Mark spreads out his head in palm of his hands, it's going to be a long morning. His tie is loose and his chubby red cheeks combine perfectly with the fat wrapped around his arched neck. Tuned to Radio 4, Mark looked up to the old clock on the wall, the one that looked liked it came directly from the Thatcher era.
“The safe seat.” That's what his high and mighty leader told him, “There is no way we can loose this one.”
“I've just been tweeted.” The soft female voice came from the radio. “When will you give us the results for the Green Party?” Who care about your twitter? Mark wondered, whose wanting to tweet her?
Geography, that's it. He could have been a geography teacher, at least that way he might have had a chance at gaining some popularity.
“The conservatives have lost Boemen End.” Mark threw his pen across that room and refilled his whisky glass. What's the point any more? he wondered as his eyes start to grow heavy.
His mind went back to when his was fourteen and dressed in his school uniform. His teacher pitched him against Hawkings, one of the larger members of his class; Hawkings excess weight would often leave him short of breath, couple this with his set of unwashed clothes and bits of food stuck in his teeth, you are left with a very unfaltering subject.
Even thought it was an easy win for him, Mark still debated his life out. In the foolishness of youth, he honestly thought that he might be in with a chance to change the world. How wrong he was.
Now a failed fifty something year old councillor, the once razor sharp jaw line has been blunted. What would that plucky fourteen year think if he could see his future.
Politics is a game, Mark had learnt; a game, like the ones you play as a kid, but here, you win or go home with your tail in between your legs and a place just for you in the hall of forgotten and humiliated souls.
He looks around his desk and come to the realisation that he must be the only ex-politician that does not have at least one picture of his family on his desk. Mark promised himself that he would get around to framing a photo.
Just as soon has he has started a family.
Deciding that it's too stuffy, Mark leaves his office and walks into his hallway, on the wall to his right is a set of coat pegs which hold up a trusty fifteen year old mac. Putting it on, he heads to kitchen at the end of the hall and rummages though three different draws before opening the cupboard nearest the window to find two half empty boxes of cereal, one large muit-pack of salt and vinegar crisps and a think plastic torch, with a clear see through body, and black grips.
Mark steps out of the front door and locks it behind him, he buttons up his mac, and switches on the flash light, the only other light comes from the moon desperately fighting through the clouds to light ground below and to give life to local werewolf’s.
I wonder if Miss Montgomery is a werewolf, Mark has never seen her at night. He looks down the street to his right, her kitchen light is on but the living room is lit up by the white glow of her televisions. She must still be up, watching the election.
Her cat walked up to Mark and circled, as if she was inspecting him.
“Did you vote for me?” He asked. The cat meowed in reply. “I would give you a 'I voted' sticker, but I've run out”
The houses on her side of the street look like they were lifted directly from Clint Eastwood movie. Mark's shoes made a clopping sound as he walked up the four wooden stairs to the porch. Even in this bad light, the ivy that crepes up on either side of the door shines with a dark green glow.
“Miss Montgomery.” he called as he knocked the door. “It's err...it's Mark”
There is no reply, the only sound to come from the house is from the wrinkled BBC reporter, patrolling across his studio as if he was some kind of president who has just won a war.
Mark chooses not to touch the pitch black gargoyle knocker held almost out of reach. If he woke any of the neighbours, he would be fighting on two fronts. One battle was enough for this year. He taps on the white door again. It crept open, as if the wind had invited him to enter.
“Miss Montgomery” he called out into the house, deliberately staying on the porch, the sound carried up the stairs on the left hand side and into the empty landing, eventually warping around the entrance to the living-room and then through to the kitchen.
Miss Montgomery's cat walks past Mark and gives him a respectable meow, making him jump in the process.
Spooky walks though the door, nudging it just a little. She's strutting her stuff down hall way as if he was some kind of supermodel.
Spooky's walk and her feline invitation is enough for mark to take in one deep breath and open the door fully. He calls into the house again.
“Miss Montgomery”...”Miss Montgomery, its Mark..erm, Mark, from across the road.” He steps into the hall way. The wood under the pink welcome rug creaked with Mark's body weight. This did not help his nerves.
On his left side, there is a small waist high cabinet. The home of a snow white vase that Mark had given her for her 48th birthday a few months ago. Some of the pieces have been thrown on the floor while the main base is still resting, where the vase would normally live.
Spooky pokes her head out from the living-room at the end of the hall and meows at Mark.
Mark, with some caution, follows Spooky's lead. He walks with his neck stretched out in front of him, as if his eyes were acting as a forward scout for some kind of army. With a final meow from Spooky, Mark enters the living room but stays just in front of the door way, he flicks the light switch that searched around the wall for what feels like an eternity.
The energy saving light took a few seconds to come to life, when it illuminated the room in its vanilla glow, it reviled the location of the quiet Miss Montgomery. It take all of Mark's willpower to keep himself from vomiting.
You don't have to read this bit, it's just here as quick note should you want some find out how this post came to be.
So I'm starting to take up writing, I began last November with NaNoWriMo. I wrote just over 10,000 words. While doing that I touched base with some other writers in my area who were also trying to do Nano. A few months after, one of the members posted a link to the groups Facebook page which lead to a number of courses that were free and starting soon.
The task is to turn on the radio and write about the first thing that is talked about. I had the misfortune to turn to Radio Four, at 1:32am on the EU election night.
After a few seconds of listening to a station that I'm sure is used by Scotland Yard to integrate subjects, the idea of a failed politician came to mind. The name 'Mark' was just a random name.
I then got stuck at about 200 words and called it a night. the next morning I had to take my mother shopping, I decided to wait in the car while she went around Sainsbury's. I took my laptop with me and started to tackle this again. After a few moments, Miss Montgomery came to mind, I kinda had an image of how she might look but I let Mark lead the way instead.
I've omitted the last two paragraphs, I am not happy with them, I might add them later but right now the current ending seems to be doing the job.