Not sure if this is the right place so feel free to move it but I wrote a short the other day using a few characters I'd like to use in further projects but yeah here it is, let me know what you think it's just a writing exercise I did for fun, but the narrative is very conversational to fit in with the main character who is on the radio. I'll post it in parts:
My name is Harry Moses and I’m going to talk to you for a couple of minutes about hobbies. Sometimes in life you fall into a hobby quite by accident. I suppose I’ve always been a natural nosey guy, in fact – hold that thought – I don’t suppose. I know I’m a nosey guy. But I’ve always felt I’ve been able to back that natural nosiness up with a genuine will to help. So, when someone asks me what I do for fun outside of work I tell them I’m a problem-solver. First of all they’d naturally assume I meant Sudoku or crosswords or something and walk away thinking that was a little perplexing for someone in their twenties. However, as word inevitably spread through the oh-so-enlightening mass media I began to get some fame for my so called “problem solving”. And, thus, I’ve now sat down and decided to document these so-called adventures as they come. At the time of writing I was dancing on that fine line between the early and mid-twenties, living in an apartment on the slightly nicer side of East London and spending five mornings a week hosting my own show on London Talk Radio. Something which earned me both a decent wage, a name as a kind of Z-list celebrity and the rather unceremonious nickname of Motormouth.
I have never enjoyed running by itself. Running as a team sport is fine, in fact it’s even better if the particular team I’m on is winning, but running through parks or on a treadmill had never been my cup of tea. However, at the time I was on a kind of fitness hype and I felt that after years of trying this could finally have been the year when I actually began to enjoy running and make it a habit. Researchers and scientists, in their infinite wisdom, liked to say that it took twenty-eight days to make something a habit, so in my mind I was merely twenty-one days away from making it a habit. It was around about two in the afternoon and after a few weeks of very British wind and rain we were actually getting some nice weather for once, which was giving me even more of that much needed fitness elixir – motivation.
I headed up a steep street and took a right onto an adjacent street that I hadn’t come across, I always try to stay away from the more populated zones while running, however my naivety of the local area had come to haunt me now as I found myself on a stretch of pavement that seemed to be populated only by zigzagging pedestrians, laundrettes and one stops. I soon found a side alley that seemed to lead me back into a more residential area and happily took the route; faltering only for a second when the alley’s charming, homeless inhabitant delivered me some advice: “ain’t no point runnin’ if you ain’t bein’ chased”.
I had the same brandy-soaked, toothlessly grinning individual in mind as I turned into a street full of plush, semi-detached homes. The thought of the weather-beaten philosopher was just about fading when I suddenly and quite literally ran straight into a woman of about my age. The force of impact made me skitter around on the spot like a clichéd ‘bambi-on-ice’ until I found myself crashing into a Nike Air clad heap on the floor. I looked up at my accidental assailant, who had somehow managed to steady herself and start shouting at the top of her lungs. For a couple of dim-witted seconds I thought that I was the recipient of said cries, however they weren’t meant for me they were meant for someone called ‘Alfie’, who was most likely out of earshot as it was only the two of us on the street.
I regained composure and pulled myself to my feet, after a second of dusting myself down I realised two things. Firstly that the woman in question was nothing short of gorgeous, and secondly that she was rather distressed.
“Is everything okay?”, I offered meekly.
“It’s Alfie! They’ve got him! My Alfie!” and with that declaration she began to cry.
An awkward second or two fell between us.
“He’s my…my…prized possession. My dog! I let him out into the front yard and…a…and I heard him bark and I saw the van pulling away! They’ve dognapped him!”
I looked around for any signs of a van. None.
“What colour was it?”
“Blue…” she began, “but a kind of light blue…kind of like the sky…”
“Sky blue?” I offered.
“Yeah….” And with that she again burst into tears.
As much as I didn’t want this hassle at all and ancient, instinctive urge to at least try and help a damsel in distress stirred within me: “Right”, I said affirmatively, “you head inside and call the police I’ll take a quick jog round the block and see if there’s any signs of a van. Which way did it go?”
“L…l…left” she blabbed, indicating the correct direction with a sweep of her perfectly manicured hand.
And off I set, sprinting a little bit faster than normal; to find a van that I was pretty positive would be long gone. I wasn’t quite sure whether a dog napping would be important enough to bother the police with, but then who else would you turn to in order to solve such a crime? As far as I’m aware Ace Ventura is completely fictional. The street on the left was completely empty of sky blue vans, and for a second I thought it was also completely devoid of life until I saw an absolute giant of a man checking one of the tyres on his own van. The kind of van that you’d often seen accelerating around a sharp corner after hitting the horn at an attractive member of the opposite sex. I jogged a little closer to the van itself to make sure that it was indeed white and that my slight colour blindness wasn’t letting me down. The Man eyed me suspiciously. I’d have pegged him at somewhere north of about six foot five, with a thick tuft of bright red hair which sat atop of a scowling, acne scarred face.
“Is there something I can help you with?” he queried.
“Well, I don’t suppose you saw a sky blue van come hurtling down this road at all did you?”
“What are you? A traffic warden or something? I haven’t seen no cars, bicycles or anyone come down here in the last ten minutes.”
“No, no, I’m not a traffic warden – if I were I’d have fined you instantly for being parked on double yellows for the past ten minutes”.
I headed to the end of the road for a further look, but my predictions of the van being long gone seem to ring true and I headed back to the damsel in distress’s home. When I arrived she was nowhere to be seen, however the front door was wide open.
“Are you there?”, I asked timidly.
“Y…yes..yes…come in”, came the teary, slightly warbling reply.
Inside the house was everything I’d expect from the abode of a contemporary woman in her mid-twenties and I sound found sitting on a leather armchair in a living room that was swamped with chick lit, iPads and modern art. It was only now, after she’d wiped some of the tears away from her flawless countenance, that I truly got a better look at her. Although she was wearing the shirt and pencil skirt of a secretary she had the kind of curves that even the greatest artist of sculptor would struggle to imagine, a classic hourglass shape that must have brought attention by the bucket load. She looked up at me with true, blue eyes which were only curtained slightly by her long, auburn hair.
“Did you see it?”, she asked.
“No, couldn’t see anything at all. You’re positive it went off in the van and didn’t run into a neighbour’s garden or something?”
“Yes! Yes! Alfie is a well-trained dog, I’ve had him three years and he’s never done anything like this.”
“Have you called the police?”
“Yes, they said they’d send someone.”
“Right,” I sighed, “well…I best off anyway – I’ve got a jog to finish”.
“Oh, well, he might have somehow found his way into the lady next-door’s garden. But, I don’t get on with her too well. She’s a little cranky. And funny up top to boot. I can’t thank you enough for your kindness so far, but you wouldn’t just go and ask her for me would you?”
I sighed, I doubt any man could ever say no to those true blues when they were fixed on them.
“Yes…I’ll go ask…”
“Great”, she smiled, “I’ll get the coffee machine on for when you come back”.
The house next door was about the same size; however from what I could see from inside the decoration wouldn’t have looked out of place back in the swinging seventies. A sharp contrast from the neighbour indeed. I knocked on the door a couple of times and eventually it was swung open by a rather sweet looking elderly lady, clad in matching slippers and cardigan.
“Can I help you, my dear?” she said rather stereotypically.
“Hi there! This is a bit of a funny question, but I don’t suppose you’ve had any dogs in your yard recently?”
“Dogs! Oh no! I haven’t had one since my dear Trixie died in eighty-nine. And with vets’ prices these days I am sure to keep it that way!”
“Ah okay, it’s just that the lady next-door’s dog has gone missing so I thought it might have somehow ended up round your way!”
At the mention of her neighbour’s name the old lady’s disposition seemed to turn from that of dear old Granny Smith to more of a bulldog that had had the misfortune of chewing a wasp.
“No. No that bloody animal definitely hasn’t been around here. Barking all hours of that night, perhaps tonight I’ll be able to get some sleep for once.”
And with that I soon found the door flung closed in my face. While a classic detective might agree that the old dear could well have had a motive for kidnapping the animal, it seemed to be a struggle for her to even walk to answer a door let alone wrestle a dog into her house.