[FF] Chance

[TheLastGentleman24]

Title - Chance

Date - July 1st, 2009

Prompt - "The Uninvited Guest."

 

Friday. It went as routine as any other day. I piddled about the internet at work while the boss chewed out some helpless, obese woman who probably lived alone with a multitude of cats. After I punched out, I hit O'Connor's with Eoin and Fiona. Headed home after that, and ordered a pizza, planning to sit and watch the new James Bond movie.

I was wiping the grease from my fingers and pondering the logistics of a blond Bond when the knock came.

That damn knock.

I almost didn't get it, figuring it might be some solicitor or a teenager offering babysitting services.

But, out of pure curiosity, I hoisted me arse up off the couch, and hurried towards the door.

And as the saying goes, curiosity killed the cat.

I opened the door, a gust of wind blowing a sheet of rain into the house. A man, not a teenager, or a solicitor, but something much worse, stood in front of me. He wore thin spectacles, wore a navy blue suit, and had a thin comb over.

He looked a bit like a... a... banker.

"Can I help you?" I asked, boredom in my voice.

"Evening, friend. I hate to be a burden, oh dear, but my car seems to have broken down. You wouldn't happen to have a telephone, would you?" He asked. His voice was strange, light and flowery, yet still almost authoritative.

He doesn't have a cellphone? Strange... I thought.

"Uh... Sure, follow me." I said, sweeping a hand into my abode.

"Thank you, I can't even voice it, thanks, oh dear, just thank you. I have to get home, I can only imagine what my wife thinks I'm up to."

"Yeah. Right. It's, uh, right through there. In the kitchen." I stated.

The man nodded, and hurried towards my wall phone that I hardly used.

I slowly shuffled back into the living room, ever so cautiously. I heard the man dial a number, and then silence.

"Jeremy? Son, p--"

He stopped.

Immediately, I had a bone-chilling premonition.

The man grabs a knife. He slips out of his loafers. Steps quietly into the living room through the entrance from the kitchen. My back's turned, facing the front door. He raises the knife.

I grabbed the knife from my pizza remains. I wouldn't go down like that.

I slipped into the kitchen, saw the man fumbling around in one of the drawers.

[/i]Looking for his weapon, no doubt.

Time to strike.

I cried out, and ran towards him, plunging the knife into his throat.

 

3 years later...

 

Patient Name: Seamus McMicken

Age: 28

Diagnosis: Hallucinations, Sociopath

Admitting Doctor: Maxwell Loomis

 

Patient has made no progress since admittance. He will function normally for days, weeks, sometimes even months at a time, tricking the staff. That poor nurse... He still exhibits random, violent outbursts, believed to be brought on by hallucinations.

I still remember the poor bastard that was his first victim. He wasn't too old, had a wife and kids... His car broke down.

Chance. It's a bitch.

[Eminence]

The flow of the writing, especially at the start, was very nice. The way you told the story, cycling through the character's inner thoughts, was well laid out. One question, though, relates to format; why put every new sentence on a new line? It disrupted things a lot.

 

The twist itself seemed a little contrived. It's an oft-used idea; someone striking out at someone else who would turn out to be innocent. We aren't really given any glance at the emotion behind the protagonist though; what true motive does he have for carrying out such a careless act? It's all too spontaneous; but not in a way that backs up the 'chance' idea - more just that it just seems forced in order to make a story out of it.

 

The final paragraph is way off. It's in the form of a doctor's report, yet the linguistic style is far from authentic; use of expletives and slang would definitely not work their way into there in such a manner, nor would the whole perspective of the report in general (chance, it's a bitch).