1:
ROLAND
The sun shined
through the blinds; an illustrious beam which begged to be noticed.
No surprise, then, that the sun got its wish, as Roland stirred awake
from his sleep, put on his socks, and went downstairs for a spot of
breakfast.
Roland had an
iris of fire, always fixed on an object in a borderline obsessive
manner. His noir hair- always a scruff in the morning- gave away to
all employees that he was a Jew, with a fine selection of clothes and
items.
Although not
practicing, Roland kept a degree of his faith, mainly to aid his
survival for that particular day. His mind was always on fast
forward, and felt that he never had time to complete the simplest of
tasks. It was no use for him to finish his toast because in ten
minutes he had to be out of the house, an impressive building which
children viewed as a castle. Roland had no time for anything- not
even a quick chat with the local vicar, let alone time to commit to
anyone.
Of course, he had
requests left, right and centre to commit, most probably from his
mother, who lived about half an hour away in walking distance.
Roland's father
was another traditional and- dare Roland even think it- conservative
fellow, who insisted on reminding Roland about marriage and
grandchildren. To quote his father, "you are running on borrowed
time, Roland!"
Roland had no
knowledge of the future, and very little of his past. He refused to
believe in the absurdity of looking forward if looking backwards did
no favours to the individual. Roland's knowledge of the past had been
dictated to him, by pictures and drawings he allegedly drew of his
family when he was too young to hold a crayon properly. He was an
individual of such paranoia that he developed a sceptical, cynical
train of thought that attempted to derail any memory he had as
false.
In short, Roland
refused to believe he had had any experience other than the current
one.
Nobody could have
blamed him. Roland was portraying an existence with such repetition
and boredom that it was easy to assume it was his only day existing.
His geographical position, the town of Emerald Grove where a bus
arrives every ninety minutes, did not exactly aid the predicament. After all,
the area was mainly retired, but Roland felt as if he had to stay;
for his mum, his dad, and for his job. His workplace, an office
complex in Terrace Gardens, an area of financial significance in
London, was, to some degree, within his reach by an outdoor train and
two indoor trains. Seeing how he had to time the bus and the train-
which was also temperamental though not in the same way, say every
half an hour- it was no surprise all of this resulted in a sheer
assault on Roland's memory.
The question of
whether or not he decided all of this in the first place, would have
probably remained a question to the outsider's eye. It was rather
convenient that, either way, Roland had given in and was now keeping
up with the time. Literally.
So, Roland's main
priority was to get onto the single-floored, scarlet-coloured bus,
which would determine his ascension to live another day working for
his job, or lead him to a redundancy guaranteed to wreak chaos, and-
most vitally- rejection from his mother. As for the issue regarding
his father's reaction to his only son's unemployment, the thought of
puffed cheeks, red eyes and a blazing temper forced Roland to
shudder.
Roland was not
used to this, or even fathomed it. After all, he refused to believe
anything would happen involving his parents' rejection. He never
experienced anything of the sort in his lifetime, so naturally would
not and could not anticipate the heavy blow that paternal rejection
would bring.
In short, Roland
was new to this world, though his age of thirty-nine certainly did
not show this fact to any degree. Roland’s hands were sweating
and clammy, clinging on to his briefcase as if his life depended on
it. Last minute checks for his bus fare fed his paranoia; twenty
glances at his watch satisfied his insecurity. Once the bus pulled
up- the gateway to his private heaven- Roland straightened his tie,
as if the bus driver, with a stern, curt face of steel, would kick
him off for a lack of etiquette. Roland’s self consciousness
and his want to impress other people would ultimately become his
downfall, but it seemed to humour him. That was the main thing, after
all.
Points: 240
Reviews: 200
Donate