An Impromptu Tale

Raphael

I was IMing a friend earlier today and she asked me to try and write a story. Being bored, I wrote the following in messenger, and as it turned rather good, I reformatted it and posted it. Hope you enjoy!

As he pushed open the heavy door, the unmistakable odour of stale alcohol assaulted him. This place was a dump. Though it was still mid morning there was little light in the bar. Raph suspected that there never was. Sure it went against his understanding of rudimentary physics but....it fitted the atmosphere somehow. He made his way over to the bar, hearing the tearing noise of his shoes sticking to...something. At the bar he pulled himself up onto a high stool and ran his fingers through his hair, a nervous habit of his.


"What can I get you," asked the bartender, his back turned to the young man. "Vodka," he replied, looking around the room. Every eye in the place was on him, wondering just who the hell he was and why he was here. He was brought back to earth by the sound of a pint glass being dropped in front of him. "S'just beer. Nothing else." said the barman venomously. "Then why ask?" said Raph, meeting his gaze with a calmness he didn't feel. The man shrugged and walked to the other end of the bar; leaving Raph alone with the drink he hadn't wanted.


He took a careful sip and then grimaced. "Disgusting," he muttered, not loudly enough for his fellow patrons to hear, but enough to satisfy his urge to complain. He set the glass carefully down and then attempted to catch the barman’s eye. After a few minutes of fruitless staring he coughed quietly, the sound seeming to echo through the hostile silence. "What?" asked the barman, glaring at the young man. "I'm looking for the man they call The Monk." he said, stressing the importance of the name.


As quiet as the place had been, it grew more silent yet as he said these words. Gone was the clack of snooker balls, the thud of darts. It was if every man in that bar had inhaled as one, and now held their breath. "The Monk doesn't see anybody" replied the barman carefully. "Oh he'll see me," Raph countered, taking a piece of paper from his pocket and sliding it across to the bartender. The man picked up the paper and read it carefully, going slightly pale. Then he looked back at Raph who smiled at him politely. Slowly, carefully, he stepped out from behind the bar. "Follow me," he said, and then hurried off. Raph left a handful of change on the counter then nodded at the other patrons and followed the bartender out.


When he caught up with the man he was standing outside a shed in the backyard. "This way," he said, and then walked into the shed. After a moment Raph followed him, a curious expression on his face. The shed was exactly as he'd expected, containing the empty kegs and bottles that you would find in the backyard of every bar. What was a little unusual however was the trapdoor that had recently been hidden by an empty tray of cider bottles. The barman pulled it open and began to climb down a ladder. As soon as his head had disappeared, Raph followed him.


At the bottom of the ladder was a dark room, lit only by the glow of an LCD panel. The barman fumbled in the dark until, breathing a sigh of relief, he located a keypad and entered the access code. With a well oiled sigh one of the walls slid away, revealing a wood-panelled and exquisitely furnished room. In a winged armchair facing them sat a bald man in an immaculate grey suit. Flanking him were 2 armed guards dressed in black. Raph stepped into the room, resisting the nervous urge to run his fingers through his hair. As he entered the wall slid closed after him, sealing him in.


"You must be The Monk. My name is..." "Raphael Korland. I know exactly who you are Mr. Korland, but I'm afraid I'm at a loss as to why you are here." The mans voice was quiet, but it seemed to carry as much as a foghorn. It was almost as if the world quietened to hear him speak. "Roberts sent me. He was impressed with my work, and thought you would be interested in meeting me." The man thought for a moment and then smiled, an activity which his eyes did not deign to participate in. "I place immense trust in Roberts' eye, but there is one thing.”


Strong arms grabbed Raph from behind and he spun his head to see more armed guards behind him. He swore to himself, and then spoke to The Monk. "And what is that pray tell?" The Monk stood and walked over to the now immobile young man. "Roberts is dead. And you my friend, are about to join him." Reaching into his jacket pocket he produced a small handgun, which he pointed at Raph.


"W-wait! There must be some mistake!" Raph struggled against the men holding him, but to no avail. Again he swore to himself. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen, this wasn't right at all. He wondered what had gone wrong, where he had slipped. He thought of his family, his friends, his colleagues. But his last thoughts were of how black the barrel of the gun looked.

Le Rack

for some reason this all fits you, except the thought of you drinking alcohol, in fact drinking anything other than pepsi, it just doesn't happen.

BEAT

well I have told you before Raph, you are an excellent writer...there were a few cliche's in there I'd have removed but all in all its a good begining to a short story...or perhaps a novel
You have talent, I hope you dont let it go to waste

lilmissprincess

hey...what a talent! Jeez are you able to do everything? Dance,drama,use internet and write??? Quit using up all my career oppurtunities on me! (Only joking...)
Continue. You HAVE to email this to me....you know my hotmail addy...
Lisa