The Last Day.

Written By Thomas David Priestley

Dear Mr Kristofferson

We write with regard to the publication of MUSIC OF THE DAMNED.

We have sent you our information letter outlining our publication stystem, so you are familiar with our method of author funded publishing. We are peased to be able to tell you that our editorial department has recommended acceptance of your book book for publication.

In the case of your novel, the payment to cover the publicatiobn would be £3,400. This would usually be paid in four equal installments as follows:

£850 on signing the contract

£850 on your approval of the edited manuscript

£850 on your approval of the page proofs

£850 on printing.

The book would be presented flat bound, with a reinforced gloss paperback cover and a full colour design.

This figure covers publication both in the UK and the USA.

If our programme meetes with your approval please let us know, and we will be pleased to prepare and send you a contract for the publication of MUSIC OF THE DAMNED.

David Kristofferson read the letter he held in his hands over 3 times, filled with excitement, joy, nervousness, disbelief and alltogether pride as he grinned for the first time in over a month. Within six short years of writing his magnum opus, he begrudgingly sent off numerous copies of his novel at the behest of his freinds and family, and now, after numerous rejection letters, he finally recieved the news he had been waiting for. His book that he had worked, sweated and isolated himself from everyone to get finished was soon to be published.

"I suppose you'll be leaving us then!" Christopher said to him, the hairless, chinless and diminutive manager of the shoe shop that David had worked at for almost a decade of his life. He was definately set on leaving, that was a certainty, no longer would he have to suffer the brain dead customers who waltzed in and out of the shop every single day of the week and no longer would he have to commute to his place of work on the 56 bus every morning of his life. Now he had a vocation and even more important an existence. After a couple of weeks, he was sent another letter inviting him down to his publishers building in London to discuss the process of having his work edited, advertised, airbrushed, printed and blurbed to his own satisfaction, yet the only thing now that was standing in his way was the task of having to get through his last day of work, and what a day it would be. He awoke earlier than usual, barely getting any sleep the night before, due to him brimming with the nervous, electric excitement and wishful thinking that the day would be over before he knew it.

He dressed, brushed his teeth, combed his hair and after shedding a variable load in the bowl of his toilet, he cllimed down the stairs, made himself a slice of toast and a lukewarm coffee then headed out the door to the bus stop across the road from his house. He waited impatiently with another commuter, a woman of ravaged age who constantly bitched down her mobile phone to a sibling. David simply roled his eyes and checked his watch for the eight hundreth time. Where the hell was this goddamned bus? It was very rarely on time but this was taking the piss, he didn't know what irritated him more, the fact that the bus had virtually disappeared or at the sickening notion that he actually wanted to get to work for once, after swearing under his breathe and failing to resist the unopened carton of cigarettes in his jacket pocket, as soon as lit the tip of his first cigarette of the day the bus suddenly lurched up the hill, cutting through the icey fog that had virtually blinded David for the past half an hour. The bus parked decrepitly and the doors lurched open. "Wow! What a swift and speedy schedule you bus drivers must keep, by this rate I'll get to work before it opens!" David spouted sarcastically, the bus driver shook his head in disapproval. "If you don't like it, get a fucking taxi next time!", "Don't tempt me!" David muttered under his breathe as he stepped aloft the empty bus, dropped his change on the black plastic slab by the side of the glass partition that separated him and the mouthy driver, took his ticket then sat at the back of the bus. The streets for once were virtually empty of any vehicals, as the rusting wagon made it's way into the city centre, he wasn't going to be on time, but at least he wasn't going to be anymore late then he already was, he even jumped off the opened door bus before it reached the curb, luckily, his place of work was only down the road and around the corner from the stop. He marched down the road, oozing in and out of the herd of people who had unatarally flocked to this district of the city, the air still foggy and damp, he was nearly there, all he had to do was get past the morbidly obese woman who had a litter of screaming kids of which he rudely pushed through to the distaste of the elephant who shouted an obscenity towards David who had alrerady turned the corner. He made it into the shop unscathed, but he still had to suffer a verbal bashing from his manager, the shop wasn't even occupied.

"What time do you call this?" Christopher yelled as David hung up his jacket and then made his way into the stockroom.

"I can't predict what time the bus get's to my stop can I?" he rationalised.

"Well you can at least show some proffesionalism, I know it's you're last day and all but try and act like you give a shit!"

Luckily the ear aching verbal warning he recieved wasn't as bad as he had first thought it would be. David simply took a load of boxes and took them onto the shopfloor to fill the back wall shelves. After an hour of working on the same fixture, the morbidly obese woman who David had pushed through entered the shop and stared at David with a foul taste in her mouth, recognising him instantly, while her four children, argued, bickered, screamed and fought with one another and it was then that David realised that this just wasn't going to be his day whatsoever.

"Excuse me!" the ten gallon tank of a woman said politely to which David did not hear at first, still lost in his own thoughts. "EXCUSE ME!" She repeated, this time smacking him several times across the face and shoulders, he didn't klnow what to think, didn't she know who he was? This was David Kristofferson, the great author! Not some lowly shop worker living on a pittance to pay his bills.

"I need some shoes for my children, they'll be starting school soon and I need a pair for each of them and I want decent shoes as well, not the kind that come apart as soon as a drop of rain hits them, do you understand?" He understood, but he felt like ripping her big, fat face off, to scream down that humungous jugular of hers and tell her exactly what he thought of her and her spawn of children as well as the rest of the inbred citizens of the city, but instead he tucked his tail between his legs and hopped to her demands and fetched several boxes, containing various pairs of shoes. When fitting them on to the three boys and the little girl, he recieved a kick to the shins, verbal abuse from the youngest and to top it all off the little girl didn't feel well and vomited all over his shirt. The day got worse from then on, after spending ten minutes of cleaning himself up, he had to sacrifice ten minutes of his of his fifteen minute break, then after returning to the shop floor without having his dose of nicotine Christoopher asked him to stay an hour after the shops closing so they could unload the late delivery and with his foolishness, he said yes.

Luckily though after those few hours which seemed to pile up with more and more problems, the day moved swiftly and before he knew it, the afternoon soon turned into the late evening and he knew as soon as the morning came around he'd be free and clear to live his dream. Seven soon rolled around and they closed the shop up and made they're way into the back office then out into the alleyway through the fire exit where they unloaded the delivery, the fog was still present, it had remained that way all through the morning till now, which unsettled David slightly. He thought of the peculiarality of it as he stood by the fire exit smoking his first full cigarette of the day with his manager.

"You know, it's going to be hard to replace you" Christopher said while lighting his cigarette.

"Don't worry, you'll probably get some aspiring student whose willing to work here on weekends and part time stints. people like me are easily replaceable" David said with a proud grin.

"You know what I mean, you're a good man David and a decent worker, up for a laugh and all in all not a bad freind, I'm gonna miss ya!" this was the first freindly thing Christopher had ever spoken to David, suddenly the phone rang and Christo[pher made his way into the office to answer it.

This time tomorrow he'd be in London on the verge of unveiling his 850 paged allagorical novel to the world, he'd be rich and famous, away from all of this and most of all he'd be someone of substance and value. All of a sudden he lost his balance after breathing in too much foggy air, he stumbled to the ground and when turning his head he found the headlights of the delivery van hurtling towards him, faster than a speeding bullet and after returning quickly to his feet he was knocked down instantly again, but this time he was dead before he hit the ground.

THE END.