Albert stood observing himself, his pale face shone yellow in the light. The small window to his right clattered with the movement of the breeze outside. A spiders web was woven across one corner, a fly hung limply in the silver trapping. Rigor Mortis has not begun to set in.
Albert curled his fingers around the back of his neck, his eyes met his mirror image as if trying to recognize the man behind the reflection.
How would he do it? He considered this sentence mildly, almost amused. His mind erupted into a fluttery of movement. Classical, yes I’ll slit my wrists and let the blood drain out. Or smash myself to bits from the top of Westminster abbey, I’ll take a rope and tie it up on to the dining room ceiling beam…
Albert fingers tightened into fists, three raw lines were now visible long the back of his neck. The mirror images hollow eyes boarred into him. Silence hung thick in the air, the sun stained Albert’s face orange on one side. His face was painted, a bizarre clowns mask. Then the feeling was gone, as abruptly as it came the sickening twist of despair evaporated. Leaving Albert confused and guilty. Another morning, another tick of the clock. It was bearable again.
Okay, firstly I want absolute complete and utter honestly. Please give me criticism not kindness. This is the opening of ‘novel’ I’m writing, through I can hardly call it that. Albert isn’t a hormonal teenager, he is an older man of about forty-seven. He is also a Doctor working in a specialist mental health clinic in London. I wanted to establish his inner turmoil (dramatic eh?) right off the bat, a shocker opening but also a much deeper insight into his character, than anyone around him realizes. Similar to case of dramatic irony.
Albert is generally a very composed, very impassive person or seen as one. He works with mental health patients, but in fact is slowly succumbing to a type of madness himself . He is extremely isolated, through he has a wife and a son. He also lives in London, a huge city so he is surrounded by people. But that just proves to isolate him even more. He belongs to the previous generation, he way of life and nature has been swallowed up.
The story is about isolation, the disregard of the mental heath profession, the endless search for fulfillment, the vulgarity of human nature, the white washing of the past, freedom and humanity in general.
Thank you for reading and please give your opinion. I understand as a first novel and at my young age chances of publication are non-existent but I hope to gain more knowledge of the written word from it.I realize boarred is spelt wrong but I can't find the correct spelling.
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