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  1. #1
    Veteran Enthusiast

    Join Date
    Mar 2008
    Perth, WA

    The Two Sides of Blue - Re Write (3rd Person)

    Chapter 1 – Loneliness and Constant Failure

    James breathed a sigh of relief as he walked through the door to his modest one bedroom, one bathroom apartment.

    “Another hard day at the office”, he thought.

    No welcome home came for James as he entered the apartment, no children running out of their rooms to hug him, no wife to breathe a relief soaked sigh of her own for his return home from the dangers of the streets of Los Angeles. Not even a dog to loyally run to him and barrage him with an assault of licks. Nothing but loneliness filled this apartment, willing and ready to draw him into its caliginous depths.
    James sat down on the couch, left with his thoughts, constantly pondering about the thick stacks of cases, those solved and those that still remained a mystery. They infuriated him, laughed at him, and haunted his every waking moment. Everywhere he went, James saw a suspect.

    “No one is to be trusted,” he thought. “Is this why I am lonely? Do I have trust issues?”

    Who could blame him; it’s certainly easy 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 large corporations.
    For an outsider looking in, California is paradise. Great weather, beautiful people, and who could forget the big lights of Hollywood.
    But James sees the city for what it really is.

    “I guess I’m just as much of a phony as this city,” he breathed to himself, sighing.

    People look at James and see a happy go lucky bachelor, free to his own decisions and able to come and go as he pleases.
    But you and I know that this is not the case. Well, I know, you will find out.

    For James, failure is inevitable. He’s stuck, unable to escape failure, just as he cannot seem to find an escape from the lonely void his life has become. Infinite crimes, with finite time to solve or prevent them. Everywhere he looks, newspapers, television or even conversing with strangers, reminders of his failures are thrown in his face. Often he glances upwards, and asks God why?

    “Why do you like to watch me suffer?” James asks, knowing no answer will come down from the heavens.

    James removes his coat; a cool breeze blows through the apartment from the bathroom, and he shivers whilst he hangs it up on the rack next to the front door. He makes his way over to the couch.

    “My one sanctuary,” he thought. “The only place that truly feels at home. The one place I am comfortable.”

    He reaches for the remote, hand tapping the couch, fumbling in the darkness, hoping the television will drown out the constant negative thoughts. His hand brushes against something hard and cool, he lifts the remote, and turns the television on, the click echoes around the hollow apartment, the radiating screen is the only source of light in the dark space. It cast large shadows of James on the wall, sitting on the couch, alone.
    It took only seconds of the late night news for James to violently jab at the off button.

    “Police are still in search of the culprits responsible for the mass brawl, but from what this reporter can gather, it was yet another gang related incident.”

    “Gang related,” he thought, they were two words which followed him through all of his cases.

    “The scene suggests that once again, the two notorious gangs in our once safe city of Los Angeles were involved. This reporter can only wonder, what are the police doing?”

    With that the television flickered off, and the apartment grew dark once more. James tossed the remote aside, stood and made his way to the kitchen. He prepared himself for bed, slipping into his underwear. A normal man would go for a glass of warm milk; James reached for the bottle of scotch. His hand reached for a low ball glass, but stopped. Instead he turned, and took the bottle to the bedroom.
    After a few swigs, he laid his head on his bed, falling asleep with the dirty stench of scotch still emanating from his mouth.

    James woke up, sprawled all over his bed; a raspy cough escapes his throat, his mouth filled with the taste of dry, mouldy scotch. He yawned loudly as he flicked his legs out of bed and stood, stretching. He was a fairly tall man, about six foot two inches, with a muscular build. His jet black hair was messy and unkempt, and he had thick black stubble lining his jaw and surrounding the thin crease of his mouth. Violent green eyes stared out at the world with a melancholic look.

    “Another day filled with failure and misery...” he started as he made his way into the bathroom. “Sorry, that was meant to be felicitous and mystery,” James said to himself, glancing at his messy face in the mirror.

    Those eyes of melancholic green were bloodshot, with the black sagging bags of sleep deprivation noticeable. His teeth were yellow and the smell of his body odour filled the bathroom. The spiky stubble scraped at his arm as he wiped at the dried spit from his mouth.
    He removed what little clothing he had, and leaned in to twist the shower taps. Steam filled the room.
    James loved the shower. It seemed it was the only place his thoughts go from senseless, convoluted, nonsensical ramblings, to intricate and precise ideas and reasoning.
    The drops of purity cleanse not only the physical being, but the mental self, and the steam cleared the brain of all plaguing thoughts. Unfortunately the euphoria is short lived, and as he twists the taps on and the steam clears from the room, he is dragged back to the barrage of thoughts with no order and no organisation.
    Work has already infiltrated his mind like a squad team on a drug bust, even though he hadn’t left the house. A heavy, exasperated sigh leaves his throat as he dresses himself.
    James wore the same clothes, sprayed the same deodorant and left at the same time every day.

    “Am I a creature of habit?” He wondered. “Am I stuck in a rut?”

    He swore to himself, as another thought added to the pile of the already overflowing ramblings of the day. Already his brain was tired, and it wasn’t even eight o’clock in the morning yet.

    James walked out of his apartment, double locking the door behind him.

    “What’s the point?” He asked himself softly, “Who would want to look into my boring, dismal life?”

    There wasn’t much to be seen in that apartment, no worldly possessions or anything of true value. Just the constant day to day necessities of a man who is stuck in the void of his life.
    He stumbled down the stairs, rushing once again. A beautiful sunny day, the normal for California, but it was not so for James Carlyle. Clouds hang over his head, and torrential rain soaks his mind, filling it with gloomy, dreary and depressive thoughts.
    Another day brings another case to follow.

    “What will it be today?” James wondered. “Drugs? Murder? Assault?”

    With this gang rivalry, it is near on impossible to tell. Bloods, Crips, who knows who the next victim would be, and who the aggressor would be. Unfortunately for James, it chops and changes every day.
    He walked out to his car, only to witness the first crime of the day. A man speeds past in his luxurious car, tossing a piece of trash out his window, adding it to a city choking on its garbage and scum. And it’s not just plastic bottles and aluminium cans.
    Wearing the uniform in a city like this is like painting a target on your back. And a large one at that. As he drives, James receives his fair share of dirty looks, disrespectful gestures and even the odd lunatic spitting at his car, or at his shoes while he walks past. So much for gaining the respect of the people he protects and serves every day.
    Yet another sigh escapes his mouth as he steps into his car to battle the traffic to start another day at work.

    “Another day of failure...” he thought as he turned the ignition, giving the car life.
    Last edited by Stark; 02 Jun 2013 at 12:09 PM.

  2. #2
    DD addict
    Join Date
    Jan 2013
    Morocco, Casablanca
    What an awesome short story. I've read all of it.

  3. #3
    Veteran Enthusiast

    Join Date
    Mar 2008
    Perth, WA
    Not a short story, simply the first chapter. Thanks for the comment though.


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