Her morning elegance she wears

A few days ago, I figured it would be fun to write against the backdrop of an alternate universe. What if I woke up as a different person, leading a different life? The results vary from the cliched to the freakish. Yet, here I am.

An alternate universe:

I: Waking at the unconvincing hour of redemption?

The radio-alarm cares not for man or time.
It's 7.17AM. It's unhealthy for me to be considering lifting my eyelids.
Some consciousness drifts in amidst the blistering pace of the Sun gathering its army of rays to intrude the perfect dark.

My dream -- in its fantasy World where my Kingly throne is surrounded by damsels, damsels and.. damsels? -- stares at me through my fast closing gap of memory.

Eyes arise.
I see the World for the first time this Thursday morning.

This Thursday morning, is joined by its companions - the January rain and the overcast sky. Although, I am unsure how to feel in regards to the pulsating urge to inhale some amount of air, it is musky and humid. Why can't I feel the cold of the fading winter that crowds around my curtained window, gasping for presence, desiring to ravish the warmth of my tiny home?

"Hum. Hum. Hum."

Ahh. The radiator is my best friend.

[insert section where location, characters and situation are described]

II: Yes, I work.

I work in a room full of boxes, dust, grey, and more dust.
My office is located along the busy street that surrounds the local shopping mall "Glow and Frings". As to, exactly how one might find his way along the busy street that surrounds this mall, you might have to ask a policeman. Or a painter. Or a cat. I just have no idea.

Every morning, my mother sends me to the office. With some amount of effort, I finally have nailed down the events that chronicle my eventual conclusion of arriving at the mahogany doors of "Primrose and Garlands co. (Flowers are man's best friend)"

1. Breakfast. A toast is always good. (noted: 19/8/1997)
2. Bath. I like the lukewarm shower with the occasional mirror mist frolic. (noted: 5/12/1999)
3. Car. Mother has said that I should always wear my seat belt further down my chest. The constant tug on my neckbone irritates the nerves. (noted: 1/1/2000)
4. I think the streets around my office are quite dirty. I just saw an old man have his breakfast of old jelly and crushed up cola can. (noted: 1/1/2000)
5. Fiona Apple was on the radio. I just thought it'll be nice to note that. (noted: 4/5/2001)
6. "Glow and Frings" is especially crowded this morning. I do suppose the office will be too. (noted: 25/12/2001)
7. Office doors. Here we are. (25/12/2001)

Usually, after opening the bronzed handle door at the entrance, I climb the long wall stairs that lead to the top of the shophouse. I enter my office and greet my assistant Melanie with a smile that reaches the tip of my ears. Then, I make my routine observation of the surroundings from the window. Our office window sits at a prime location between Greenwood and James streets. It observes the traffic light -- with its 30 second intervals and white crossed lines marking the street -- that signals the start of a busy shopping day for most of my fellow townmates. I habitually grab a chair and cut ribbons while I stare out at the urbanised setting, from the comfort of a 2-storey shophouse residing in another row of 1970-esque shophouses. The view is quite astounding. Today, I saw a woman smack her child for dropping the sacred coin purse he was handling. I should tell mother never to try that.

After cutting ribbons, I normally make a cup of "Instantly Ice-Cold Coffee (We only give the BEan-S-T!)" with an "Instantly Ice-Cold Coffee" packet and a cup of hot water. After my break, I tie the ribbons around pretty flowers Melanie has already trimmed and cut. Mother always sells these at the local market down at Home Road.

I like Melanie's face.
It is a round and peculiar face. She is very slim. I understand the two concepts do not usually go hand-in-hand. Melanie wears little make-up. She looks a bit like Renee Zellweger. I like that. Melanie is 27 years old, and loves to wear little striped blue blouses. She also plays guitar for a band called Primrose - named after our proud establishment of "Primrose and Garlands co." One day, if I can remember to, I will ask Melanie out. Maybe I should note that.

8. Ask Melanie out. (noted: 12/3/2009)

...

The story behind the main character -- who remains unnamed -- is such that he is intriguing in nature, and very careful with everything he does. It does come to the extent that one might compare the character to the popular private investigator Adrian Monk. I digress. My character has hints of lapses in memory. How long these lapses last, how frequent they are, I have not yet decided. The setting -- location of which also remains unspecified -- is rough and sketchy, with some degree of urbanisation at least. There is a reason I left out these vital details that might give some backbone to the ramblings that these 2 chapters seem to entail. I left this blank, so I could work on it further. I simply don't feel in the right frame to concoct a storyline right here, right now. This could work in the long-term, but first stories are always first stories. I didn't enjoy writing this one. But, I am pleased with how it turned out.

Are you?

P.S.: Feedback on this blog entry is appreciated. I am contemplating my chances in this industry. So far, I do not feel very confident. I feel like I'm new to a video game, and getting absolutely slaughtered even by the worst of all players.

Right. Off to covers, pillows and dreams of damsels now.