I have just handed in my last creative piece of the term, I still have three more after Easter but that's four weeks away!
The next few posts will be my sketches from Creative Voice. These are short pieces that explore image, character, setting, and voice.
I have posted this before as The Mumford Man but it has now been workshopped and edited. So, please enjoy!
The Armani Assassin.
Al pierced the plastic cover of his frozen lasagne with a fork and flung it into the microwave. He didn’t have time to eat but he hadn’t had anything substantial for the last two days. Bar peanuts and crackers from hotel mini fridges didn’t count. As he watched the timer count down the minutes his smart phone 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. He had to be at the Roosevelt Hotel at eight o’clock. He checked his engraved Rolex from his father, ten past seven. He definitely wouldn’t have time to eat. Leaving the kitchen he headed to his bedroom. He picked out a clean suit from his mirrored wardrobe and carried on to his en suite, kicking off his Salvatore Ferragamo shoes as he went.
He stood in front of the bathroom mirror. Tired bags hung underneath his weary grey eyes. Lines pulled down at his lips and his moustache desperately 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 had tried so hard not to get blood on him this time - it was a very expensive shirt.
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 damn, he looked good. Al winked at his reflection just as the microwave beeped.
He strolled back to the kitchen; the lasagne smelt delicious 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 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 steaming 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 hopefully; otherwise Maria will have to 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 phone, keys, and wallet into his pockets before picking up his semi-automatic. This favour was going to be a tough one.
The next few posts will be my sketches from Creative Voice. These are short pieces that explore image, character, setting, and voice.
I have posted this before as The Mumford Man but it has now been workshopped and edited. So, please enjoy!
The Armani Assassin.
Al pierced the plastic cover of his frozen lasagne with a fork and flung it into the microwave. He didn’t have time to eat but he hadn’t had anything substantial for the last two days. Bar peanuts and crackers from hotel mini fridges didn’t count. As he watched the timer count down the minutes his smart phone 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. He had to be at the Roosevelt Hotel at eight o’clock. He checked his engraved Rolex from his father, ten past seven. He definitely wouldn’t have time to eat. Leaving the kitchen he headed to his bedroom. He picked out a clean suit from his mirrored wardrobe and carried on to his en suite, kicking off his Salvatore Ferragamo shoes as he went.
He stood in front of the bathroom mirror. Tired bags hung underneath his weary grey eyes. Lines pulled down at his lips and his moustache desperately 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 had tried so hard not to get blood on him this time - it was a very expensive shirt.
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 damn, he looked good. Al winked at his reflection just as the microwave beeped.
He strolled back to the kitchen; the lasagne smelt delicious 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 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 steaming 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 hopefully; otherwise Maria will have to 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 phone, keys, and wallet into his pockets before picking up his semi-automatic. This favour was going to be a tough one.
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