i've decided to use this blog as a bit of a drawing board. some sketches, some shady characters, a bit of experimentation. here you will have the breathtaking privilege of reading snippets of works in progress. mainly it's a ploy to make it look like i'm writing a lot...transparent, i know.

also, you can comment. which may or may not be a good thing.

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Gabriel sat very patiently. He was sick of waiting but he tried very hard to look as though he was happy sitting on the hard, cold bench as he had been for the last hour. He caught the eye of Angelica, sitting opposite, and smiled. She looked away.

He sighed and looked down at his feet. White sandshoes. He hated the things. So ordinary. So inelegant. His feet looked like a pair of oversized dinner rolls, and he personally didn’t find them any more comfortable or practical than the shoes he used to wear.

He didn’t like white much, either. He would have preferred an all black ensemble, but if you wore black it meant you were otherwise affiliated. Sometimes he wondered why such distinctions were even necessary. Nobody seemed to care anymore; the uniforms certainly didn’t get the recognition they had in the old days. There had been minor reforms over the years to fit in with changing modes of fashion, but as far as Gabriel could see there was no style involved. No imagination. No sense of humour. At least in the past there had been the frills and furbelows expected of his station. Now there was an all-purpose white suit, white shirt, white tie. And white sandshoes. He sighed.

“Gabriel!” He heard his voice called out, and he stood up. Angelica gave him a look as he passed, a look that seemed to exude resentment and dislike. Except they weren’t allowed to feel resentment and dislike, so it must have been a trick of the light, he surmised as he walked across the courtyard.

“How are you today, Gabriel?” Marianne smiled as he approached, handing him a clipboard.

“Fine, Marianne. And yourself?” He signed the clipboard and handed it back to her

“Just perfect!” She smiled again as she countersigned.

I’ll just bet. He thought, watching her flick through a set of files. When is she not perfect? Perfect hair, perfect teeth, perfect everything. He looked at her feet. I’ll bet she even likes the shoes.

“Here we are!” She handed him a large envelope with his name on it. “Have a great day!”

“But I always do,” he simpered back, and she laughed. He got into the lift and pulled the wrought iron grille shut behind him.

He supposed there were negative aspects to every job. It wasn’t that it was a terrible occupation, but it felt like he’d been doing the same old thing for centuries. Day in, day out, helping others his only purpose, his only reward. There weren’t any other options, though – what else could he possibly be?

The lift stopped. He opened the grille and stepped out into another working day.