Intro

A conversation that sparks one of the darkest stories ever told.

 

 

 

There had been a conversation, of that he was sure.

 

The couple who had been sitting at the table just behind Him had been fighting, and He had been listening intently. Though pretending to be uninterested in their loud bickering, His head was turned slightly as He eavesdropped. Apparently, the husband and wife had each been having an affair with an entirely separate couple; a sort of romantic coup d’état between four unfortunate individuals. The entire thing was too intriguing for Him to ignore, and He only wished He had brought a pad and pencil to write it all down.

They had both left, in a huff, through opposite doors and He was left disappointed that the argument hadn’t grown physical, for it would have given Him a reason to turn around and tell the both of them to shut up before making a well-pointed exit. Instead, the darkness of the night lingered just beyond the swinging doors as they were angrily shoved open. He rubbed His tired eyes. Was there no end to His disappointment?  A bottle of wine came with the usual large crystal glass on a silver tray. The waiter touched the glass down lightly on the table in front of Him. He nodded in thankful acknowledgement and slumped over an arm, staring at the scarlet drink as it flowed into the glass, swirled for a moment at the bottom, then ceased. His mind drifted, as it often did. He considered how bitter it would taste, how drunk He would feel after He finished it, and how miserable He would be upon returning home that night.

The restaurant He sat in seemed lavish, but in actuality was not. The crystal was really glass; the blood red ‘imported’ carpets were really cheap knockoffs; the wine was atrociously bargain brand, and nearly every chef who worked beyond the swinging double doors was an ex-convict or something equally substandard. Though, He guessed, if one could see the bare surface of things unlike, they might’ve found this place somewhat appealing, but was really just as cheap and half-assed as He was.

As much as He wanted to leave, it was raining outside. Beyond the window, heavy drops fell onto the cobblestone road, illuminated by the neon sign out front. His apartment was a fair distance from this place and it simply wouldn't be worth the trip. No, He thought. He would wait it out here.

To His surprise, there came the sound of a chair being pulled out and sat in. He looked up to see a gentleman in a spotless black petticoat sitting at his table, which was a rare sight. He hadn’t known gentlemen in black petticoats to stray around these areas of the city.

“Would you happen to be�"” the gentleman began to ask.

“Yes, most likely,” He said without removing His eyes from the wine.

“I’ve had a hard time finding you.”

“Well then, it seems I’ve done a good job evading you, until now. Tell me, what is it you want? Are you another story enthusiast come to learn of my adventures?”

“I’ve heard you were the one to come to for such things.”

“I am.” He thought about taking a sip, but it might be bitter. He hated bitter wine.

“Would you be so kind as to tell me your story?”

“My story? My good man, if you really want to know that, then my best advice would be to go home and never bother me again. There is nothing for you to gain by hearing what I have to say.” He finally took a delicate sip of wine and cringed. Bitter, just as He had thought.

“Please, it would mean a lot to me,” the gentleman said, his eyebrows furrowing as if there was a thought in his head that had been burdening him.

He looked over the gentleman with bloodshot eyes. An enormous handlebar mustache; that petticoat, and a comb-over gelled to sleek perfection. The gentleman bothered him. Something about the way he sat with his back straight and his hands folded; the kind of man who would pester him, show up at his home, on a relentless rampage to learn his secrets. And at the same time, there was something vaguely familiar about his presence. His head was already throbbing with the strain telling the story would put on His mind. But then again, He didn't have much to go home to, only a sleepless night, followed by a good day of excessive drinking.

“You look like you’re headed to an event,” He said.

“Maybe I am.”

He eyed the gentleman a little more and breathed a long sigh.

“I had better get some payment out of it.”

“Of course.”

“Well then, listen hard because my story won’t be repeated. And you had better order something to eat because you’re in for a long night�"something simple because these imbeciles screw up anything beyond microwaveable. Keep your trap shut. I don’t like being interrupted, try not to develop a cerebral hemorrhage, it’s not a story to be taken lightly and neither is it a fairytale.

 “I’m well prepared for it.”

“You had better be. This particular story begins in another world, in a place you’ve never heard of. A place called England.”

 

 

 

Author's Note

This is merely the intro, I wrote it on the fly. It probably needs a lot of work so please make reviews as constructive as you can.
P.S. neither of the men are named for a reason.

Reviews

[Taylor H.]

This was very interesting. I enjoyed reading this and I would love it if you messaged me when you added more to this. Thank you for sharing

[dissidia]

Wow! another awesom piece! keep writing, please :)

[Paradoxical]

I like it! It's mysterious and intriguing.... I can't wait to read more.... I especially like the descriptions of both the restaurant and the mustached man; great job!