A is for Alphabets

It has occurred to me, as it has before, that I do not write enough. One of my flatmates has taken it upon herself to write a poem everyday, using the alphabet as her inspiration: one letter for each day. I decided that I should probably write more too and maybe I could convert her idea into something that would work for me. Though I enjoy writing poetry, if I’m ever going to write a novel I should write short stories instead. Therefore my new goal for the next 26 days is to write a short story every day that corresponds with a letter of the alphabet [going in order of course]. I was originally going to put it all into one word document, but maybe I will post some of them on here. For starters, let’s start with the letter A before the day is over [it is 11:23 pm in Norwich, UK right now].


After the last of the music had faded into the dawning sky and the last girls wobbled out of the club the lights turned on. This was Albert’s favorite moment of Sunday morning, flipping the light switch.

“Okay, come on. Party’s over. We’re closed. Get out.” He roughly placed his hand on a drunken shoulder and shook the occupant awake. “Hey buddy, move your ass.” The unfortunate receiver of the attention looked up through bleary eyes at Albert’s bursting muscles and grizzled beard. He jumped to his feet, throwing his hands up in the air either to steady himself or to show his nonviolence, Albert wasn’t sure, but he mumbled something that wasn’t entirely clear and then fumbled his way along the wall to the exit.

Two teenage workers were already picking up the empty plastic cups littered on the floor and placing the rubbish in a large black garbage bag. They wore thick rubber gloves on their hands that made them claw unnecessarily at the junk on the floor because they couldn’t get a grip.

Up on stage the DJ slowly unhooked the wires from his laptop and from his equipment, carefully binding up the speakers and the headphones and stowing them onto a trolley. Albert watched the manager, a tall thin businessman middling thirties, amble over to the DJ, shake his hand, and clap him on the back. Albert knew that it was more than a handshake, that in the slide towards the DJ’s sweaty fingers the manager had sneaked his cash payment of four hundred into his hand, an extra one hundred for staying an hour later than usual. The DJ, satisfied with free drinks and extra money at little cost to him, quickly passed the money into his back pocket and returned to turning off his laptop and wheeling his trolley to the small car waiting out the back door.

“Albert, turn on the outside lights, will you?” the manager shouted. Albert flipped another switch and another set of lights appeared through the open doorway, a bright sun that lit up a sky already tinged with yellow and pink.

“Man, we stayed late tonight,” Albert commented.

“What was that?” the manager asked, taking out a cigarette and lighting it. His smoke mingled with the crisp clean air, bringing an acrid taste to Albert’s nostrils.

“We stayed open pretty late tonight. It’s almost morning.”

“You do what you can for better business. That’s why I’m running the show and you’re not.” The manager flicked his cigarette onto the blacktop half-smoked. He was trying to quit. “Lock the door when they’re done. I’ll see you Tuesday night.” The DJ had finished packing his car and was just opening the door to get into the driver’s seat. The manager left Albert and walked over to have a final talk with the man before getting into his own silver BMW and driving off towards his trophy wife and bratty but angelic kids.

The janitor walked in with his yellow mop and soapy water and began sweeping the floor. The teenage kids had disappeared somewhere. Four large garbage bags stood outside the door to show they had even been there at all.

An hour later, just as the sun had risen over the tree tops, Albert was unlocking the front door of his suburban house and taking off his shoes, dropping his pants on the floor and flinging his shirt on the back of a chair. He hung his jacket on the cloak stand and then slid into bed next to his wife, who opened a bleary eye for him and kissed him on the cheek before drifting back to sleep. Albert lay there for a few minutes, sleep eluding him, too hyped on caffeine, but eventually he could feel the monster pulling the covers over his eyes. Just before he faded into dreamland he thought once more about how those two teenagers had sneaked away so quickly, but then the thought was gone and he fell asleep, just like that, like the flipping of a switch.


No real moral behind the story, just a story for the sake of writing a story. Let me know what you think!!!


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