Seeing Red (A Novel)

I've sent off sample chapters of the novel I'm writing to an agent. Go here to read the first chapter. Here are the next three. I'm interspersing each chapter with the view of Red's (the protagonist) Intruder.

Let me know what you think.

One:

Don’t believe everything he says. I’m not all bad. He doesn’t like it because I reveal the truth. The truth he hates to hear. The truth which confronts him where he has failed. I try to help him see the reality. He dreams a lot you know. He pretends he is more than he really is. Why delude yourself? Why live in a world of fantasy? It’s not helpful. It’s rather pathetic. Yes, I may sound harsh, but we have to wake up one of these days. It’s not my fault he channels his disappointments into hurting himself. it’s simply attention seeking. He doesn’t need to do it. He knows people will pity him and say, “Poor old Red.” Give me a break. He knows the score. He knows if he accepted the cards he has been dealt, it will make his life much more bearable. I’m like a parent, waking him up to the realities of this cynical world. It’s for his own good. I don’t delight in it. I just know if I don’t tell him, then no-one else will. His “friends” feed his ego and give him false hope. That’s cruel. Why try to make him aim for something that will never happen? He can’t do so much of what he believes in. It’s sad to be so blinkered by delusions of grandeur. It’s time to grow up. Life isn’t a Disney movie. There is no happily ever after. Look at the world around us. Look at the broken marriages. Look at the pain and despair. Why place yourself in situations you know will only hurt you? It is odd. I’m here to change that. I didn’t force my way in. I was invited. He calls me The Intruder. Intruders are not welcome. He welcomed me. He asked me in. He had to. I’m like a vampire. I can only cross the threshold once I have been asked to enter. I have many other places I could be. He’s a particularly interesting project though. He really is. I find his ideologies rather endearing. He actually believes in true love and finding that person meant for you. I think he forgets about the practicalities of life. Bills to pay. Work to do. Food to put on the table. They don’t go away. Life doesn’t stop for the romantic idealism of rose tinted relationships. Well, it won’t for him. He’s too needy and perfection seeking. It’s okay, I’m here to help.


Kettle:

I’m standing here, staring at the kettle. I want to make a cup of tea. All I need to do is flick a switch. Shit, is that all I need to do? I can’t; it’s like invisible vines have pushed their way through the floor and entangled me. I’m rooted to the spot. I can’t move and I’m paralysed.

Ever had one of those dreams where you’re being chased by a murky figure? You start to run; you need to get away. No matter how much you will yourself to run like the wind, you can’t. As you try to run it’s like you’re trying to run through water. Your movements are slow and clumsy. Each movement of your legs are painfully unresponsive. You pump your arms harder to make your legs surge into actions. Nothing. Your mind is screaming for you to flee, because you know you can run. You know you are quick. You were speedy at school and you still are. But it’s no use. The murky figure advances. He is relentless. You feel his presence. His breath on your neck. His evil creeping under your skin. You daren’t look back because you know what you’ll see. Black eyes and an ugly grimace, which should be a smile. Those rotten teeth and that putrid breath.

And then you wake up, sweating and shaking.

Well, I’m standing here wanting a comforting cup of tea. I have work in an hour and my day won’t be right if I don’t have my morning cuppa.

My mind is screaming for me to simply flick the switch on. The momentum should then propel me into opening the cupboard, getting a cup, putting the tea bag in and pouring in the boiling water. Pouring that water seems a distant goal. An Everest to climb. Goodness, it sounds rather melodramatic doesn’t it?

I tell myself this. Stop being an idiot. Make yourself a fucking drink. I can’t move though. It’s like my dream. But I can’t wake up. This is my reality. So I scream. I scream at the kettle. I scream at myself. I am a failure. I cannot even do the simplest of tasks. I stop screaming, breathing heavy. Eyes moist form the the emotion. I turn away from the kettle and leave the kitchen. You have a problem and need to confront it. Not now though. Now I have to go to work and be a person of relaxed accessibility. I have to be a person who welcomes all and is wonderfully gregarious.

I look in the mirror and loathe the man I see. I breathe. I smile.

The Great Pretender.

Time to wear the mask and face my audience.

It’s a professional switch. Off and on. Dark and then light. I’ll get to work and entertain the staff with some new jokes. I’ll flirt with the girls and make up some story of antics I got up to the night before. Make them believe I’m the life and soul. They’ll playfully roll their eyes at my hedonism. They’ll call me arrogant. It’s all a game. They love my stories and my relentlessness.

I sometimes believe what I’m saying because, after all, what is reality? What is a dream? Surely my inability to make a cup of tea was a dream? The guy called Red, who is able to flirt and talk his way into any bed is the reality.

The Great Pretender.

Oscar winning performance.

That is what I’ll give to others this morning. I’ll be extra special; Super Red, if you will. Time to put that mask on, walk out the door and leave the darkness behind. It’ll still be there and wrap its tentacles around me when I return home.

Two:

It’s sad really. Have you been taking it in? He’s quite cute really. Making himself into something he isn’t. And believing it too. If only he knew. God, if he knew what people said behind his back. Those ‘girls’ who adore him. I’m not privy to their conversations, but I am observant. I see the twitches in their smiles. I see their eyes not matching their over enthusiastic grins. He knows it too. He secretly knows it at least. He knows they understand he’s a failure. He’s 30 and still trying to live like a 21 year old. They entertain him. They pity him. It’s no harm in their eyes. They might as well encourage him. Who needs to take Red seriously? He’s harmless fun. If they actually took him seriously, they’d want to settle down with him. They’d want to make a life with him. But it’s Red. Who’d seriously want to settle down with him? He’s too erratic. Too intense. He needs to face up to reality. He needs to see life as we all know it. That’s what I’m here for. I’ll help him see the truth. I’ll help him see life without the rose tinted nonsense. That’s why I was invited. Get him back in line. Get him balanced. Great Pretender? It’s not healthy. It’s okay. I’m here now.