Yasfer Yousuf
GCSE English original writing coursework
I was drenched from the rain and my failure. I noticed the letters on my office door. The letters were fading just like my hopes and dreams. I remember the day they were painted as if it was just yesterday. A man in white overalls flicked his wrist on the last ‘Y’. Back then, life use to hold so much hope just like fresh paint. As I entered my office, I hooked my trench coat on my hat stand. As I removed my trilby, I noticed that once again it had failed to keep my head dry. As I sat down on my wing back chair, I pulled out my last Casablanca of the day. Whilst I lit my Casablanca I heaved my worn out saddle oxfords on to my mahogany table. My mahogany table had varnish peeling off revealing a flawed surface. I use to change the ink spots every second week, but now the ripped ink spots allowed ink to seep through and into the table and into the table. I exhaled a huge cloud of toxic smoke. As I turned, my head I noticed the neon sign outside was barely visible due to the rain hammering down. The water trickled past because of the crack in the window. The thunder made me flinch. I noticed the under wood cast-iron typewriter. It sat there like a repulsive toad. I remember the clicking of the typewriter when I first got it was like music to my ears but now it is silent and has been ever since my secretary left. The candlestick phone beside my typewriter use to ring of the hook just to acquire my services but now it is hushed and had been for a very long time. It had not rung for month’s even years. I did not even know if it was hooked up. As I glanced at the walls, I saw my huge collection of butterflies. I had travelled the entire globe for this famous collection. Year after year, I travelled for more butterflies. Year after year, my collection grew. I had tropical butterflies’ from the depth of the Amazonian rainforest to the common butterflies’ you can find in central park. Everyday I wonder to myself why did I spend so much time and effort for these god-forsaken things. My office shook as a train passed over my building. I was reallocated to a city slum from an inner city top floor office. My chain of thoughts was interrupted by the irregular click the fan makes. I had been meaning to fix that but once again; I had the problem of money. As I scanned my office, I noted that my decanters were empty. My alcoholic ways had recently become out of control. I would drink rum without diluting it hoping it would kill me. It never did. My monocle lay on my table cracked and useless just like my life. My office had not been cleaned for months and months. The amount of dust that had accumulated was a mystery. My angle poised lamp flickered as a moth took off from the lamp. I looked into a dusty mirror. My eyes were red with bags to compliment. My pencil moustache was now a bushy mess. The fact I had not shaven was evident. My clothes were creased. My linen waistcoat had turned from white to grey. My hair was once all neat and combed but now it is an uncontrollable mess. My sleeves were ripped. No one deserved the life I as living especially not me.
