A momentary bout of inspiration - a new story - 3.1
I think I put this down when I was feeling sorry for myself, or suffering from another bout of mild depression, that sort that writers get when they keenly feel their lack of progress, or simply because it takes a long time to perfect their craft, if ever.
And, of course, it's the start of another spy thriller and needs work
I had a fear of being ordinary.
I'd been that once, all through my youth, that fellow who was overweight and the butt of many jokes as only other children can make you feel so intensely.
For that reason, I'd retreated into my own world to escape the torment, and had entered university life quite behind the eight ball.
And if it wasn't for the interest Janine Westerbrook had shown in me, perhaps another tormented soul, I might have completely given up all hope of getting along in a world that I didn't really understand.
Study friend, and someone who at first accompanied her to the gym as support staff, to join her in working out, she was responsible for turning into something that resembled a human being.
At the end of that phase she moved on, I learned about how much-unrequited love could hurt and moved on to where I worked now, and the situation I was in.
Being ordinary I knew that there was not a lot I could expect unless I 'put myself out there'. Of course, the only thing holding me back was fear of failure.
I tried once, failed, but on a brighter note, had someone else feel sorry for me, and we struck up a friendship. The girl's name was Simone.
She was a civil servant working for a director of operations, through what sort of operations she didn't tell me. She had a job far superior to my analysis and filing officer in a dim, dark basement office, but that was, of course, secret.
We took turns to stay at each other's rather terrible bedsit flats and agreed that we would hang out together until something better came along.
There was never any discussion of a relationship, but oddly we sometimes slept together for reasons I don't necessarily think either of us knew.
That worked well for a year or so, then things changed. She had met someone new, and I was happy for her. I had told myself it was a finite relationship that always had an expiry date.
This was the topic of a short phone call on a Wednesday afternoon, as in the evening we usually went to the cinema. That was not happening this time because she was going on a first date with the new man
Perhaps she would tell me about him later.
© Charles Heath 2018