A Story - Part two: A middle / A meeting (Archived)
A Story - Part two: A middle / A meeting
two out of three the aftermath.. Submitted by Alicia ( 234), age 16
Part two: A middle / A meeting
Office. Small. Fairly tidy I suppose. Old apothecary table – mid 18th-19th century?
She ran her fingers across the table surface. A thin layer of some insignificant substance collected on her fingertips. She bought her hand to her nose.
Faint smell of opium. Nice table really. And wallpaper. And chair as well. Wait a second…
“Is it done?”
The chair in the corner of the room turned. An angular man with a solemn brow sat facing her. She raised an eyebrow.
“Nice to see you too Professor. Any chance of a coffee?”
The sarcasm did not faze him. Neither did the slight ‘cheek’ that She dropped in. His face remained emotionless, unperturbed. Pity, She always liked having someone to vex every now again. She liked having stuff to play with – added interest you see.
He placed his hands on the table. He stood up. He tilted his head to one side. He squinted at her through granite eyes.
“I shall repeat myself. Unwillingly. Is it done?”
“Well, I do not quite know Professor. I mean a huge explosion is pretty hard to see after all. Especially with your office being so far away from the discussed site-”
“Enough”. The Professor said through gritted teeth. He turned around, cursing under his breath, venting his anger.
“Enough” He had always had an unpredictable temper. She had always had a great talent. A great talent in frustrating him.
She smiled - She couldn’t resist. She had crossed the line. In fact, She had just jumped right over it. She had angered The Professor. She loved herself sometimes. She truly did. This was one of those times.
“If I were you, missy, I would have a good mind to do as you’re told, when you’re told, with none of this cheek. Now do I have to spell it out? I-S – I-T – D-O-N-E -?”
“First of all, my name’s not missy. Secondly I-T – I-S – D-O-N-E and thirdly, ehhhh…huh…”
“Okay I can’t remember the third point, but it is done. Can I go now?” She said, gesturing impatiently at the door. Time didn’t wait for anyone. Not even her.
“Before you go, I’m curious…” He paused. He thought. He resumed, “ you say your name isn’t missy, however, for all I know, it could well be. All this time we have communicated and worked together, yet, I do not know your name. What is your name?”
“My name?” She laughs, “I don’t have a name”.
She said nothing.
“You must have a name. I mean…”
“Listen, if you really want to know, if its really and truly that important to know my name, if it will make you happy to know the name of a person, you most likely will never see again, then my name is Anne. But let me tell you this now. There are only three people,” she raised three fingers, “who know my name – one of which died, under ‘suspicious’ circumstances”.
“And the others??”
“Well one would be me, and the other you.”
She opens the door.
“Oh, and Professor,”
“Have a nice life.”
She smiles. Then leaves and closes the door.
Emma says: Love that sarcasm, and the short snappy way of writing. I think that really appeals to people of our age. The dialogue's great, by the way. Love the whole cliched "only three people know my name" with your own twist at the end. Hope to see more work by you xox
Sent on Tue 1st Feb 11
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