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  1. #1
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    The Two Sides of Blue Chapter 1

    Chapter 1 Ė Loneliness and Constant Failure

    Another hard day at the office, I breathed a sigh of relief as I entered my modest one bedroom, one bathroom apartment. No greeting for me coming home, no children to run out of their rooms and hug me, no wife to breathe her own sigh of relief for my safe return home. Not even a dog to loyally run to me and barrage me with an assault of licks. Nothing but loneliness, willing and ready to draw me into its caliginous depths. I was left to ponder and think about the stacks of cases, those that were solved, and those that still remained a mystery. These infuriated me. They stared at me, laughed at me, and haunted me. Everywhere I went, I saw a suspect. No one was to be trusted. Was this why I am lonely? Do I have trust issues? Itís certainly hard not to have trust issues in this city. Every corner has a drug dealer, prostitutes and the possibility of being mugged. Not to mention the countless acts of fraud and extortion by the big corporations. For an outsider looking in, California is paradise. Great weather, beautiful people and letís not forget the lights of Hollywood. But for me, I see the city for what it really is. Though I guess Iím just as much of a phony as the city. People look at me and see a happy go lucky bachelor, free to come and go as he pleases. But you and I both know that this is not the case. Well, I know, you will find out.
    For me, failure is inevitable, and I cannot escape it just like I cannot escape this lonely void Iím trapped in. Infinite crimes, with finite time to solve or prevent them. I canít read the newspaper, watch T.V. or even talk to strangers without my failures being thrown into my face. Itís as if God likes to watch me suffer. I hang my coat up on the rack at the front door, and walk over to my couch, my one sanctuary, the one place I feel at home, the one place I feel comfortable. I fumble around in the darkness, searching for the remote, hoping that the television will drown out my thoughts. The slight click of the T.V. turning on echoes around my hollow apartment, the radiating screen is the only source of light. It took only a few seconds of the late night news for me to jab at the off button on my remote in anger.
    ďPolice are still in search of the culprits responsible for the mass brawl, but from what one can gather, it was gang related.Ē
    Gang related. Those two words have followed me through all of my cases.
    ďThe scene suggests the two most notorious gangs in our city of Los Angeles were involved...Ē
    Before she could continue, I violently turned off the television, and tossed the remote aside.
    Not today news reporter. I could not take seeing that again, another gang related incident. They could walk into my apartment and beat me senseless and I wouldnít struggle. I could work, I mean, itís not like I havenít worked my ass off all day already, but I am tired. I made my way to bed, no shower, no brushing of my teeth. A normal man would go for a glass of warm milk; I reach for the bottle of scotch, take a few swigs, and allow myself to slip into a sleep with the dirty stench still emanating from my mouth.

    I wake up, sprawled all over my bed, the taste of dry, moldy scotch in my mouth. A raspy cough escapes my throat, as I roll out of bed and head out to another day filled with failure and misery. Sorry, that was meant to be felicitous and mystery. A glance in the mirror, I look terrible. As always, the black sagging bags of sleep deprivation are noticeable under my eyes. Spiky stubble scratched at my arm as I wiped away the dried spit from a night of sleeping with my mouth open. I removed what little clothing I had and headed over towards the shower. Ah, the shower, the one place where my thoughts go from senseless convoluted nonsensical ramblings, to intricate and precise ideas and reasoningís. The drops of purity cleanse not only my physical being, but my mental self, allowing me to think clearer, and be at peace. Though this euphoria is short lived, and I am dragged back to my barrage of thoughts with no order and no organisation. Work has already infiltrated my mind, even though Iím still at home. I sigh heavily, and begin to dress. The same clothes, the same deodorant and the same aftershave. Am I a creature of habit? Or stuck in a rut? Great, another thought added to the pile of the already overflowing thoughts from today, and itís not even eight oíclock in the morning yet.

    I leave my apartment, double locking it. Whatís the point? Who would want to look into my boring dismal life? Itís not like there is much to rob either. I walk down the stairs; itís a beautifully sunny day, the normal for California. For me, clouds hang overhead, and torrential rain soaks my mind. My mind is gloomy, dreary and depressive. Another day brings another case to follow. What would it be? Drugs, murder, assault? With this gang rivalry it is impossible to tell. Bloods, Crips, who knows who the victim would be, and who the aggressor would be. It chops and changes every day. And itís up to me to find out, unfortunately. Walking to my car, the first crime of the day appears before me. A man carelessly tossing a piece of rubbish out of his car window, littering a city already filled with rubbish and scum. And Iím not just talking about the plastic bottles and aluminum cans. Wearing the uniform in a city like this feels like Iím painting a target on my back. A very large one. Every dirty look, every disrespectful gesture, even the odd lunatic spitting at my feet drilled another nail into my already dreary life. I breathe a sigh of relief, as I step into my car, and battle the traffic to start another day at work. Another day of failure.

  2. #2
    Senior Member Sasha's Avatar

    Join Date
    Nov 2011
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    317

    Re: The Two Sides of Blue Chapter 1

    This is a pretty good book. It seems quite depressing though. Remember to alternate between moods of depression and perhaps neutrality or you might put people off. Just my two cents.

    THANKS TO SIMBA FOR BUYING ME VIP.


 

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