Post by busse on Oct 28, 2010 15:32:18 GMT -6
Sunlight fought its way through the tattered curtains that adorned the nondescript window. As it crept its way through the tears and frays it lazily played with the motes of dust that populated the atmosphere of this darkened room. A speck of dust would catch the light for a second and reflect the light in whichever way it pleased, slowly illuminating the room. The rays of light crept their ways over the many possessions in the room. One could almost say that the occupant of the room was a pack rat if the objects had not been arranged in such an orderly fashion. A coffee maker, a cigar humidor, a globe whose top was pulled back to reveal a mini bar with a good number of liquors inside, and a single framed picture on the bedside table were among the many objects that cluttered the room. The beams of light, having thoroughly defeated the raggedy curtains lit upon the surface of the framed picture next to the body of the sleeping man who occupied the bed.
His gentle snoring was cut short as the light reflected off a picture of a man and a woman holding up a small boy by his arms, swinging him playfully between them. "Grah..." grunted the man as he opened his eyes temporarily paralyzed by the light reflecting in his eyes. He picked up the picture from the table and rolled over on his back staring up at it longingly. He began to open his mouth as if he wanted desperately to say something to the people in the picture. There was a sense of urgency to his face as if he wanted to warn them of something as if this picture was literally a portal into the past at the time it was taken, but then he sighed, closed his eyes, and set the picture back down on the table face down this time.
The man, sat up in bed and stroked his chin, feeling the stubble that was there. "A clean shaven man is a respectable man," he said to himself, "People respect a man that respects his body." He rolled out of bed and wandered over to the bathroom. Once inside he thoroughly washed himself and then proceeded to brush his teeth and groom himself.
After drying himself off he strolled over to his armoire and threw open the doors, scattering dust in every direction. The armoire was filled entirely with suits, ties, and dress shirts. There was not even one t-shirt or pair of jeans in sight. He picked out a black suit with subtle red pinstripes, threw on a pink dress shirt, and affixed a dull red bow tie to his neck. Then he reached down into a small drawer and pulled out a monogrammed handkerchief. It read, in a fancy black script, Cain S. Sterling.
Cain examined himself in the mirror on the inside door of his armoire. He looked good, but then he always had to look good... He never knew when he'd run into Her. Out of the corner of his eye in the mirror Cain noticed his Doctoral Certificate hanging on the wall behind him. He chuckled softly to himself. He wasn't exactly sure why he kept that thing around, it wasn't like it meant much anymore, but he had worked so hard to get it, and at such an early age too. He had had his reasons for getting that diploma. He glanced over at the picture that was now laying face down on his bedside table. Those reasons would never be forgotten, and maybe someday he could return to that quest that had driven him so hard, but right now life was puling him in other directions and who was he to argue? He had Her.
Cain worked some pomade into his hair, straightened his bow tie and headed out the door. He had a lecture...no that was a wrong...a sermon to attend. He hadn't missed one yet and he'd be damned if he started to make a habit out of it now. He made his way into the great room where the sermons were usually given and took his usual seat. It was higher up, it separated him from the nameless pathetic cultists that actually believed in the yarn that She spun, and most importantly it was closer to Her. It was about to start. Cain leaned back in his chair, pulled a mahogany pipe from his coat pocket, and waited for the show to start.
His gentle snoring was cut short as the light reflected off a picture of a man and a woman holding up a small boy by his arms, swinging him playfully between them. "Grah..." grunted the man as he opened his eyes temporarily paralyzed by the light reflecting in his eyes. He picked up the picture from the table and rolled over on his back staring up at it longingly. He began to open his mouth as if he wanted desperately to say something to the people in the picture. There was a sense of urgency to his face as if he wanted to warn them of something as if this picture was literally a portal into the past at the time it was taken, but then he sighed, closed his eyes, and set the picture back down on the table face down this time.
The man, sat up in bed and stroked his chin, feeling the stubble that was there. "A clean shaven man is a respectable man," he said to himself, "People respect a man that respects his body." He rolled out of bed and wandered over to the bathroom. Once inside he thoroughly washed himself and then proceeded to brush his teeth and groom himself.
After drying himself off he strolled over to his armoire and threw open the doors, scattering dust in every direction. The armoire was filled entirely with suits, ties, and dress shirts. There was not even one t-shirt or pair of jeans in sight. He picked out a black suit with subtle red pinstripes, threw on a pink dress shirt, and affixed a dull red bow tie to his neck. Then he reached down into a small drawer and pulled out a monogrammed handkerchief. It read, in a fancy black script, Cain S. Sterling.
Cain examined himself in the mirror on the inside door of his armoire. He looked good, but then he always had to look good... He never knew when he'd run into Her. Out of the corner of his eye in the mirror Cain noticed his Doctoral Certificate hanging on the wall behind him. He chuckled softly to himself. He wasn't exactly sure why he kept that thing around, it wasn't like it meant much anymore, but he had worked so hard to get it, and at such an early age too. He had had his reasons for getting that diploma. He glanced over at the picture that was now laying face down on his bedside table. Those reasons would never be forgotten, and maybe someday he could return to that quest that had driven him so hard, but right now life was puling him in other directions and who was he to argue? He had Her.
Cain worked some pomade into his hair, straightened his bow tie and headed out the door. He had a lecture...no that was a wrong...a sermon to attend. He hadn't missed one yet and he'd be damned if he started to make a habit out of it now. He made his way into the great room where the sermons were usually given and took his usual seat. It was higher up, it separated him from the nameless pathetic cultists that actually believed in the yarn that She spun, and most importantly it was closer to Her. It was about to start. Cain leaned back in his chair, pulled a mahogany pipe from his coat pocket, and waited for the show to start.