Leap Of Faith.
Hi, how are you doing, my friend? I hope you are having a good day, and enjoy reading this short story.
If this is the first story you have clicked on, please can you read Hidden Gem first, it is the first chapter of my short story series, and is connected to this one.
I am currently writing them all into one big story called, In The Pendent or, Independent or, Indie Pendant. I’m sure you can tell I haven’t fully decided on the title yet. So keep your eyes peeled for that, when it gets released.
Also the main character in this story, Max, is the same main character in a separate story of mine called, Gifted Hands, which is the follow on story of An Essence Of Time. I hope I haven’t confused you.
Without further ado, let me start this story.
I am sitting in my grandparents now old and lonely mansion, with a hope in my heart, that this beautiful place goes to a big family, that’s going to fill it with the same happiness and laughter, that used to course through these very corridors.
Glancing out of the big window to my side, and seeing my parents packing the last of my grandparents belongings into the removal van, with two of the company employees helping.
I am sitting at the dining room table, grabbing out of my backpack a story that my grandfather wrote, in his secret room. I open the handwritten story, and begin reading from the first word in the first sentence, on the first page.
Club music is blasting out from a tall black speakers, either side and in front of the DJ booth.
A mixture of smartly dressed men, with seductively and sexually dressed ladies, drinking in this buzzing nightclub, but most importantly having a fun night out on the town.
The majority of people in here are in their early twenties, full of youth, dancing to the musical beat. Everyone is enjoying themselves in an attempt to escape their almost dull daily life, the weekend nights are when they can come to life, their hearts beating with excitement, like the music playing inside this building.
Alcohol flowing, speakers pounding, heads bopping, hips swaying, hands wandering, booties twerking, midsections grinding, and lips caressing.
At the busy bar, an older gothic female bartender is pouring out a light-blue cocktail, from a silver shaker into a fancy-shaped ice-filled glass. People are waiting to order their drinks, shoulder to shoulder with other patrons, like sardines crammed into a tin.
Max, is a stocky built man in his mid twenties. He’s clean shaven with a strong jawline, freshly cut and styled dusty blonde hair, with his eyes the same colour as emeralds. He’s wearing a designer dark blue shirt, and an expensive watch on his right wrist.
Max is in the process of paying for two drinks, one for himself and one’s for a lady he has just met, but he’s definitely trying to get to know her better, and see what she looks like naked.
The young muscular, mixed-race barman, that you can tell looks after his physical appearance, puts a light orange cocktail beside a glass of rum and coke.
Max leans over the bar, attempting to avoid contact with the sticky surface of the bar from uncleared spilt drinks. Max is trying to ensure he hears the correct price, that the bartender is going to tell him, by cupping his right ear in an effort to block out some of the blaring music.
Max hears, “That will be fifteen pounds please buddy!”
Max hands out a twenty-pound note, which the bartender swiftly pinches out from his fingertips, the bartender avoiding contact with other rushing bartenders, quickly shuffling over to the cash register, to get the five pounds change for Max.
Max has a swig of his rum and coke, while swallowing he’s nodding his head to the music, and looking around at the many joyful faces, seeing a couple snogging their hearts out, now that’s what you call tonsil tennis.
The bartender shouting over the noisy atmosphere, grabs back the attention of Max, “Here is your change, bro!”
“Thanks, mate!” Shouts Max, that pinches back his change, that’s in note form.
The bartender has quickly moved on to serve the next person, loudly announcing, “Who’s next please!?”
Max stuffs the five pound note into the dark-blue bum pocket of his jeans, once done, he picks up the drinks to make his way back to the beautiful black-haired lady he recently met.
Suddenly it’s the next morning.
Max with a snoring inhale, hearing his dry lips smack together with a sudden gasp of oxygen into his lungs, awakening him from his drunken slumber.
Only a little bit of sunlight is shining through a slither of the open curtains, that bit of sunshine seems too much to handle, for the delicate eyes of Max, so he turns away while closing his eyes again for a few seconds longer.
The head of Max must be pounding with a nasty headache, after a night of consuming that much alcohol, which he confirms it is aching by groaning out loud, and placing both of his hands over his forehead.
The pumping beat of the music must still be ringing in the ears of Max, like echoes caught in a chamber, but no music is currently playing in this bedroom, just the thrum coming from electrical appliances situated around the room.
Max lays straight in the bed, he’s straightening himself out and opening his aching eyes, staring up at the pristine white ceiling, as he tries to gather his thoughts, thinking about what must of happened last night, but unfortunately his mind still in a drunken haze.
Max using the tip of his tongue, trying his hardest to moisten his lips, but his mouth is dryer than the Sahara Desert on a scorching summers day.
I can only imagine his tongue feels like sandpaper. Cotton mouth is horrible, especially when you don’t have a drink at hand, don’t want to be near anyone, talking to them with smelly breath, make you feel self-conscious.
The voice of Max is still a little slurred, and barely audible, “I need a drink.”
Suddenly an arm slides over the sheets, warmly wrapping around Max, cuddling up to him.
I stop reading just for a second, and feel myself being transported back into the mansion. I look around just to confirm I am still here, and not in the bedroom with Max and this mysterious person that’s beside him.
I think to myself, ‘Wow, my Grandfather definitely knew how to make the reader feel like they are there, every step of the way. I wonder what would of happened if he released his writing into the world, if he would of been a famous author, if anyone would have noticed, well I certainly have noticed and I am thankful for it.’
My dad comes into the room, giving me a big loving smile, while being followed by the two removal men. I smile back at my father.
They all walk through the dining room, and into the kitchen, there’s some big light-brown boxes stacked in there, that are ready for loading onto the removal van.
