Exams, Stories, and an Ultimatum
First off. Exams are over! *dances* They weren't actually that bad. Especially when compard to last year's... So, officially, I never have to do maths or science (orther htan psych, which I want to do) at school again. Ever.
Next, (I know it's not in order when referring to this post's title..) The Bourne Ultimatum. I saw it yesterday. And it was brilliant. I lived the fact that it wasn't simply a flick, in that you had to think to understand what was going on, and the actors didn't simply spell it out. And Matt Damon was brilliant. He suits the role brilliantly. (How many times can I say the word brilliant >.>) My only problem with it was that the camera work was a bit trippy - rather shaky, especially during the chase scenes, but that's all. It was also really good how well they did Jason Bourne's character - he knew exactly what he was doing, as well as what everyone who was following him was doing, and the chase/fight scenes were believable - you know how sometimes you get action movies and you end up wondering how on earth they can still be alive after everything? This wasn't one of them.. And I loved it how they finally went back to his past, ad how they incorporated the 'David Webb' thing into it. Fyi, David Webb was Ludlum's original idea and features a lot more in the books (some of the best action book ever, I might add) but he only features at the end of the Supremacy and the Ultimatum in the movies..
Thirdly, since I'm in a good mood, and because exams are over, I'm going to also post three (rather short) stories. As follows:
A Relaxing Firday Night
w/c: 405
Summary: After a long week, one has a chance to relax with among the simple pleasures.
Music: Kissing a Fool - Michael Buble
Sitting down, he smiled. The week was over, and now it was time to relax. The only light in the room was coming from the open fireplace, which glittered and cracked softly. Taking a generous mouthful of the alcohol in the small goblet, his gaze softened as he felt his body relax. The hysteria that had dominated his life for the past few weeks had finally finished, and he could now get on with enjoying himself.
His house was slightly old fashioned - there was no plasma screen television, or multi-thousand dollar sound system. Most of his contemporaries questioned this - it wasn’t like he couldn’t afford it. The small fortune on which he sustained himself had recently become public gossip. But he ignored all that. He was happy; why wasn’t everyone else? No, he had other, finer tastes. From nearly every wall in the house hung a masterpiece, created by a gifted artist, dead but not forgotten; and the room he was currently in was bordered by bookshelves, most of them full.
He sat, silently, for a few minutes, contemplating his next move. He could select a book form one o the hundreds around him, and lose himself in the delicate yet immaculate texts; he could take out his old manuscripts and update his characters’ journeys - by God they deserved it. Or, he could simply sit and enjoy the comfort of his surroundings - the fireplace, the fine wine, his own thoughts. Deciding on the latter, he decided that if he got bored of it, he could go out for a walk: the rain has recently stopped, and the world was at its most elegant in the twilight.
Sipping his wine, he noticed that his immediate environment had been slightly altered - it was no longer silent. The residents above him had begun their weekly ritual of a gentle recital on piano. He had only met them briefly, but he knew of their presence very well. Their concerts normally began with the piano, and were often followed with the seductive musings of a crooner with a double bass, and, if he was extremely lucky, a saxophone. Some of his companions detested big band music. Personally, he couldn’t think of anything more lovely.
So, contentedly, he sat, the comforting aroma of dying embers surrounding him, and the gentle music enthralling him. He sighed and took another sip of the elegant liquid in his glass. Life was good, he thought.
Wrong Answer
w/c: 651
Summary: Two unlikely companions working in an abandoned warehouse.
Music: Bourne On Land - John Powell (Bourne Identity OST)
The man strode in, footsteps bouncing off the far walls. His companion was already stationed at his desk. The man still walking had an air of superiority - no, arrogance - about him. He looked down his nose at everyone, and had a violent temper. Cross him, and you would end up with a fist to the face. But he had his reasons for his antisocial behaviour - his work had hardened him, and he was under more stress than most people knew - the lines on his face misrepresented his age, and though he was fit, he didn’t eat well, thus he was more chiseled than toned. His height - near two metres - often helped to intimidate people.
He joined his companion at the table, making it shift slightly as he sat down. His companion was an aging man, with salt and pepper hair that had once been jet black. His meticulous nature was perfect for his work, and he was one of the few who did not simply succumb to his companion. He waited for the after-tremors of his companion’s seating to diminish before he continued his work. The only acknowledgement he gave him was a small, mildly irritated grunt.
The younger man put his elbows on the table and frowned. ‘Are you finished yet?’
‘I’ll tell you when I’m f - ‘
The younger man swore violently. ‘That’s not fucking good enough. You knew we needed this,’
‘And you’ll get it,’ the working man cut in. ‘It’s just not ready yet. So if you don’t mind…’ Throughout the entire exchange, he had not looked up once.
The younger man swore again and looked at his hands. Finally his companion looked up. ‘Maybe if you gave me better conditions,’ he said icily ‘I would be able to work faster,’
The younger one looked at him incredulously. ‘You know why we can’t do that. We might as well light a flare to announce our presence. No, if we keep the lights down, and stay here, we’ll be fine,’ he said, more to convince himself.
His companion, again concentrating on his work, raised his eyebrows in false sympathy. ‘Well then you’ll just have to cope with it,’
His younger companion was burning with fury. Ignoring this, the man still working continued on. ‘Is everything else ready?’
The younger man breathed deeply before answering. ‘Yes. This is the last step. If everything goes well, we should be finished and out of here by three,’
‘That’s a.m., isn’t it?’
‘Well, yeah,’ he said sheepishly.
The older man inclined his head, begrudgingly accepting the answer.
The younger man keened back in his chair, listening to the outside conditions, as they went from mildly unappealing to disgusting. As he had arrived at the warehouse dark clouds loomed and the wind was roaring. Now, in addition to the wind, it was pouring, and the rain was throwing itself at the walls and roof. There was no heating in the building, so he pulled his coat up around his neck and let his breath whistle through his teeth.
The older man yawned and lit a cigarette, letting it hang out the side of his mouth. It was a habit he had picked up before he could remember - before any of this, and despite the warnings, he had never stopped.
‘There,’ he said, causing his companion to look up. ‘That’s it,’
‘Finally,’ the younger man said, relieved. Hastily, he grabbed the small pile that now sat in front of him, and put it in the briefcase that lay on the table.
‘How many times are we going to have to do that?’ the older man asked sharply.
The younger one was caught off guard. ‘Oh, uh…’The older man stood up and put on his jacket. Stepping close and putting placing his hand on his companion’s shoulder for a second. ‘Wrong answer,’ He exited the building quickly, leaving the younger man silent and alone.
When Would It End
w/c: 663
Summary: A chase with unlikely outcomes. I'm very proud of this. It's very Bond, but I had Bourne in my head when I wrote it too.
Music: most of the Casino Royale OST - David Arnold.
A million thoughts were buzzing through his head. Suddenly, one of the surfaced. He walked quickly, with a thick-blooded assurance that he would succeed. There was fire, fury in his eyes. His intuition told him this would not end well.
There was a second of silence, of observation; he saw the target, no, the threat. Eyes widening, he ran. He ripped his knife out of his pocket, cursing under his breath, looking for his prey.
Finally, he approached her. It was a wonder she couldn’t feel his hot breath on her neck. He tapped her on the shoulder, and she turned around slowly. Her eyes opened in shock when she realised who was asking for their attention. She saw the blood in his eyes; the blood that said murder, but before she had a chance to scream his empty fist made a vicious contact with her throat and she suddenly lost their ability to breath properly. He watched her as they slowly took control of their own body. It would almost have been amusing had the black hatred in his body not taken hold. He gave her time; time to figure out their next move. There was that same assurance from before that told him he could match whatever they did. His moment of observation ended when he dragged her to their feet. Looking into her eyes he saw something he hadn’t been expecting. It wasn’t fury, or even anger, nor was it fear. It was a look that was asking for forgiveness. He couldn’t believe it. After all that had happened, she sill felt no fear, no fury. Steeling his soul, his hand went to her throat: ‘You should not have done that…’
Suddenly, something flashed behind her eyes. It was miniscule - most wouldn’t have seen it. He nearly didn’t. Though he did see it, it took him too long to interpret it, as she brought her arm - as heavy as near death - down onto his temple. The blow sent sparks through his vision, and he loosened his grip on her throat. Gravity then finished they job by throwing him to the ground. Rolling over, he just had time to watch her leave his peripheral vision, and he swore under his breath again. Shaking his head silently, he leapt up and ran after her.
It took a little time, but she wore down. He had known she would - they always did. No matter how fast they ran, or how far away they hid, he always got to them in the end. There was a second - time seemed to slow down - where he was only an arm’s length behind her. He could have reached out and touched her. It was now… now! Using his right foot, he launched himself at her, his own momentum carrying him. Stretching forward, his hands slammed into her shoulder blades, sending her flying. They landed simultaneously, and rolled. He came out on top, pinning her down with his own body weight, his right forearm across her throat. Towering over her, he spoke slowly, deliberately. ‘Why did you do that?’
They remained silent, gasping under his weight. Suddenly, he saw something on her cheek. His eyes widened in shock - was it? It was a tear.
Breathing in slowly, she whispered three words: ‘I’m so sorry,’
He felt like shaking her, screaming at her to make her say something more.
But he couldn’t. And her expression was having a profound effect on him. He removed his arm from her throat and she gasped, now having full control over her windpipe. She whimpered slightly, but holding his gaze strongly.
Suddenly it was too much for him, and he rolled off her. Without a second thought, she got to her feet and ran, leaving him lying on the ground, staring up into the darkening sky, wrestling with his inner demons. Screwing his eyes shut, feeling a tear of his own roll down his left cheek, he wondered when it would end…
Even if you only read one, leave us a comment :)
Next, (I know it's not in order when referring to this post's title..) The Bourne Ultimatum. I saw it yesterday. And it was brilliant. I lived the fact that it wasn't simply a flick, in that you had to think to understand what was going on, and the actors didn't simply spell it out. And Matt Damon was brilliant. He suits the role brilliantly. (How many times can I say the word brilliant >.>) My only problem with it was that the camera work was a bit trippy - rather shaky, especially during the chase scenes, but that's all. It was also really good how well they did Jason Bourne's character - he knew exactly what he was doing, as well as what everyone who was following him was doing, and the chase/fight scenes were believable - you know how sometimes you get action movies and you end up wondering how on earth they can still be alive after everything? This wasn't one of them.. And I loved it how they finally went back to his past, ad how they incorporated the 'David Webb' thing into it. Fyi, David Webb was Ludlum's original idea and features a lot more in the books (some of the best action book ever, I might add) but he only features at the end of the Supremacy and the Ultimatum in the movies..
Thirdly, since I'm in a good mood, and because exams are over, I'm going to also post three (rather short) stories. As follows:
A Relaxing Firday Night
w/c: 405
Summary: After a long week, one has a chance to relax with among the simple pleasures.
Music: Kissing a Fool - Michael Buble
Sitting down, he smiled. The week was over, and now it was time to relax. The only light in the room was coming from the open fireplace, which glittered and cracked softly. Taking a generous mouthful of the alcohol in the small goblet, his gaze softened as he felt his body relax. The hysteria that had dominated his life for the past few weeks had finally finished, and he could now get on with enjoying himself.
His house was slightly old fashioned - there was no plasma screen television, or multi-thousand dollar sound system. Most of his contemporaries questioned this - it wasn’t like he couldn’t afford it. The small fortune on which he sustained himself had recently become public gossip. But he ignored all that. He was happy; why wasn’t everyone else? No, he had other, finer tastes. From nearly every wall in the house hung a masterpiece, created by a gifted artist, dead but not forgotten; and the room he was currently in was bordered by bookshelves, most of them full.
He sat, silently, for a few minutes, contemplating his next move. He could select a book form one o the hundreds around him, and lose himself in the delicate yet immaculate texts; he could take out his old manuscripts and update his characters’ journeys - by God they deserved it. Or, he could simply sit and enjoy the comfort of his surroundings - the fireplace, the fine wine, his own thoughts. Deciding on the latter, he decided that if he got bored of it, he could go out for a walk: the rain has recently stopped, and the world was at its most elegant in the twilight.
Sipping his wine, he noticed that his immediate environment had been slightly altered - it was no longer silent. The residents above him had begun their weekly ritual of a gentle recital on piano. He had only met them briefly, but he knew of their presence very well. Their concerts normally began with the piano, and were often followed with the seductive musings of a crooner with a double bass, and, if he was extremely lucky, a saxophone. Some of his companions detested big band music. Personally, he couldn’t think of anything more lovely.
So, contentedly, he sat, the comforting aroma of dying embers surrounding him, and the gentle music enthralling him. He sighed and took another sip of the elegant liquid in his glass. Life was good, he thought.
Wrong Answer
w/c: 651
Summary: Two unlikely companions working in an abandoned warehouse.
Music: Bourne On Land - John Powell (Bourne Identity OST)
The man strode in, footsteps bouncing off the far walls. His companion was already stationed at his desk. The man still walking had an air of superiority - no, arrogance - about him. He looked down his nose at everyone, and had a violent temper. Cross him, and you would end up with a fist to the face. But he had his reasons for his antisocial behaviour - his work had hardened him, and he was under more stress than most people knew - the lines on his face misrepresented his age, and though he was fit, he didn’t eat well, thus he was more chiseled than toned. His height - near two metres - often helped to intimidate people.
He joined his companion at the table, making it shift slightly as he sat down. His companion was an aging man, with salt and pepper hair that had once been jet black. His meticulous nature was perfect for his work, and he was one of the few who did not simply succumb to his companion. He waited for the after-tremors of his companion’s seating to diminish before he continued his work. The only acknowledgement he gave him was a small, mildly irritated grunt.
The younger man put his elbows on the table and frowned. ‘Are you finished yet?’
‘I’ll tell you when I’m f - ‘
The younger man swore violently. ‘That’s not fucking good enough. You knew we needed this,’
‘And you’ll get it,’ the working man cut in. ‘It’s just not ready yet. So if you don’t mind…’ Throughout the entire exchange, he had not looked up once.
The younger man swore again and looked at his hands. Finally his companion looked up. ‘Maybe if you gave me better conditions,’ he said icily ‘I would be able to work faster,’
The younger one looked at him incredulously. ‘You know why we can’t do that. We might as well light a flare to announce our presence. No, if we keep the lights down, and stay here, we’ll be fine,’ he said, more to convince himself.
His companion, again concentrating on his work, raised his eyebrows in false sympathy. ‘Well then you’ll just have to cope with it,’
His younger companion was burning with fury. Ignoring this, the man still working continued on. ‘Is everything else ready?’
The younger man breathed deeply before answering. ‘Yes. This is the last step. If everything goes well, we should be finished and out of here by three,’
‘That’s a.m., isn’t it?’
‘Well, yeah,’ he said sheepishly.
The older man inclined his head, begrudgingly accepting the answer.
The younger man keened back in his chair, listening to the outside conditions, as they went from mildly unappealing to disgusting. As he had arrived at the warehouse dark clouds loomed and the wind was roaring. Now, in addition to the wind, it was pouring, and the rain was throwing itself at the walls and roof. There was no heating in the building, so he pulled his coat up around his neck and let his breath whistle through his teeth.
The older man yawned and lit a cigarette, letting it hang out the side of his mouth. It was a habit he had picked up before he could remember - before any of this, and despite the warnings, he had never stopped.
‘There,’ he said, causing his companion to look up. ‘That’s it,’
‘Finally,’ the younger man said, relieved. Hastily, he grabbed the small pile that now sat in front of him, and put it in the briefcase that lay on the table.
‘How many times are we going to have to do that?’ the older man asked sharply.
The younger one was caught off guard. ‘Oh, uh…’The older man stood up and put on his jacket. Stepping close and putting placing his hand on his companion’s shoulder for a second. ‘Wrong answer,’ He exited the building quickly, leaving the younger man silent and alone.
When Would It End
w/c: 663
Summary: A chase with unlikely outcomes. I'm very proud of this. It's very Bond, but I had Bourne in my head when I wrote it too.
Music: most of the Casino Royale OST - David Arnold.
A million thoughts were buzzing through his head. Suddenly, one of the surfaced. He walked quickly, with a thick-blooded assurance that he would succeed. There was fire, fury in his eyes. His intuition told him this would not end well.
There was a second of silence, of observation; he saw the target, no, the threat. Eyes widening, he ran. He ripped his knife out of his pocket, cursing under his breath, looking for his prey.
Finally, he approached her. It was a wonder she couldn’t feel his hot breath on her neck. He tapped her on the shoulder, and she turned around slowly. Her eyes opened in shock when she realised who was asking for their attention. She saw the blood in his eyes; the blood that said murder, but before she had a chance to scream his empty fist made a vicious contact with her throat and she suddenly lost their ability to breath properly. He watched her as they slowly took control of their own body. It would almost have been amusing had the black hatred in his body not taken hold. He gave her time; time to figure out their next move. There was that same assurance from before that told him he could match whatever they did. His moment of observation ended when he dragged her to their feet. Looking into her eyes he saw something he hadn’t been expecting. It wasn’t fury, or even anger, nor was it fear. It was a look that was asking for forgiveness. He couldn’t believe it. After all that had happened, she sill felt no fear, no fury. Steeling his soul, his hand went to her throat: ‘You should not have done that…’
Suddenly, something flashed behind her eyes. It was miniscule - most wouldn’t have seen it. He nearly didn’t. Though he did see it, it took him too long to interpret it, as she brought her arm - as heavy as near death - down onto his temple. The blow sent sparks through his vision, and he loosened his grip on her throat. Gravity then finished they job by throwing him to the ground. Rolling over, he just had time to watch her leave his peripheral vision, and he swore under his breath again. Shaking his head silently, he leapt up and ran after her.
It took a little time, but she wore down. He had known she would - they always did. No matter how fast they ran, or how far away they hid, he always got to them in the end. There was a second - time seemed to slow down - where he was only an arm’s length behind her. He could have reached out and touched her. It was now… now! Using his right foot, he launched himself at her, his own momentum carrying him. Stretching forward, his hands slammed into her shoulder blades, sending her flying. They landed simultaneously, and rolled. He came out on top, pinning her down with his own body weight, his right forearm across her throat. Towering over her, he spoke slowly, deliberately. ‘Why did you do that?’
They remained silent, gasping under his weight. Suddenly, he saw something on her cheek. His eyes widened in shock - was it? It was a tear.
Breathing in slowly, she whispered three words: ‘I’m so sorry,’
He felt like shaking her, screaming at her to make her say something more.
But he couldn’t. And her expression was having a profound effect on him. He removed his arm from her throat and she gasped, now having full control over her windpipe. She whimpered slightly, but holding his gaze strongly.
Suddenly it was too much for him, and he rolled off her. Without a second thought, she got to her feet and ran, leaving him lying on the ground, staring up into the darkening sky, wrestling with his inner demons. Screwing his eyes shut, feeling a tear of his own roll down his left cheek, he wondered when it would end…
Even if you only read one, leave us a comment :)