crude end

Fierlin1182

powered-flight
8 Years
Aug 26, 2011
17,155
329
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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.
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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.
 
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It was one of these days when the man found her. She was half unconscious, throwing up all over her bench, when he took pity on her and held her hair back.
"I'm Carson."
"Stacey..." she mumbled.

They were silent for a while, before he picked up his briefcase and moved on.
Stacey noticed a newspaper on the bench.
"Hey, you left-" she started to call, but her voice wouldn't work properly. She laid her head down on the paper and went to sleep.
 
The next morning, Stacey woke up and tried to remember where she was. The newspaper was damp beneath her head. It had been raining.

Stacey groaned and sat up straight.
Carson... that was his name.
She looked down at the newspaper, a copy of the Financial Review. The front page was an article on soaring crude oil prices. The latest price had risen over $80 to $730 a barrel.

She remembered when she was a little girl, three years old, when her parents could still afford to operate a car. Nowadays people either used buses that ran on natural gas, or hybrids, of which she had four before her business crashed.

She looked up to the busy flight path above the park.
There was a time when large airliners still flew. Now the famous A380 was a thing of the past here. Small planes that ran on biofuel were what the rich could afford to take now.
Heck, I owned one of these things. she thought sadly.

There was an article on Unnamed Airlines, the one left in the world that still ran on original plane fuel.
Stacey had heard about that. She wondered how on earth they could still afford to operate. They had a full fleet of A380s and 787s.
Shrugging, she tucked the Financial Review under one arm and left to bribe her drug dealer.
 
Exhausted from a huge shouting match with her local pusher, Stacey sank down into her bench in defeat. Her clothes soaked and she getting grumpier by the second, she ripped open that newspaper with the ferocity of a lion.

The photo of the CEO of UAL (Unnamed Airlines) caught her eye.
"Wow, what a mean-looking woman," she said to herself.
"I know what you mean," came the reply.

"ARGH!" Stacey shrieked. A strange man stood behind her, looking casually over her shoulder.
He smiled handsomely. "I saw you shouting with that dude over there. I need someone like you to help me out. And anyway... aren't you... Oh, holy cheese, you're Stacey Mansfield?!"

Stacey pulled at her stringy hair.

"Girl, you're a mess! What happened to you? I used to read about you and think, gee that girl is the luckiest person alive."
Stacey said nothing.

"Say something."
Stacey rolled her eyes.

"Are you high?"
Stacey stood up and slapped him.

"Do I even know you?!" she snapped.
"Yes, I think you do, I introduced myself yesterday."

She sat down. "Carson. I'm sorry I hit you."
"And so you should be! That hurt!"
 
Carson pointed at the woman in the photo. "Sheila Smith. She looks like the sort who gets up to no good, doesn't she?"
Stacey smirked.
"You clamming up on me again?"
"I suppose so."

Carson sat down next to her.
"Here, have some money."
She stared at him. "What?"
"Go out, buy yourself some clothes and a bite to eat."
"Of course I'm going to do that."
He withdrew his outstretched hand. "Oh."
"Not very bright, are you, Carson?"
"No."

There was a moment of silence.

"I need a business mind on the team. I'm an investment banker. I have no business mind."
"And I barely have a mind anymore."
"BS. Anyway... what I needed to ask you. Something dodgy's going on. You realise UAL posted a bright financial outlook practically the second before oil prices shot up $80?"
"How many days ago was that?"
"Weeks."
"I'm sorry."
"You didn't read the paper then?"
"No."

(You can tell this is meant to be a film. Too much dialogue
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)
 

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