by Nazari Shah

Created on: March 24, 2009

"Those were good times", the old man said, looking out the window. His gaze into the horizon was one of reflection and contemplation. His expression had a hint of regret, his frown slight.

"And you look back on it now with regret?", I asked him.

"Well, no, but I cannot help but think how life would have been had that opportunity not arise", he answered.

"And now there is another opportunity. An opportunity to set the story straight, your story. The one that you wanna tell, Jeffery", I was hoping for a miracle.

He turned to look at me with the same gaze he offered the sunset that was sitting just above the horizon. Shades of magenta outlined the nimbus clouds scattered across a red seeped blue sky. He moved to sit on an old purple suede armchair. He was silent for a while and I was beginning to think that this was not going to go the way I had hoped. The room was small, cluttered but, funny enough, cosy. The armchair Jeffery was sitting on had a side table next to it where his, now cold, cup of coffee sat. I was on a sofa of the same design as the armchair and across from us was a bookcase filled with books, novels and manuscripts of various sorts. Twenty five years of work on one bookcase was hardly a sight for sore eyes, I thought to myself. There was a wooden table and a typewriter against the other wall. Piles of stapled unpublished work were scattered at the foot and around the table. Twenty five years of work cluttered the room but how can I call the works of a genius, clutter? It was cosy!

"Maybe it is time to tell my story", he suggested, more like talking to himself than answering me.

"Maybe it is", I tried to contain my excitement as I put a tape recorder on the side table.

"Whenever you're ready Jeffery", I said trying to reassure him that this was the right thing to do.

He sighed, nodded and looked at me then gestured toward the recorder. I pressed the red record button.

"What do you wanna know?" Jeffery asked me and I was nervous as proceeded to ask the first question.

"Let's start from the beginning", I started nervously, shifting in my seat. I pulled out the first novel that made him a worldwide bestseller and showed it to him. Jeffery Sullivan went on to write twenty five bestsellers in a thirty five year career and five of his novels went on to be blockbuster movies including his first. He was a master storyteller and his favourite genre was horror.

"How did you come up with this first novel?" I asked him.

He looked nervous. He shifted in his armchair and turned to light a cigarette. He looked out of the same window and I noticed his hand shaking slightly. He took a long drag from the stick of nicotine and watched the bright amber tip light up. He knew there was no turning back now.

"The Boy In The Black Leather Jacket is not a work of fiction. It was more like a memoir. I killed him."

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