Narrative on "The Coming Storm"

1001 Words5 Pages
The Coming Storm 6 o’clock. The shrill ring of the alarm woke me. I rolled over, but it continued to sound. Louder. Louder. I slammed the rubberised button on the clock and sluggishly got up. As I rose from the warm comfort of my bed, I stared at that glossy silver badge on my old black cap. It seemed to shimmer in the morning light, like it was laughing at me; taunting me. Ignore it, I told myself. You’re done with that now. I walked into the kitchen and boiled the kettle. Glancing out of a small window above it, I could see dark, heavy clouds forming in the distance. Looking down, the people below were scrambling through crowds to get to work. The orchestra of pneumatic drills and car horns filled my ears, followed by the hollow bubbling of the boiled kettle. I picked it up and poured myself a mug of strong coffee. I sat down on the cushioned chair in the living room and sipped on the bitter coffee. The phone rang. I picked it up. A harsh voice echoed down the line. “Hello sir. I’m Olivier Manson from the Daily Chrome.” Not him again, I thought to myself. “We would like to know some information regarding your involvement in the Neil Gauche case.” I had been dreading that moment. Olivier Manson was known to twist the truth to get a good story. He was the slimiest, most despicable journalist around. And he wanted information about me. “Let’s start off with an easy question. What is your name?” he said in a condescending way. “Dermot Morgan.” I sighed. “So, what were you doing on the night of the incident?” “I was out walking,” “Why were you supposedly walking whilst you were meant to be working?” he asked me. I paused. I was meant to be at work when it happened, on that fateful night. “I, err… needed to take a walk to get away from it all. Work was just, you know, busy that night.” That was true. The office was hectic. There
Open Document