Character - The Mumford Man

For Creative Voice we had to bring in a picture of a person we wanted to write a story about. I got my boyfriend to choose the person as I didn't want to have any prior thoughts about them. It wasn't allowed to be a friend or a really obvious celebrity like Brad Pitt. So, my boyfriend chose this guy:

Now it turns out he's the lead singer in Mumford & Sons, Marcus Mumford. I didn't know this though when I wrote this piece. Did any of you guys recognise him? My piece is not even about a singer, more like an assassin. I imagined him as an Italian American born into the family business. He was going to meet a girl that would change his ways, but that wouldn't be till later. 


So here's the piece:

Al pierced the plastic cover of his frozen lasagne microwave meal with a fork and flung it into the microwave. He didn’t really have time to eat but he hadn’t really had anything substantial to eat in the last two days. Bar peanuts and nibbles from hotel mini fridges didn’t count. As he watched the microwave timer count down the minutes his iPhone buzzed. He looked at the screen. Oh good, the Boss. Probably asking for another ‘favour’. He’d only just finished one of his boss’s favours. Al scanned the text message quickly. Great, he had to be at the Roosevelt Hotel at eight o’clock. He looked at his engraved Rolex from his Father, ten past seven. He really wouldn’t have time to eat now. Leaving the microwave he headed to his bedroom. He picked out a clean shirt from his mirrored wardrobe and carried on to his en suite. He stood in front of the bathroom mirror. His grey eyes looked weary with tired bags underneath them. Lines pulled down at his lips and his moustache needed a trim. He rubbed a hand across his face and noticed a few drops of blood already turning brown on the cuff of his right sleeve.

‘Fantastic,’ he groaned.

He slowly undid the buttons. Instead of chucking it into the laundry basket he just left it on the floor, he’d deal with it when he got back tonight. If not, Maria would sort it out tomorrow morning. Al slipped on a clean Georgio Armani shirt and tucked it into his Ralph Lauren trousers. He trimmed his moustache and dabbed on a splash of Clive Christian cologne, the one that drove the ladies wild. He ran his hands through his short dark hair, he hadn’t had time to wash it this morning, but it would have to do for tonight. He’d only had a short amount of time but he still looked good. Al winked at his reflection just as the microwave beeped. He strolled back to the kitchen and opened the microwave. The lasagne smelt good but there was no point even trying to eat it. He still needed to get across the city and it was now twenty past seven. He took the meal from the microwave and grabbed the bowl with Rodolfo written on the side from the floor. Al didn’t even need to whistle, his long haired golden retriever knew the sound of his bowl being filled with food from across the room. Rodolfo jumped off the black leather sofa, on which he had been curled up on, and ran over to Al, tail wagging. Al tipped the lasagne into the bowl and put it back on floor. Rodolfo licked his lips before shoving his nose into the bowl of microwaved Italian food. Al patted him on the head and stroked him behind his furry ears.

‘Careful, it’s hot,’ he warned with a smile. Rodolfo wheezed slightly, his tongue hanging out, before going back for more. ‘I’ll be back in a few hours, if not Maria will take you out tomorrow morning. I’ve got work to do.’ Al petted Rodolfo once more before picking up his suit jacket, which he had thrown on the back of the sofa. He then put his iPhone, keys, and wallet into his pockets before picking up his semi-automatic. This favour was going to be a tough one.