Small collection of sketches

The solitary lamp glowed softly in the midst of the dense Friday night fog. I walked quickly along the cracked pavements hoping to reach my destination as soon as possible. I kept my head down not wanting to feel the wind slap against my face. It was getting too windy now. Shutters slammed against their frames, leaves swirled around before landing in a heap and trees swayed, scraping and clashing their branches together.                                                  In the middle of all this noise I heard footsteps from behind me. I turned around expecting to see nothing and believe that I was imagining them, but, to my surprise there was a finely dressed man walking behind me. At first I thought he had          not noticed me; I was wrong. He lifted his head and quickened his          pace. Finally he caught up with me. "wh...who are you good sir?"          I stuttered.                                                                                          "Michael. Michael Greene."                                                                      "Why          are you out on such a horrendous evening?"                              "Ah.... Well I was          never really here in the first place. Good night to you sir." I          turned round expecting him to still be there, just unwilling to          speak to me anymore: he wasn't. Did I imagine that experience; was          it just a cruel twisted game of the mind on this lonely          night?                                                                                                    I continued walking on hoping nothing else of the          sort would happen again. As I turned the corner though, I saw a          black cat pacing around. My Nan would always tell me how unlucky it          was to see a black cat and how it supposedly brought bad luck and          misery. For a moment I stared at it hoping, like the gentleman, it          was an image of the mind. I looked away, telling myself that the cat          would not be there when I looked back. Slowly I turned back in the          direction I was walking and to my dread it was still there, staring          at me with vicious and deceiving yellow eyes. Surely nothing would          happen. It could just be a myth meant to scare naughty children.          With this in mind I started once again on my journey.                                                                       I soon          realised that I had nearly arrived home. The thought cheered me up          and soon I had nearly forgotten about the earlier incidents. I          slowly crossed the road, knowing that no-one would be out at this          time of night. Suddenly a bright light shined across my vision, a          horn blared, someone shouted and I....I just turned round and I knew          now why I had seen the black cat, the man that had never existed:          they were a warning, a warning I did not heed, or at the time          understood.

         Cautiously I entered the          dark, gloomy room. Smoke stains covered the thinly layered walls          glistening in the little light that seeped through the translucent,          cheap curtains. Slowly, careful not to hit anything I made my way to          one of the two chairs that occupied the room. They were both          identical, each with legs that barely seemed intact; in fact they          seemed near breaking point. Making sure the chair was able to          support my weight (not that I was that heavy), I sat down and let          out a sigh of relief. Soon my ordeal would be over.                                                                                If my          brother had looked when he had crossed the road I would not be here          in the first place, surrounded by cheap furniture and the lingering          smell of rotting fruit. Instead I would be home with him and my wife          thinking about how we were such a big happy family.                                                                                The door          slammed shut behind me, interrupting my thoughts. I turned round and          looked at the man who would organise the funeral. He was          particularly fat, with his belly sticking out under his shirt, which          was unsurprisingly smeared with grease among other things I did not          want to know about. "Ah, welcome sir to our very prestigious          funeral company. I believe we talked on the phone two weeks ago. How          much are you willing to spend?" I stared in surprise at the man.          He had not told me his name, he had not given his condolences, and          instead he just asked me what my price range was for my brother's          funeral. Was this how business was done with these funeral          companies; ask the pricing range from a client, show them the          different styles, give them time to think and discuss the          possibilities with other distraught family members and then move on          to the next person waiting with the hope of a nice welcome from nice          people? "Sir, how much do you want to spend?"                                                                                                              I turned          round to face the man and quietly said, "Five hundred to a          thousand pounds."                                                                      "Very well sir, wait here whilst I get          the different designs."

         I left the room to fetch          several of the designs available. The price he had offered was much          more than any of the possibilities cost; however I was sure he would          not realise and therefore I would make much more of a          profit.                                                                                On my return the young man stood up waiting          expectantly. Slowly I walked to the large plastic desk on the other          side of the room, and laid out the different options in front of the          man. He looked at them, nodding his head in what seemed a          satisfactory way. Then he pointed one of his long spindly fingers at          the design furthest away from him and said, "I think I will go for          this one, but I would like to take these with me and discuss the          options with my family."                                                            "Very well sir," I replied, "You          will have a week to choose before you must submit the one you want          to choose."                                        "Thank you, now where is the exit please, I have          to return home."                                                                                                              "My assistant will lead the way."                                                                      Once he had left the office I sat down on the old chair behind          the desk and breathed a sigh of relief. I was glad that the young          man had gone, however I knew that there were still more miserable          people waiting to be attended to.                                                   "Bring in the next one          please." I asked my assistant before standing up to meet my newest          client.

         "Mummy, where is          uncle?"                                                                                "My dear, he has gone abroad for a little while,          but do not worry."                                                                                                              "Okay, good night. I love you          mummy."                                                  "I love you too sweety, now run along to bed."          With that my little four year old climbed up the steps which he had          only recently conquered, before entering his room which he shared          with his little sister. Suddenly the doorbell rang and I rose up          from the comfortable sofa to go and answer it. My husband loomed in          front of me as I opened the door. "How was it?"                              "The man who          received me was very blunt and rude. Knowing that how do you think          it went?"                                                            "Don't worry soon this will be over and          everything hopefully will return to normal."                                                                      "I guess.          What did you tell the young one?"                                        "I told him that uncle was          abroad and we were not sure when he would be coming back."                                                                      "I          guess that will do for now, but we can't keep it a secret for much          longer. He will grow up and start to ask questions."                    "I know          but for now it will have to do."                                                  "Anyways, did you keep any          dinner for me? You know how hungry I get."                                                                                                    "Of course,          come through to the kitchen." We proceeded to the kitchen where he          instantly fell on the food like a beast suffering from starvation.          For a while I watched him silently, observing his every move. "Do          you think that the funeral will be well catered, when will it take          place and who will speak apart from you of course?" At first he          did not respond; instead deciding to stare at his half-eaten meal.                                                                      Finally he looked up and a single tear slid down his          well-lined face. "I don't know. I don't know. I          don't...know."                              Concerned I wrapped my arms around and          whispered, "Everything will go alright in the end. I think the          kids want to see their father."                                                                                                    "All right, I'll go          and wish them goodnight." He climbed up the stairs, his heavy          footfalls thudding and echoing throughout the house. After a while I          left the dark kitchen and lied down with a heavy sigh on the sofa -          awaiting his return.

         The day of the funeral came;          it was a dark, disdainful day. Dark clouds covered the sun and there          was already a small drizzle outside. I slowly rose out of bed, not          wanting to leave the warmth and stumbled to the bathroom. As I got          dressed, occasionally tripping on my trousers, I recited the speech          for the funeral. It was the standard speech, which I delivered for          every funeral I had to attend. Finally dressed, I ran outside to my          old car - a Ford.                                                                                                    I decided to listen to the weather          forecast, hoping that God would be merciful and it would clear up by          afternoon. "We will be expecting heavy downfalls of rain          throughout the day, with the occasional glimpse of sunshine," the          weather man reported. Great, I thought, another day of miserable          English weather.                    A good two hours later I arrived at the cemetery.          Friends and family of the deceased man were already arriving. I          should have been here long before they arrived, but I was sure they          did not that. Careful not to crumple my clothes, I stepped out of          the car and joined the growing fray of people. All around me people          acknowledged me. Soon it was time and I stepped up onto the          temporary wooden platform to start my speech.

         My          stupid little cousin, I thought to myself. At the age of thirty he          managed to get himself run-over. He had such a bright future ahead          of him. He was engaged, he was a rising star in his work field and          suddenly all of it was over. He was run-over and all of it          disappeared - like a puff of magic.                                                                      On the bright side I          would probably receive quite a large sum from his will. I had always          been there for him and now it was his time to pay all that support          back. No, you must not think in this way, I told myself; but, it was          no use my brain pushed down the thought all the way to the deepest          part of my Tartarus like mind.                                                                                                              After some relatively          short, and grief filled speeches people started to throw dirt on the          coffin. I joined and as I threw my handful of dirt, I came to terms          with the fact that I was actually happy about his death.                                                                                          God          may condemn and throw me into the deepest place of hell for it. But,          I am not ashamed - I killed my cousin.