Short Story No. 1
New YA writing sensation Miles Johnson has missed a crucial deadline. His agent is losing patience with her latest client. In his solitary studio Miles stares at the black blinking cursor, the only thing on the screen and reality kicks in. ‘She’s not going to show,’ he mutters under his alcohol induced breath. Miles pushes the keyboard to one side, leans over his desk and flicks off the power switch. He grabs his coat from the back of the chair and heads out slamming the door.
Moments later he is walking hurriedly along the bottle littered and dog shit stained Hill Road in South East London, he approaches his destination the infamous Lion’s Den Club. Several unsavoury and burly characters are congregated outside; he takes a deep breath and strolls literally into the heart of the Lion’s Den.
Sally Anne is seated at her regular table in the far corner as Miles makes his way nervously across and is gruffly ordered to sit opposite the infamous boss.
‘What’s your poison?’
‘I heard you can get anything here.’
‘Only with your soul, do you have a soul?’
‘You mean.’
‘You know who I am, don’t you’
‘You’re Sally Anne Tan.’
‘What you after.’
‘Something quick and special, I’m a writer.’
‘Figures, you got that dark night of the soul thing about ya.’
‘I’ve got writers block and’
‘You’re the seventh one today.’
‘If I could only get a page written, you see I.’
‘Yeah, yeah, yeah how many words do you need?’
‘About a hundred should get me going.’
‘No worries kiddo, a soul for a soliloquy, sounds about right.’
‘Thank you, Miss Tan, how can I pay you back.’
‘It’s Sally Anne or SA Tan if you prefer, and sign here.’
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