The second the doors opened, Franklin awkwardly rushed across the platform. Awkwardness was simply his way. The wintery sun glinted on his bald head and bounced off the glasses perched upon his prominent hooked nose. He peered up at the sign flashing the train arrival times. “Shit,” he muttered. No red line train for ten minutes. He was going to be late.
He paced back and forth, hunchback blatantly obvious beneath his bulky coat. What excuse could he give The Committee for his tardiness? The Committee was notoriously harsh; they would certainly be insulted by his behavior. Why did he spend so long making last-minute adjustments to his presentation? Stupid fool! He just wanted it to be perfect. It was his life’s work, the only thing he had truly cared about for fifteen years. He had sacrificed everything else to spend day and night in his workroom, altering and refining his creation. And now The Committee, the only group who could make his dream a reality, might reject him because he missed a train! He couldn’t bear the thought.
Franklin hugged his briefcase to his chest. He pressed the detailed plans, instructions, and diagrams close to his body. He knew he held a secret that could radically change the world. His creation would make everyone perceive life and death differently. If he could just make them listen, there was no way they could refuse him. He’d have to make them listen.
Hey there. I have a busy weekend ahead of me. I'm gogo dancing tonight at Old Town School, a friend is coming in from out of town, and I have to try to put up flyers for Drivel & Wit Chicago if I have the time. But there is some good news I must share: one of my short stories got published on MicroHorror yesterday! It's totally creepy and gross. My sister seems to think I have a problem, but if I have a problem, then people like Stephen King or Thomas Harris should probably be institutionalized. Just sayin'. Anyway, I hope you like it, even if it is creepy and gross. I mean, that was the idea, after all.