An Excerpt : A Very Stressful Evening

Eleanor walked into the crowded restaurant and looked for a place to sit. She thought of sitting at the bar but that stool looked so uncomfortable; she doesn't think she'd get any work done if she was going to be too busy cursing the wedgie caused by her panty whenever she sits on high-perch stools.

"Ah, just what I need.", Eleanor muttered to herself as she walked to a table for four at the end of the dining room. It was situated right behind a thick wooden pillar with tree-like branches protruding out from the centre of the pillar and upwards which hung pictures of the establishment's many achievements in its heydays. This and the mahogany floor and furniture made the room resemble a hunting cabin, minus the embalmed animal heads of course.

As soon as she took her seat, the waitress came bustling to take her order and was off to prepare it in a jiffy. Eleanor decided she was going with her usuals tonight - coffee, and more coffee. Unlike most English, Eleanor does not share their inborn taste for tea. She finds it dull and it certainly won't help her stay up late at night during which time she most prefers to work and tonight is one of those nights where she has to burn the midnight oil, so to speak.

She has to finalise her story tonight. The case's final hearing date was in two days and she kept on changing the perspective of her report every hour. Her indecisiveness is making her more nervous, after all this is the first highly-publicised criminal case she's covering in her career.

How can she convey the case to the readers without sounding overtly bias? She tried to remember the details of the last hearing; the barrister put up quite a good fight during that session but the Crown Prosecutors managed to assert some form of doubt with their trump card which came in the form of a letter in the victim's handwriting which according to the expert who analysed it and confirmed that it was written under duress. That in itself managed to shake and weakened the case presented by the defense team. But then again, that proof is purely circumstantial. It still can't place a knife in the hand of the accused.

"There's something very fucking wrong about this case!" Eleanor thought.

She was getting more frustrated as she tried to connect the dots to make sense of this trial. At the end of another hour as the long hand of her wristwatch moved to ten, Eleanor decided to take a break in the hope that a fresh angle of the story will magically materialise itself in her distraught mind as she walked home to her ladies hostel at the end of Charles Street. Outside, Eleanor took out her crumpled cigarette packet from the outer pocket of her brown satchel bag and lighted a stick.

"Wonderful. It's my first high-profile story and I can't even get it right. So much for all those years I spent in school. Bloody hell!", Eleanor's sarcasm took a drastic turn to anger as she criticised herself for her lack of insights. After a good five minutes of this, Eleanor's attention was diverted back to her eerily quiet surroundings. As she walked down the dimly lighted street, she noticed that it was getting quieter by the minute, the air was so still she felt as if she was all alone in this world.

"I should have left the restaurant earlier", Eleanor thought while picking up her walking pace. This quietness is very unlikely for a Friday night especially around this area in Croydon. Usually, the streets will be filled with couples briskly walking hand-in-hand or the drunkards hopping from one pub to another. It was the year 1938 and parties happened in all parts of London almost every night. The impending war saw a sudden surge of men in uniforms; soldiers convalesced in every part of Greater London. 

As she reached the gate to her hostel building, great billowing black smoke suddenly surrounded her and brought excruciating pain to her eyes. Eleanor reacted instinctively and crouched down on the ground only to feel it disappear beneath her feet.

She was falling into a deep abyss, one she felt would never end. Her throat burned with the smoke she had inhaled before that. She felt her body go cold and her insides tingling then suddenly, she was not hurtling through the darkness anymore. Her body landed with a thud on a cold, misty ground. The smell of grass wafted through her nose. 

"Bah!!! Couldn't you wait until she reached her room at least you bloody clot?" a female voice spoke in an irate tone.

"Wot? You expect me to waltz into a female hostel and take her from there? Are you nuts, woman? That would've gotten more attention than just taking her on the street.", replied a squeaky-voiced man. 

Eleanor who had been listening in silence while she laid face-down on the ground spoke for the first time, "What's happening? Where am I? What...", her voice drifted off as a sudden overwhelming feeling of nausea overcame her. She pushed herself up with her arms and retched violently. 

"There, there.", the irate woman crouched down beside Eleanor and her voice became surprisingly soft when she said this, while her hand rubbed Eleanor's back. After a few minutes of vomiting the contents of her stomach onto the grass, which includes all the coffee she drank earlier that evening, Eleanor felt her stomach empty and the vomiting stopped.

Wiping her mouth on her sleeve, Eleanor then repeated her question, "Where am I?"

"You're safe, Eleanor. That's where you are. If we had not come for you tonight as we did, you'd have seen the last of your life tomorrow.", said the woman matter-of-factly.

The man who was silently watching them added to this, "She's right, Eleanor. We've been watching you for weeks before...", 

"Watching me for weeks? For weeks? Why the hell would you watch me? What's happening? I don't understand. I was just walking down the street and the stupid smoke appeared and I was suffocating and now I'm here. Please. What is happening? Why did you take me? What do you want from me?" shouted Eleanor who was quickly losing her composure from all the stress of the evening that lead her here. It was a very stressful evening, indeed. 

...

This was written in the span of a few days. I had to do some research about the grounds of Croydon in the 1930s (I've never been there obviously). I had fun writing this though. I've always wanted to write a novel and well, I guess this is a start. This foundation that I've laid will probably change as I delve deeper into the story and after I strengthen the plots but before I do all that, I shall need to take a bath first. Until later. 

The writer who needs a good bath,

SFK

Saturday, 10.53am