Your support makes Blue Moon possible (Patreon)It was a tired set of legs that carried Brian Weakes up the walkway into his house, his hand fumbling for the key as he thought about how late it was. Eight o'clock already? Yeesh. On a day he'd started at six in the morning. Still, in his business suit, and tie that was barely staying on, he knew how well he had it, and was grateful for it. Even with how hard he had to work, a long day at the office, deadlines approaching, and there would be more hard days ahead. But it was all worth it. At least that's what he tried to tell himself on nights like this, when he was tired enough to fall asleep the second he walked into the door.
Twenty four years old, enough money to pay for this house, for any luxury he wanted, a nice car...even if certain other parts of his life were neglected. Some had called him too nice, too focused on his job, not interested in women, but they were all wrong. The same people who lived from paycheck to paycheck, wondering why they didn't have more then they did. He was smarter then them, wealthier then them, more influential...someday, he'd have time to enjoy it all, he knew.
He slipped the key into his lock, and the door opened. His briefcase flopped into the floor, the door slammed shut behind him, his suit jacket tossed over the couch in the living room. The thought of food made his stomach growl, and he grabbed a microwave dinner from the freezer, tossing it in to cook as he undid his tie and the top button on his blue shirt. Another deep breath as he turned on the TV, preparing for the mindless monotony of noise and distraction to let his mind rest as he ate before going to bed.
At least that was the plan. He devoured the microwaved pasta in five minutes, watching the news for a bit and planning to go to bed soon. Another day tomorrow.
Until the doorbell rang.
"Son of a..." He muttered. "Who could it be at this hour of night?"
If he had known who it was at the time, he wouldn't have answered it.
If he had knows what it would lead to, he would've been dashing to the door...
Twenty four years old, enough money to pay for this house, for any luxury he wanted, a nice car...even if certain other parts of his life were neglected. Some had called him too nice, too focused on his job, not interested in women, but they were all wrong. The same people who lived from paycheck to paycheck, wondering why they didn't have more then they did. He was smarter then them, wealthier then them, more influential...someday, he'd have time to enjoy it all, he knew.
He slipped the key into his lock, and the door opened. His briefcase flopped into the floor, the door slammed shut behind him, his suit jacket tossed over the couch in the living room. The thought of food made his stomach growl, and he grabbed a microwave dinner from the freezer, tossing it in to cook as he undid his tie and the top button on his blue shirt. Another deep breath as he turned on the TV, preparing for the mindless monotony of noise and distraction to let his mind rest as he ate before going to bed.
At least that was the plan. He devoured the microwaved pasta in five minutes, watching the news for a bit and planning to go to bed soon. Another day tomorrow.
Until the doorbell rang.
"Son of a..." He muttered. "Who could it be at this hour of night?"
If he had known who it was at the time, he wouldn't have answered it.
If he had knows what it would lead to, he would've been dashing to the door...