Golden

Emma dropped a gear as her aging white Astra struggled up the hill, at thirteen years old and nearly ninety thousand miles, the old Vauxhall had seen more glorious days. The car reached the peak and passes under a low hanging oak branch, leaves narrowly avoiding the cars roof. The car didn’t compliment Emma, (who, although a student on limited income, was always clean and presentable) as, unlike her, it was worn down and in need of a good wash. The wheel arches corners of the panels were going rusty, the exhaust was covered in a layer of rust and carbon and there was a large dent in the right door were it was opened onto a lamppost. It looked sorry for itself.
Pulling into the inns car-park, she drove into an empty row of spaces and yanked on the handbrake, it didn’t move that well these days. She stepped out of the car and closed her dinted door behind her. For the first time in near enough two weeks, the sun had broken though the clouds and saturated ground stared up to a blue sky.
She locked the disfigured door and walked towards the entrance. Emma was a small woman, her slender frame standing at only five two, but that simply made her prettier. Layered brown hair tinted with blond highlights fell down to her shoulders from above a well defined face. Choices of bright makeup and jewelry often made her stand out from a crowd along with a black lip ring in the left of her bottom lip.
The gentle wind caught her hair and flicked it behind her shoulders as it drifted across her face. As she looked up towards the inns traditional sign, she glanced at possibly the greyest blanket of cloud she had seen in her twenty years of being drifting her way. She sighed and walked inside, the whether had been so bed recently it was actually discussed as more than an awkward silence breaker; the rain yesterday had been so heavy it had woken her up at ten to six in the morning.
Inside, the Old Elm Inn was a very traditional Lakeland inn. High shelves running the length of the room filled with stoneware, Victorian bottles and mining oddments. The walls were decorated with pictures and paintings of various peaks and landmarks like the Bridgehouse and Windermere. A large amethyst geode stood proud next to the shimmering log fire, showing of the local interest in geology. She turned away from the collection and approached the desk.
The two behind the desk consisted of a short, stocky woman who looked to be in her late fifties and a girl younger than Emma herself, about sixteen or seventeen.
“Emma Williams, room three” she spoke with a little apprehension in her voice
The stocky woman came over “Hiya love” she said in a loud, local accent “weathers finally cheering up eh?” she turned round and got the key from the wall “there’s the key dear, I’ll get George to show yer up” she turned again to the door behind the counter “George, George!” she bellowed though
“Yeh?” came back the reply
“Will yer show the wonna the new guests to there room?” she said, still her voice echoing though the room
“I, i…i…” he sounded weary
She followed the man to her room; he had short white hair going bald on top and was wearing a light green knitted cardigan and polished brown leather shoes, her reminded her slightly of the old man who lived next to her grandma’s.
On the wall opposite to her room’s door, there was a painting of a middle aged woman; the frame looked old, maybe a little bit older than the other paintings. It was behind the picture that caught her attention, as it was dirty and yellow; it looked like it hadn’t been decorated for years.
“Y’know, she’s never bloody quite that one, every time it George, George, George makin’ the whole place shake, never been any bloody different” the old man grumbled on about who Emma assumed was his wife.
“Her ya go love” he gave her the key
“Thanks” said Emma as he wondered of down back to the room behind reception
The room was quite small, a double bed at on end, a mirror and table in the middle and a wardrobe at the other. However, its size didn’t detract from its charm, it had a small window, the type you get on dolls houses with the cross of wood dividing four the individual panes of glass looked original as there were little blemishes on the glass, not something seen in this day and age. Yet more pictures of local scenery hung from the walls and the Edwardian brass light switches had been left alone, adding real authenticity to the little building. The view from the window was beautiful, trees on one side with a field of snow pure white sheep on the other, until the altitude became to high and the terrain to steep; then there was the side of a mountain, covered in rocky crags with a narrow, rocky banked river flowing steeply, in some parts vertically, down its lush green side.
Emma loved the Lake District, that’s why she had chosen it has her tourism case study. She was here to gather statistics and interview locals and tourists for her tourism management course. Her work folder lay at the foot of the bed; she indented to get started tomorrow, now however, she was just going to go out.



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The first chapter of what is my new long short story. Its a 1st draft so there's more than likely a load of dumb mistakes in there, nothing really happens until chapter 3 so sorry if it's a little bit dry.


Thanks, Golden.

Knocking

Good descriptions. I like the innkeepers, but they are hard to understand at times. Keep writing!

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"We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for."

--John Keating, Dead Poets Society

Golden

Thanks Knocking, found that really helpful, i'll put chapert 2 up soon.