The Tiny Light - Writers Forum

semtecks · 06-12-2006, 10:14 AM

(This is the first story i've written in a long time. Any feedback would be apreciated.
Ta.
Semtecks)

The scruffy man called Omar laid his palm flat across the contract, leaving a dirty hand mark on its clean surface. He scratched his stubbly cheek and chewed on his bottom lip, which was dry and flaky.

‘I don’t know. I just … don’t know.’

The businessman smiled, showing the perfect teeth that were his signature. He wore a red sports jacket, three quarter pants, and rose tinted sports specs. His name was Fredrick Grant, a self-confessed computer geek who had struck it big in the software boom of the mid nineties -- part Bill Gates, part Donald Trump, part Caligula.

‘C’mon – Omar, was it? – C’mon, Omar.’ The businessman held his hands out, palms flat as if showing he had nothing to hide. ‘It’s just a contract, just jargon.’ He flicked the contract to indicate the tightly bunched lines of small print. ‘It’s not like you’ll be losing anything you need now, is it?’

Omar slumped back into the plush leather car seat of the limousine, held the contract in one hand and looked toward the small mini bar. The street sped by outside the tinted window, passers-by straining to watch the stretch-limo and perhaps guess its passengers.

‘I’m not some kind of devil,’ the businessman paused, searched his mind, ‘Omar. I just want to do a good deed – but if I could write that deed off as tax deductible...’ He winked at Omar, the smile on his face now seeming stretched, almost a grimace.

Omar licked his lips, the sound like sandpaper on cloth. ‘I suppose – er, may I have a drink?’ he took a small bottle of cola from the mini bar when Grant nodded, chugged it down in one gulp. ‘It just seems kind of shady … why would you want my soul, Mr Grant?’

Fredrick Grant winced. ‘You can call me Fredrick, Omar.’ For a moment his smile faltered – but it’s hard for a man with too much money not to smile. ‘It doesn’t say soul in the contract.’

Omar read: ‘”And there shall be a trading of karmic funds upon completion of paperwork, agreement of parties, and transfer of funds.’” Omar raised an eyebrow. 'You want to swap souls?'

‘Okay you got me – damn, Omar, you’re a sharp cat; do you know that? You should be working for me. Company car, five hundred thou a year.’ Grant produced a gold fountain pen from his jacket pocket. ‘Of course, if you sign this form – half a million dollars, Omar. You’ll never half to work again – never have to sell big issues, I mean.’

Omar reached took the pen. He hesitated for a moment before signing his name in rich, loopy script, then again in typescript. He drew a little smiley face at the bottom of the page.

Fredrick Grant licked his lips, a glimmer of greed and desire flashed in his eyes. He was about to say something when Omar interrupted him:

‘If you want my soul – and I’m guessing that’s what you really want – then better make this official.’ He pricked his finger with the sharp edge of the pen and squeezed a single drop of blood onto the paper.

Grant took the contract, did the same, and then produced a solid gold lighter. He set fire to the edge of the paper, and let the whole thing burn to ashes. He finally opened the window and the smoke and swirling embers were sucked out in a sudden vortex. The deal was done.

Grant leaned back in his chair, laughed with girlish glee and lit a cigar.

‘These are new he said,’ wiggling the cigar between his index and middle fingers like a parody of Groucho Marx. ‘Japanese make cigars now – d’you believe that?’

Omar was silent, staring into, staring through, Grant.

‘Money.’

Grant pressed a button set into the door panel and a small window behind him opened. The driver handed him a case which he then handed to Omar. Omar opened the case, looked appreciatively at the bills then closed it again. For the first time, he laughed, his jaws opening wide, his chest shuddering.

Grant laughed with him, but nervously.

When Omar had finished he said: ‘So, why’d you really want to trade souls with me, Fred? Hmm?’

‘Religion’s cool again, Omar. Everyone’s into Kabala, mysticism, paganism, Buddhism – or whatever other types of ism’s. I thought it was time to join the party. But I’m not exactly white as white, needed to start with a clean slate.’

Grant didn’t have to mention the scandals, the lawsuits, and the rumours – just last week one of Grant’s major stockholders had decided to commit ‘suicide’ by jumping from the fifty-second storey of Grant Towers … through a closed window.

Omar raised an eyebrow. ‘Yes. Where I live there are many like you. Bad men who think they may buy their way into anything – even heaven.’

Omar opened the mini-fridge, took out a bottle of champagne.

‘I never had money. When I did bad things I simply tried to make amends, but it was too late.’

‘So, where can I drop you, Omar? You live on the street so pretty much anywhere, right?’ Grant’s smile was slowly but surely fading to reveal the unsmiling eyes and straight-lipped mouth of the real Fredrick Grant, who had slowly poisoned his father with arsenic in order to receive his life insurance and inheritance. That’s how he had started out.

Omar had tipped the bottle to his mouth, and took massive gulps as the liquid sloshed down his throat, the excess running down his chin and drenching his already dirty clothes.

‘I live far from here,’ Omar said when the bottle was finally empty. ‘A very hot place.’ Tiny contrails of black smoke dribbled from Omar’s open mouth, as if some inner fire had been quenched. The skin on his hands blistered, bulged, and receeded. He rubbed them together and small black flakes of burnt crust fell away.

‘What the hell is going on here?’ Grant’s lips seemed dry all of a sudden, and sweat poured from his forehead. He took of his jacket and saw large dark circles had formed around his sleeves.

‘Yes. Hell is going on. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.’

Before Grant could answer he felt the world lurch, and suddenly reel around like a bad carnival ride. Omar’s face melted, reformed, became the face of Fredrick Grant.

‘I was a very bad man in my time,’ Omar said, but now his voice was lower, his speech clear. ‘Not as bad as you, though. But now I have a chance to be a very good man. With your money I can change the world and find redemption. But you will have my fate.’

In his last moments on earth, before he was dragged down, down to the depths, Fredrick Grant tried to scream, but nothing issued from his mouth but thick black smoke and small tendrils of fire.

Nemo · 06-12-2006, 11:43 AM

Wow, nice - very nice! I've read some of your stuff a couple of months ago, and really enjoyed, just as I have enjoyed this one. I'll just say my likes, for there really wasn't anything wrong with it.

In the beginning I really wanted to know more about this Omar character, and thought that he hadn't been expanded enough, but it worked out just fine in the end. On the other hand, Fredrick Grant's character came across right off the bat. He's just like I'd imagine a man with his kind of job and background (killing off his father for money) would to be.

Also liked the irony in the end, Omar was the one working Mr. Grant, not the other way around like you had built it up to seem like. Nice touch. Well that's just the stuff I really liked about the story. It was an excellent read Semtecks, very enjoyable.

semtecks · 06-12-2006, 11:58 AM

Thanks for reading nemo.This is the first story I've completed since the last thing I posted here -- I wrote a quarter of a book, and then started on another one which i wrote about three hundred pages of -- but I really wanted to get back into shorts. I'm pretty rusty, so I'm glad you enjoyed it.

aliceedelweiss · 06-12-2006, 12:48 PM

Very beautiful plot. I've always loved stories that start in reality and slip right into nonsense. Very well written, You should try and do something with it-publish it, enter it into a contest. How many words is it? I know of a good short story contest that is coming up.

Quote:

‘I’m not some kind of devil,’ the businessman paused, searched his mind.

I don't think that makes sense. Maybe you should say "The businessman paused and searched his mind for *blank*" it would make more sense if he was searching for something, and not just searching.

Quote:

Fredrick Grant winced. ‘You can call me Fredrick, Omar.’

Change that to "He" It'll just sound better, repeating his name twice in one sentence just doesn't sound right.

Quote:

Omar reached took the pen

I think you are missing a word or something.. "Omar reached to take the pen"?

I really liked this

Awesome job. PM me if you have any questions or want to know about the contest...I'll have to find the info again.

Alice

Chris Miller · 06-12-2006, 01:29 PM

Hey semtecks!

Good to see you again. I would have recognized this as yours even without your handle. Interesting notion of the devil reforming. But now Grant is the devil and he’s kind of a prick too, so I guess we’re no better off. Grant’s motivation for wanting to trade souls with some bum didn’t quite convince me. I KNEW one of them was the devil from the 1st sentence for some reason. As soon as souls and contracts are involved…

I’d kind of like to know what happens now, like in Hell for instance. Grant will probably enjoy the job. I think it’s the devil that got screwed here after all.

Interesting detail about the Japanese making cigars now.

Few things:

“three quarter”
three-quarter (else kind of funny)

“You’ll never half to work again…”
have

“Omar had tipped the bottle to his mouth…”
Wrong tense, strike “had”

“He took of his jacket…”
off

eggo · 06-12-2006, 10:04 PM

Hey Semtecks,

Back to flex your short story muscles Eh? Glad to have you.

I enjoyed the hell out of it. I am tired and was going to save it for tommorrow , but it sucked me right in.

The only thing I think it was missing was a back story about the contract. How did Fredrick think it was going to work and who did he get the idea from.

I think that if someone who worked for Omar, the driver perhaps, told him about the contract and then somehow (lol) found Omar on the street, the noose around Fred boys neck would tighten quite well.

Just thinking a bit,

Pete

Strummer · 06-12-2006, 10:25 PM

You've got a clever plot here. It just seems more like a sketch than a completed story. Perhaps you could flesh things out a bit more. Give us more description.

semtecks · 06-13-2006, 06:08 AM

Thanks for reading guys.

It's good to be back. I didn't put a lot of thought into this when I wrote it, which is why there's a lot of plot holes (like why would a genius buisnessman choose to trade souls with someone he doesn't know from Adam lol), I was just forcing myself to write something to get back in the grove. And here I am, and here I stay.

Ta.

LoneWolf · 06-13-2006, 12:48 PM

Lovely story, Sem. Nice to see your work again. I loved the plot and the characterization and imagery were great. Ironic stories like these always make my day. Thanks for the read!

LW

Wyndstar · 06-14-2006, 08:59 AM

Hi semtecks--welcome back.
First story in a while, huh? Couldn't tell. This was great. Subtle, eerie and enjoyable. I see Chris got all the typos (blast--takes me so long to get on these days).

You pulled off a good comeback. And its nice to hear from you again, too.