Ritual Dream (First Person Characterisation)
This is part of a collection of short pieces all focusing on a specific type of writing. In this piece I was required to write in first person and allow the reader to understand the central character’s personality. Ms Purvis “enjoyed this very much” and gave me an A+.
Every Tuesday I would purchase a two-dollar scratch-it on the way home from the campus but never managed to score anything more than a few bucks. “A game for losers,” my best friend commented once as we walked past the small newsagent on our daily trip to the bus stop. Today I felt lucky. The stocky, bald-headed man tore the ticket from the pack and inserted it into my trembling hands. Quickly pocketing the coins he muttered something unintelligible and moved onto the next customer, a smelly woman devouring a packet of Twisties. Glancing surreptitiously around my surroundings, I proceeded with the business at hand. As the small metal disc made contact with the ticket, I felt the adrenaline pumping through my veins. Carefully scraping the first section away, I paused to reassess the situation. Emanating from an apartment on the far side of the crowded street came the unmistakable, high-pitched drone of Hanson, interrupted only by the occasional passing bus. My hi-fi hadn’t uttered a chord since that unfortunate run-in with those Metallica fanatics, leaving the amp a smoldering heap. A few hundred dollars is all I need. With a sudden burst of optimism, I removed the second panel from the scratch-it, raising my heart-rate threefold. I gazed over my shoulder as a sleek, jet-black BMW M3 tore through the street, it’s powerful engine rattling the windows of the surrounding structures. What a change it would be to cruise around in a monster like that instead of my prehistoric ‘76 Civic. A few hundred thousand dollars is all I need. As I finished of the ticket, giving it a final rub with the only coin left in my wallet, my muscles tensed and I focused onto the newly revealed images. No match. Sigh. Dropping the piece of cardboard into the nearest rubbish bin, I turned back to the newsagent. “See ya’ next week, mate.”
Copyright © 1999 Andrej Bece
