| Ok, this is a terrible first draft of my Short Story for English. I wonder if you guys might have the time to bore yourself for a minute or two. I assure, insomniacs all around the world, if Coldplay isn't send you to sleep then I have your answer.
Oh, and it's sort of very French.
The client stared at Hector, as if trying to murder him with his gaze. ‘I had absolutely no idea, sir, that someone could be so impossibly stubborn’. The salesman took a step back away from the doorway of Number 29 and the macabre look of the demon standing at the door. ‘I don’t want any of your leaflets, any of your business cards; in fact, just leave me alone’. Hector sighed and thought, ‘It’s going to be one of those days’. He gave the demonically-looking man a final look as if to say, ‘You’re quite sure?’ and upon receiving the reply in the form of a, if possible, even more menacing look than before, he turned and walked away, his confidence and dignity still intact with only a slight damage to his opinion towards his clientele.
The guards slowly moved aside to allow the gentleman into the room, a look of disgust on their faces. The man sat down at a chair in the centre of the small four walled room, next to a small wooden desk and two other chairs on the other side. The door chinked shut, leaving only the minute bulb above the table to eerily illuminate the surroundings. Suffice to say, it was a old, dull affair with bland wallpaper that made you want to sleep when you looked at it and a large glass mirror, or that was what it looked like to the observer, on one of the two large walls. On the other side of the room, there happened to be a door which, unbeknownst to the prisoner waiting patiently at his chair, could have led him out of the fortress in which he was being held.
‘We’re not getting anywhere, so we can stop now if you just end it all and own up’, the inspector droned. Juneau just did as he had been doing the past 3 hours and continued to stare at the desk, a slight look of regret on his delicate face. When were they going to stop? Couldn’t they just get it into their heads that he hadn’t done anything? ‘Come now, Mr. La Mort, we have evidence that you stole our emblem’. The sergeant looked doubtfully at his senior officer and continued, changing the subject, ‘Do you know a lot about the emblem, Mr. La Mort? Judging by your lack in replying, I’ll take it you don’t’.
The sergeant proceeded to rake his brain of all the information he knew about Helmsville’s missing treasure. It’s real name was the Emblem de Indepéndance, meaning the Independence Emblem. It was awarded to Helmsville’s first ever Mayor, Jacques Gavvardieu in 1649. After he tragically passed away during a freak rollerblading accident involving sushi, a thesaurus and some Cillit Bang, his family had donated the emblem to the town to be passed down to remember Jacques. But after many years of peace in the realm of Contineau, a neighbouring town, Quillcintis, grew jealous of the magnificent treasure. The reason became apparent that because the treasure of the Helmsville now had taken away all the attention that Quillcintis had previously owned, it being the most popular town in Contineau at the time, Helmsville had now welcomed a substantial increase in economy and wealth. So, in 1786, Vincent De Furtif, a resident of Quillcintis and member of the Quillcintis Fan Club, stole the Emblem de Indepéndance from right under the Helmspeople’s abnormal noses.
(I told you it was terrible but if you read it, thanks a bunch.) - Music:Black Hole Sun - Soundgarden
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