- Aug 26, 2011
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I've had this idea for a while. I was going to write it as a movie script, but never got round to it. Sorry if it's a bit creepy at first, but that's all part of the plot.
It's name is 'Crude End'.
(I don't expect people to enjoy this, but I'm writing it maily to collate my own thoughts together.)
Stacey lay on the park bench, drifting in and out of consciousness. What has happened to my life? Her thoughts echoed inside her empty mind. How did I end up like this, a homeless druggie living on the streets?
Her memory returned to last year. It was a time she knew she would never forget, the moment when she had climbed so high up the career ladder it was exhilarating. But the higher you climb, the further you have to fall, the voice reminded her, suddenly jolting her back to reality.
She pushed the voice away, thinking back to when her life was good.
She had a husband (the second one, albeit), and an amazing house. Her house made the news when she got renovations done. A fantastically successful entrepreneur, Stacey had been rich, and, as she thought, the happiest, most lucky woman alive. At the sweet age of 32, she was already a multi-hundred-millionaire.
A successful manufacturing line, her products famous worldwide, she had been the epitome of the successful woman.
And now what had she got to show for it?
Her business gone defunct, a massive economy crash, another divorce and the repo men.
What did money mean anyway? There was nothing left in her life.
(I don't expect people to enjoy this, but I'm writing it maily to collate my own thoughts together.)
Stacey lay on the park bench, drifting in and out of consciousness. What has happened to my life? Her thoughts echoed inside her empty mind. How did I end up like this, a homeless druggie living on the streets?
Her memory returned to last year. It was a time she knew she would never forget, the moment when she had climbed so high up the career ladder it was exhilarating. But the higher you climb, the further you have to fall, the voice reminded her, suddenly jolting her back to reality.
She pushed the voice away, thinking back to when her life was good.
She had a husband (the second one, albeit), and an amazing house. Her house made the news when she got renovations done. A fantastically successful entrepreneur, Stacey had been rich, and, as she thought, the happiest, most lucky woman alive. At the sweet age of 32, she was already a multi-hundred-millionaire.
A successful manufacturing line, her products famous worldwide, she had been the epitome of the successful woman.
And now what had she got to show for it?
Her business gone defunct, a massive economy crash, another divorce and the repo men.
What did money mean anyway? There was nothing left in her life.
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