Fancy Dress pt.1

Holy shit, it's actually a friday update? Yep. This is something I am writing for English, when I'm finished it will be about 1300 words; anywhere between 1000 and 1500 really but, it's probably about 1300. This is only about 50o of the 1300 words at the moment but I think if it's cut off here, it can seem like my usual length stuff. Next week: The thrilling conclusion!

Martin West was just a man. I would, at this early stage, like to point out the importance of the use of the past tense in the previous sentence. It is very important. As of now he is sitting on the pavement outside his house looking very sullen indeed: his face a deathly cold shade of white, it seems as though there is something wrong, people swarm near him but nobody notices; the usual activities that you expect a sullen ex-man to be participating in. There is a good reason for this. He is a man torn asunder by grief; ropes securing his arms are tied to the twin horses of guilt and regret. To modernise this they could be cars. Back to the matter at hand; the man is sad, at least, he was a man. There is a story behind this strange, vaguely supernormal event. Here it is.

Martin West stood still, completely rooted to the spot and displaying many of the qualities of an oak tree. “Ah... Hello there.” He muttered, under everyone’s breath but his own. Before him stood Susanne the Debt collector. She stared him in the eyes, the kind of stare that made you wish you weren’t frozen to the spot by the kind of stare that freezes you to the spot. Then she decided to speak.

“You’re late” her voice seemed to be forced out of her mouth, as if it didn’t want to hear itself, which was understandable. Her voice was like nails on a chalkboard or for a less cliché approach; like an un-oiled seesaw manned by the two most determined children to ever exist. “You’re late, your money is late and Mr. Brown doesn’t stand for that sort of thing.” It was at this point she remembered that she was carrying a large knife and talking with her hands as much. “So?” She said, awaiting a reply from the now ridiculously nervous Martin West stood before her, “what do you have to say for yourself?”

“In my defence; there is no Mr. Brown, I have to debt to him or indeed anyone else and you have recently escaped from the local crazy house. I would very much appreciate it if you lowered the knife, please.” By this point of course Martin was so scared that the simple, speech limitations that came with being terrified had left him entirely, along with what there was of his courage and all of his sweat. He now stood like a statue awaiting almost certain death.

“You make a fair point, statue-like man, but I’ll have you know that the last man who tried to confuse me with tricky rhetoric died of several stab wounds to the neck” she smiled the smile from hell as the raised the knife as though she was fencing, “have at you, good sir!”

Martin could do nothing but stare blankly into space as the knife slid into his neck, for a brief moment metal replaced his muscle, his blood and his skin then left nothing. Susanne knocked Martin to the floor, sitting on his chest and continuously stabbing at his throat as she hummed an eerie song and the onlookers; all dressed as various animals, historical figures and such, stared in blank shock as the fancy dress party was bought to a halt.