My Entry for 6/6/06

Josh walked hurridly down the busy street. London was crowded at the best of times but this afternoon, with the weather as hot as it was, people seemed to be desending on the capital like flies.
The air itself was thick with pollution and stagnent due to the lack of wind. The heat combined to make it almost overwhelming. Strange smells wafted from unseen sources. "Never mind" mused josh, "at least it'll be a little cooler down in the tube, what with the air-conditiong going , and away from this suffocating heat".
Determined. He continued to fight his way through the masses, manouvering quickly between this sea of flustered faces.

Meanwhile Azim Khan was also making his way toward Picadilly tube station. The Iranian Student, picked his way through teh crowds of people. Trying hard to ignore the looks, those discreet, fearful looks he had grown accustomed to. It was hard but in this climate of fear, even he himself could sympathise with these people. "If the Papers and News do not attempt to seperate us from the terrorists how are these people expected to? "they know no better" It still made him angry tho, he did not pity them much. His anger was, in his mind at least, justified. They had invaded his country and killed his family, justification enuff? No, pity was not what he felt, in all honesty, at this moment in time, he did not know what he felt.

Josh jogged into the brand new entrance of the tube station. A masterpiece of glass and steel, modern and functunal in every sense of the word. Yet also minimilist, artistic even. A fitting memorial to those who had died during the bombings. An enormous marble slab stands above the entrance to the platforms, written on it in huge red numbers standing more than seven feet high is just the date 6/6/06.
"Two years to the day" thought Josh. With that he walked underneath the colossal monument, and began to desend toward the platform itself.

Behind him Azim Khan, was walking briskly, exited, yet also very nervous as well. Today was the most significant day of his life, many people were depending on his succes. He arrived at the tube just as the doors were opening, saw a vacant seat and sat down, across from him sat a tall man with brown hair, small narrow eye's and a studious face. He was reading the paper, but looked hot and impatient as if he'd was late and had been rushing.

He sat there for twenty minutes, preparing himself for what he had to do. Visualising his goal, and banishing any fear that might stop him from thinking with clarity. Josh was still reading his paper, however he was unerved by the muslim passenger sitting opposit him. He was wearing a large rucksack, and looked serious, lost in his own thought almost. Josh could not rest easy, his mind began to race, "what if?" he thought. "Jesus, it would be a poinyant message! Surely I should do something?!"

Azim was now aware of the gentleman in front even more. The man looked highly agitated. He was sweating, his eye's darting around, but restng mainly on Azim. This was driving him wild with rage, "why must they alway's look at me like that, with that fearful glare" He became more and more incensed, his anger builing, boiling up inside him; flooding his veins. "Not long now just one more stop, and you can forget all about this hatred, this fear. All of that will mean nothing" Then the annoucement came. Azim reached for his bag and stood up..

...Josh saw the man reach for his bag, his body willed him to move, to react. He felt almost like a surge of electricity forcing him out of his seat, but still he remained seated, as if, in a way he had allready resigned himself to this fate. He saw Azim lift up his bag, holding the straps tightly, and securing them to his back. He then unzipped his jacket, reached inside and pulled out a pen like instrument,. He tucked it carefully into a side pocket on the rucksack, walked toward the door and disembarked from the train. And still with twenty minutes to spare before the exam.



[edit on 6-6-2006 by Malacalypse23]

Comments welcome, critical or not, as this is the first time I have ever really tried to write something!!
regards,

malacalypse,

nice.

the word 'hitchcock' comes to mind *dreamy* very suspensful...

now the critical stuff:

I have yet to meet a writer (myslef included) that doesn't need an editor. That's just the way it is... we don't see the goofs, the typos, the glitched commas *shrugs* it's like we're blind to it or something when it's our own writing...

that's about as critical as I can get, the story concept is awesome...

keep writing!

twj