"This is a ROUGH ROUGH draft excerpt of a new story Im working on, grammar and punctuation have not been edited; hence the double rough, Some of you prolly remember these characters. Reading this do you want to read more? let me know what you think, content wise."
Virtue heard the knocking at the door but thought it was part of his dream. He chose to ignore it and see if he could drift back into that special sleep he had become friend to for so long now. The phone now began to ring. This he could not ignore, he had to wake and see who it was and then he could resume his former bliss.
He unconsciously, or maybe consciously, wanting to speak with someone, answered the phone.
"Hello"
"Man, come open the door."
"Who is this?"
"Don't play with me dude, it looks like it’s about to rain."
The sleepy fog began to rapidly retreat. He abandoned all hope of returning to his peaceful sleep. Virtue recognized Horus’ voice as he hung up the phone and put on his bathrobe, making his way to the door. Virtue not only let in Horus, but he also let in the diffused, refracted light that fought past the heavy grey cumulus clouds. Horus was not affected by the clutter, or the stale stench surrounding him. This let Virtue know that whatever followed, whatever came next was serious.
“I have some coffee if you want some. It’s not the freshest.”
“Yeah man, I’m good.”
Virtue poured himself a cup of the two-day-old coffee and added enough sugar to drown out the bitterness.
“So what’s up man?” Virtue asked while he sat down in the chair and took his first sip.
“I won’t beat around the bush. I sold the company. Morbes came to me and offered me twice what they were worth, then they offered me triple for what the company was worth. It was a sweet ass deal. How could I say no? They wanted to keep the name of the company because of its reputation, and you know that’s all because of you, and that’s why I’m really here.
Hours reached inside his coat pocket and handed Virtue a folded slip of paper.
“It’s a check for 40 g’s man. It’s what you would have made in a year, plus a raise, sick and vaca pay, and something extra.”
This, in collaboration with the caffeine taking effect fully activated Virtue’s senses. He had held a job ever since he was fifteen no matter the situation. The idea of being unemployed had always seemed to be equated with failure. The idea of having forty thousand dollars in the bank, at one time, how much of a failure could one be at that point?
“What am I supposed to say?” Virtue uttered quickly as the cup left his lips.
©Christopher F. Brown 2011
