearless fists, would you not use that? I know I would, and I was.

My folks introduced me to baseball back in the days when I was still a 6th grader, I was in the little league all right, swinging the bat and running the base, an all around. When I was born, I remember we used to like the Yankees and watched their games together and enjoyed it, then somehow years later we were on the Red Sox's stadium cheering for their opponent instead. The sweating crowd and the soda that never run dry was the best I could recall. Bearded men shouting and yelling, too.

Something stirred down stairs and I woke up to the sound of it. Someone had broken into my house. I rolled to the edge of the bed and carefully stood up, not wanting to alert the thief of my presence. Slowly I walked to the stairs and peeked down and listened, the steps of that person, although very light, still distinguishable. The sound was coming my way. I quickly retreated to the guest room, emptied except the baseball bat leaning against the wall under the windows. I grabbed its cold metal handle and felt the grip from years ago still lingering in my hands, the moon shone on the bat and the shadow extended to the door. A human figure with a bat in hand. Pure evil.

Whoever intruded my place, would taste a heavy beating of a life time.

The stairs started to creak, I knew it was coming my way so I stood at the darker corner of the room, where no moon was lighting, only the shadow's passenger awaited. I took a good hold on the bat, as soon as anything poked into this room, I would smash it hard, like a home run to the center of the earth.

The silence went on for a while, the electric wave piercing my ear kept my alert. Sweat ran down my naked shoulder and soaked by my sleeveless shirt, my nose itching. A rumbling noise came from my bedroom, drawers pulled, wardrobe cleared, desktop swiped. I stuck on the wall and listened to every bit of noise made next door.

The steps coming my way. I held on tight to the baseball bat, it might be my only chance to get out of here alive. I knew I should have bought a piece when I moved to this neighborhood, but damn, I thought I would be safe with all the patrol details out there.

The light went on outside as I saw a familiar shadows.

Expecting You, Expecting Me.

[This piece of writing was probably inspired by 'Gone Home' developed by The Fullbright Company (Which I LOVED, most of all the voice-over) and the movie 'Blue Is The Warmest Color' (Which I have not watched, YET.). I felt most content about this one so far comparing to all the writings I have done.]

I promised my girl I'll be there with her tonight.

She was mending the bikers's lost soul outside a local bar when I first met her and she was that type of chilling witch you would never offend. Her wavy ginger hair looked fancy in a white T-shirt and checkered skirt under the spotlight. Little flirty and very sexy.
I was at the pub getting drunk as she sat next to me and ordered a beer. I lied on the icy marble desk where she stroked my hair like my mom used to, the sensation of being caressed kept my emotion at bay. I was a kitten treated right, a puppy deemed worthy.
As I sat up slowly when her hand left me completely, I stared at her with my dreamy eyes and greedy needs. She said to me in a hazy voice "Hey you." I didn't know what to say as my tongue struggled between the word 'Thanks' and 'Mom', or 'I love you'.
She grinned at me, showing her teeth in perfect condition. "Are you feeling better?" she said and put her hands on mine.
"Never better." I said, looking at her hands. She had such great nails.
"Why are you sad?"
"Because I can?"
"Because someone made you."
I thought about what she said, "Have we met?" Stupid question, I know.
"Not that I know of." She took the last sip of beer and exposed her firm neck and delicate bones to the surrounding.
She leaned forward and clung to my hands. She showed me sympathy, I returned her company.

We traveled around the states, always on the road, never settled for a place. She kept on giving out meds for the underground and underprivileged folks while I sidetracked about peacing off the girl scouts backstage with her.

The one year anniversary crept on the both of us, the day of remembrance was around the corner and we decided to go back, back to where we first met, the bar where I first saw her performances. Back then she thought I was the groupie, I reckoned she was just another pissed off girl scout searching for reasons to love.
I promised her I would be there after visiting my parents out of town. I had not told my folks a single thing about their daughter being gay, being a lesbian, being a fucking dyke like they said until that evening. We had a fight. We cried together. We hugged each other.
She opened the show at nine, already making a scene for the fans, I joined the crowd and cheered with them for her. The last song she performed was the one I heard the day we met, she dedicated it wholly to me. I melted as she gestured the heart to me and said she loves me.
We spent the night drinking while she stroked my bleached blonde hair.
"How did you know stroking my hair would make me feel better?"
"I don't know, but I just did." She giggled and danced and rocked the night away with me.

Hike and Days

Dawn crept up on us with its warm light caressing our skin through the tent. It was quiet outside, birds and wind were pulling off the nature's orchestra. Comforting as it was sitting in the tent, I woke Sam and Daisy to welcome the arrival of a brand new day with a little tickle on them.

'Time to wake up kids, no time to waste.'

Both shoved me off and let out a groan, and rubbed their eyes when sitting up.

'Morning daddy,' Daisy said, 'Morning dad.' Sam said.

'Morning, kids.' I replied, kissing them in the forehead, 'How's sleep? Still having the bad dream Day?' I asked.

'Uh-uh, sleep very well sir.' Daisy said. 'Me too.' Sam said.

'That's good. So, how about we get freshen up and pack our things for the next meeting point where your mother is?'

'Okay.' They said.

I took out the bag containing our morning kits: Toothbrushes, cups, towels in blue and red for Sam and Daisy, green for me. I slid open the tent and let the two went out, and gave them some water and the kit, they split up in different way and started brushing, I could hear them giggling at other's foamed mouth.

The sun was coming up fast, by the time we have finished packing our tent, it was beaming at us with its furious flame. Sam put on his favorite baseball cap while Daisy made up her hair for the white round hat with flowery pattern. They grabbed their tiny bags and we started walking to the end point. We came across a trail where big tree grown, making it easier, cooler to start the day with a steady pace. The road followed were mostly dirt, or rocky path, I have to stand close to the kids, sometime holding their hands when stepping forward to protect they from falling.

By eleven, close to noon, we were roasted under direct sun glare. We rested under a tree not far way in the shape of an rabbit with all its leaf siding left because of the wind, and we drank some water and ate some honey-flavored bread. After that, Sam performed an improvised but unsuccessful tree climbing, leaving Daisy stood there in frustration. She yelled at his stupid bravery and I listened how she thought Sam would hurt himself and be at the hospital with all his friends crying around his bed.

The heat flushed their faces. Weather was still hot although it was close to Autumn. They were both happy, lively and energetic. I wish I could have more time for them.

Rested and feasted, we continued our hike.

The moment they saw their mother's parked vehicle in sight they were already yelling and hopping back at the hill's top. The journey was about to end.

When we finally reached the parked Polo, their mom were not sitting in the car. The kids were worried, saying something about the mythical Bigfoot roaming in the area taking people. I dialed her number but it rang inside the car. She must have left it in a hurry. Where would she be when she knows her kids were coming?

I unlocked the car with the spare key, letting the kids inside to cool themselves with the air-conditioner. I walked around the place, searching for her while leaving the kids alone in the car. They are smart kids, they know what they have to do if anyone came around the car.

I called for her several times around the parking lot. It was quiet. My voice echoed. Bounced.

'Here!'

Guild Wars 2 - Chronicles of Tyria Shorts

Glenn Mark X, my latest Golem invention and the most invincible Asura technology, has been defeated by the inquest's identical module of my creation. I simply couldn't believe all my endless night spent on modifying and testing had been ripped away in this epic showdown.
My Golem was a total overhaul from the previous invention, it's the predecessor for the new generation of Asura. It has five significant part, from top to bottom: The Head, which is the center control, it perceives what's happening and give commands to the other parts. The Body, fortified with special material and equipped with a modified shield for protection last longer and utilized the energy from the Golem power crystal more efficiently. The Hand, coated in special made Orichalcum and crystal synthesized material, it's both light weight and strong and provides better maneuvers in combat. The Leg, with reorganized circuitry design, gains incredible swiftness. Most importantly, the Heart, the energy source for the Golem, was more powerful than ten normal crystal combined, feeding more juice for the machine.
Such design was never seen and would hardly be challenged in the coming years, but the inquest, the scum in the slum, is driving me mad.
Throughout the process of building this mighty Golem, I had done almost all the work by myself to keep it a secret for when something like this happened, I guess someone in my connection must have had leaked the blueprint to the inquest - a spy, yes.
Who would it be I wondered. Ever since I had worked on this project, I had met Tom the supplier with his minion, Jack the worker. Cat the alchemist, and a Charr with a name so provocative that I dare not say it out loud, the name is Shet from the Black Citadel.
Tom is a good friend of mine, we know each other some other day in the woods of Metrica Province. I was there taking a break from work to interact with the nature while Tom was digging ores. We chatted, exchanged some working information and he's been my dedicated supplier ever since. He doesn't seem like the kind of man who would mess up with the inquest, at least he's attentive when I ordered supplies from him.
His worker, Jack, is the same old wood from the tree, humble and hardworking, never talked much, always carrying the supplies without complaining. Maybe a bit too quiet I suppose?
And there comes Cat, whose job was aiding me synthesizing materials for later use. She could easily turn everything from anything without failure.
Sh... Shet, I never really trusted him, apart from the racial thing and his giant hairy body, he didn't really give me a sense of security around him, it is like his presence always makes me uncomfortable and afraid that he would just tear me apart with his sharp claws or eat me alive with his shake-like teeth.
Who is the spy?

Dayz - Boot camp

I woke up in a mist with dripping wet military uniform and lying face down on a beach where grass grew wildly, the wave kept pushing me ashore while simultaneously dragging me down. I rolled over facing the murky sky, then stood checking equipment I have: three pack of .45 ammunition were clipped around my waist and a .45 semi-automatic pistol held in the holster. I was carrying a black and sandy camo backpack, I went through the items and found three can of beans and a can of soda, a pack of six bandages plus an adrenaline shot syringe, a compass and a pair of sunglasses.

In distant the thunder groaned, the rain was getting heavier. I should make haste to some cover before the storm hit. I zipped the bag and ran toward the inner land searching for cover.

Going deeper, I faced the mountain half covered in cloud, making it difficult to estimate its height. Behind me was the ocean in roar. I could go anywhere but near the water.

I ventured into the forest with each step taking more energy under the rainfall, it felt like carrying a load of stones instead of supplies that weighted less than comfortable, especially when walking in these wildly grown plants which I had to shove aside every time I progressed forward.

After 7 miles of hiking, I spotted a one-story farm house uphill across the seemingly abandoned crop field a klick away. I went around the area for a quick scout and found no one in sight. I sprinted near the structure, crouched at about 10 meters away under a cart full of damp hay for cover. I listened and surveyed the site and looked like it had been unattended for quite a while. I could smell a rotten and disgusting stench even though the rain was falling. Dead bodies on the field resembled the shape of farm animals were decomposing, showing bite marks and trails of being feasted on. Some were showing bones, others were missing bones. Torn off by extreme force? What kind of beast this place have certainly terrified me.

I walked up to the house and tried the doorknob and to my expectation, it was unlocked and the room was deserted. I locked the door and threw my bag at the corner. The sleeping room was small, a bed and a drawer at the inner left corner, to my right was the writing desk, and a few cabinets to my left.

I lit a candle found in one of the cabinets and lowered the blinder on the only window in the room which faced south and aligned with the door. I found some food and things that might be useful: sodas, bottle of Aspirin with not much left, a flashlight with two batteries, two lighters and a binocular. I moved on to the drawer and to my surprise, the previous owner have left a pack of ammunition but no match to my weapon, still, I took it and clipped it because you will never know when it might become useful.

Going through the drawer, I also found clothing that matched my size. I soon stripped off the military and soak up the rain with a dry shirt then put on the civilian. I hung the soaking wet uniform on the wire overhead hoping they would be dried off by tomorrow.

I leaned back on the chair from the desk, picking up the papers sheet by sheet. It was about a contagious disease spreading around town and suggested the receivers to evacuate from it. A black and white family photo tainted with yellow was stapled on a letter - a family of four, father and mother both holding their children not older than 5. I gently stroked across the photo, wishing them well.

Random Encounters [1]

I buzzed in for the door, when it opened without asking questions, I was surprised. How low does the security get here?
I walked up to the front desk where the guard smoked in leisure. He blinked in recognition before I spoke to him.
"I reckoned you don't recognize me son? It's been a good long years since I last saw you. You are Jim, right? You've put up some weight like your old man did." The guard, probably in his 60s, slender with a face of white beard spoke in a deep, weak voice, "How's he doing? Still earning the big bucks at the auto dealership?"
Dealership? Dad hadn't been on a job for 5 years. It was a bit of this or that which made up for the living. "He's unemployed." There wasn't much to tell. I still couldn't remember who this man is. My brain just won't budge.
"I guess everybody's on their own in this unsteady economy." He took another mouthful of smoke and breath out slowly in my direction. He turned side-way and coughed in a way most smoker did, old and fragile. When he moved back facing me, he said "Well, what's your deal doing here at this hour then, someone you know lives here?"
"I am on a job actually, I am what you called an I.T guy, I help fixing people's gadgets for a living." I flashed him my employee I.D. "A client called and I am the only one left in the night shift."
I thought he would let me go, instead he dug out a piece of paper and a pen from the drawer and started writing his name and number. "Ask your folks to call me, I have something that belong to them. It's nothing but I am sure they would like to have it back." I tugged the paper strip deep into the pocket without even bothered to read it.
"What is it?" I am curious, "I can give it back for you."
His gaze shifted, thinking of something to reply but got stuck in his throat. "You'd better go now, people aren't going to be nice if they knew you'd take your time here chatting. They have got this camera thing set up all around here. See that one over your shoulder?"
It's there alright, I saw the faint blinking red light when I entered.
I slammed the button for the elevator. What was it that he wanted my parents to have?
It took me an hour to fix the problem the client was having and was half past eleven already by the time I finished the paperwork. I called up the elevator. It descended steadily until it came to a jerky stop when reaching the ground floor. The fluorescent light overhead flickered and went out; the fan died down. Then came the red light of death. Elevator malfunction. I was trapped.
I pressed firmly on the 'Alarm' and reached the old man at the front desk, he didn't patch through though I heard his voice outside the steel elevator door. He yelled help was on the way, and he could do nothing.
I asked him while pacing inside the cubicle space "So, can you tell me that stuff you want to give back to my parents now? And who are you? I still don't remember you."
"I am a friend of your family; your parents helped me once back when you were going to college. And I happen to have a thing that belongs to your parents." he said, "We met once at the train station, don't you remember?"
Walking down the memory lane, it was hazy, though I did recall sighting my parents talked to a strange man when I was buying tickets. Could that be him?
"What kind of thing?" I asked, sounded offensive.
Some one buzzed for the door, he went with a dragged footstep and in came the help. I was out of the elevator in no time.
He was no where in sight.
I fished out the paper he gave me, and it wrote

'Best Day Ever 1998/11/7 S.S.D'.

Ywrighting

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