Success

If you're reading this I'm not dead, planning to die or have a death wish; I just felt like kicking the sentence off with - if you're reading this ... 
On Facebook the other night I put a status up saying: 

..'Maybe you've seen me posting blogs/shorts on FB ... cool. I need YOUR assistance. Give me a sentence/word - something that'll kick-off more stories and I'll blog them, tag you here, and credit you at my site 'Kreative Anythingz'. Thanks in advance.'..


This idea was inspired by the IndieInk weekly writing challenge that I have been taking part in since April. It's tons of fun and other writers giving you prompts for fiction/non-fiction really stretches my imagination - plus it's just a whole lot of fun. 
I'm calling this request I plan to put on Facebook at least once a month, Kreative Randomnezz. 

As promised to my Facebook friends I will tag & credit whoever gives me a prompt. The first has come from Remi LeBeau, he gave me a word, and that word was: Success ...


“They talk about it having a smell, about success having an undeniably exclusive aroma that makes the feeling of it satisfying, but the trick; as often many fall short, is first experiencing the smell, that sweet smell.” - Stefan Jeffrey (yes it's cool to quote yourself sometimes)

He woke up sniffing, cold, wet, hungry and angry. This wasn't the way things were supposed to be happening. He knew little about destiny and couldn't come to accept waking up behind an Indian restaurant covered in trash being part of his master plan. Who would?
His montage of trash and waste that he called a quilt tumbled away as he sat up bleary eyed, gazing at a harsh stain on the side of a large dustbin. There was a time when he would wake up to the sight of beautiful women in his bed, sometimes one either side of him, each resting a head on his broad chest, curling their legs around his to stay warm. Not even cats came near him now; he smelt rancid and knew it. An uncle had once said: "Boy, if you can smell yourself without making an effort it should prove effortless to smell good." 
Gary's hand squished itself into something warm and wet, the feeling was unbearably disgusting but he'd long ago lost the ability to make faces of annoyance in the blinding glare of things that would make the average person cringe. He was, by all definition, a complete tramp.
The backside of the restaurant was only used to toss out the trash. Staff there had become so adept at waste disposal they rarely looked at what they were doing, if they did it didn't matter, Gary was the human equivalent of a Where's Wally puzzle. Beneficial for him that on rare occasions they missed their target and this collection of errant garbage became, his home.

Feeling the pull of a new day, Gary got up, found his 10p Tesco's bag containing his life right now and stumbled out of his bed into the opening of the alleyway. Commuters, mums, children; they all avoided him giving wide berth to his pungent odour, screwing up their faces in that all too familiar scowl he didn't notice anymore.
The high street was a buzz of activity at 8.30am. The street vendors selling fruit, vegetables and other useful non food items were already shouting at the top of their lungs, coaxing in old ladies and the odd passerby who had no intention of stopping. Gary stepped past all of them, gradually feeling the old strength in his legs that he remembered when he wasn't sleeping in damp trash on chilly nights. His back felt considerably normal too; better than it had in a while. He noted mentally that last night he'd probably got the consistency of waste totally exact to the bend and shape of his spine, or it was a complete fluke and wouldn't last for more than an hour.

A path opened out in front of him. He never needed to weave though crowds they just moved out of his way.

Gary walked through the town centre unimpeded until the shops and commotion all around was replaced with flats, houses. One house in particular had its front door ajar. From inside the smell of a healthy fry-up wafted out on a slight breeze and blazed a path to Gary’s nose. Bacon and eggs stopped him in his tracks. Not eating anything freshly cooked for so long played on his mind. He stood still taking in more, trying to somehow convert what he was able to smell into tangible, edible treats. Failing, he noticed he was getting closer to the house, his legs moving on their own, on no orders issued from his brain.

From inside, the sound of dishes clinking together, water running and a radio kicking out a morning show could be heard.

The door opened silently. He wasn’t aware it was his hand that had pushed it open. Mesmerised by the aroma of a home cooked breakfast, Gary found himself in an impressive hallway. The walls boasted a beautiful shade of magnolia bordered by a dark pine skirting board with enigmatic patterns carved into them. At intervals framed pictures hung, one or two pictures of flowers, and an old couple still in touch with their good looks despite their advanced years.

The smell pushed Gary deeper down the hallway. Light poured in from the other end and the sound of someone, possibly a man, whistling; broke Gary’s aroma induced reverie. He realised where he was, what he was doing, and began to panic. He was too far into the house to get out before anyone coming out of the kitchen; at what used to be the far end of the hallway.

He froze.

His heart beat several steps faster than needed. Sweat made its way out of his pores and added a thin film of moisture to his already clammy skin.

The whistling stopped.

The light that bathed the hallway vanished. Gary was face to face with a young man holding a metal spatula. The man’s face didn’t change in the slightest. He didn’t flinch, turn up his nose or move away. They stared at each other for what Gary thought was a long time. He dropped his Tesco’s bag breaking the silence.

“I can help you.” The man offered.

Gary had heard: Can I help you? He backed away. The young man stepped forward, his face a picture of concern.

“Wait, don’t go.” There was something in the way he spoke that made Gary stop. He wasn’t scared or angry that a strange tramp was standing in his hallway, he appeared genuinely concerned. He really wanted to help.

Gary felt uneasy about several things, and wondered if the man lacked the sense of smell.

Another moment of silence allowed both men to look each other over. Gary noticed the salt and pepper hair, strong facial features and soft eyes of someone possibly in their mid twenties, but the eyes told a different story. What they gave away was that this person was at least ten years older, and seemed to possess surprising compassion for a trespasser in their home.

Slowly Gary calmed down. The man shifted, tilting his head toward the kitchen. “Are you hungry?” He asked.

Gary nearly fumbled the words leaving his mouth, his voice raspy for having not used it in a while. “Erm yes.”

“Come, eat with me,” the man beckoned, “I’ve just cooked, I have enough for two.”

At first Gary couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It was the eyes that reassured him gave him that feeling this surprising person was being, sincere. He slowly followed as the man turned and headed back to the kitchen.

Steam kicked up from a pot on a hob, the kitchen was big enough to house a centre island. It looked like something out of a brochure. If not for the range of food already on the counter and a tea cloth tossed idly to one side, the room was immaculate.

“Please sit.” Again the eyes.

Gary found a stool at the centre island and sat struggling to resist picking at the stray bits of chopped fruit on a large plate. “Why have you- ?”

“Please, accept my hospitality and enjoy this meal I’ve prepared, we can talk later. Ok?” The man cut in.

Gary nodded and looked at the plate of scrambled eggs, bacon, mushrooms, beans and toast that had been placed in front of him. For a second or two he sat with the fork the man passed to him and drank the smell of the food in for one last time before tucking in.

Christmas morning ... the start of a summer holiday! That’s what the first few bites felt like. Through the dirt and grime on his face, Gary let loose a yellow toothed smile. His host smiled back, tucking into his plate of treats. Both men sat quietly regarding each other casually over breakfast. Gary had seconds.

The plates were cleared away but Gary felt as though he needed to return the favour if possible. When his host got up to pour drinks, Gary jumped up and brought the dirty dishes to the sink and began washing up.

“Hey, no need ... please.”

The tone in the man’s voice was polite enough to make Gary stop.

“Go upstairs. Third door on the left is the bathroom. There are towels on a shelf, take a shower. In the adjoining room is a set of clippers/razors, cut your hair and have a shave. Across the hall is a closet, you look about my size and build, take whatever clothes you like. When you’re done, come back down here and we’ll talk.

Gary couldn’t believe his ears. Why was this stranger being so generous? He couldn’t regard him with suspicion, he was effortlessly sincere.

A little shocked and mostly confused, Gary said nothing in case his host change his mind and left the kitchen through the door the man had motioned to. It wasn’t the same one he’d came in, which gave a clue to just how big the house really was. Outside it seemed like a smaller property.

A spiral staircase was situated on the other side of a plush living room that Gary barely paused to take in. The thought of taking a shower was a greater pull than the soft throw pillows, immense sofa and shimmering large flat screen TV.

The shower had a stone granite feel to it, like having a cleanse under a waterfall. It was divine and surreal all at once. It took a while before Gary felt clean. He’d lathered himself up with shower gel and rinsed more times than he could count. Thick layers of dirt ran down the drain, layers and layers of humiliation and pain. There was something pleasantly cathartic about washing that Gary wanted to cherish. He spent over an hour letting the warm jets caress his skin, applying soap and gel frequently.

In the adjoining room after Gary towelled himself off, he found the tools his host had mentioned. Looking in the mirror he fought to remember how his hair once looked and cut it as close to that style as he could manage. His face, a tangled mess of hair took a bit longer. He wanted to get it right, after a while he did. Choosing a smaller, sharper clipper, Gary lined up the edges of his beard framing his lips and chin in a short smooth style that looked sharp.

Gazing at his new reflection in the mirror he began to get a sense of the man he used to be, but he felt different, broken.

His face was still handsome, he’d not seen it for several years but it was a face worth looking at. His eyes had lost some of their sparkle, but as he stood there taking in the view, a glimmer of what used to be; could be seen on the horizon of his pupils.

Across the hall was a closet which was really a long, wide corridor full of clothes neatly hung, colour coded and laid out beginning casual, colourful, turning smart; then ending with some of the most expensive suits he’d ever seen. Gary back tracked and thought about going with the casual look and realised he may never get another chance and walked forwards selecting a single breasted Alexander Amosu, he’d heard the suit was threaded with 18 karat gold, the buttons - paved and set with diamonds; was proof of its £70,000 price tag. On a shelf above all the clothes was the widest range of shoes and trainers Gary had ever seen. He chose a pair of Berluti's to complement his suit and found an Eton shirt to round off the look. When he was dressed and back downstairs, his host met him in the living room with a satisfied smile on his face.

They sat and started talking. At first the conversation was about Gary and how he’d come to be in his current situation, then his host talked about what he did for a living and some of the philosophies his father had taught him that he holds true to, in life and business. Gary listened intently, recognising some of the things he was hearing as information he’d known once, only, not from the perspective his new friend was describing them.

Soon it all began to make sense and the more Gary listened the more he was inspired. Before long Gary had taken off his jacket and they sat in front of a laptop studying trends on the stock market, reading news articles and watching the way money moved around the various trading centres across the globe.

Gary learnt his hosts name was Tom, he was 26 and his father had taught him to trade when he was very young. He knew how to look at graphs/spreadsheets and predict which direction stocks were heading, and 90% of the time he was right. He’d owned a consultancy but got tired of being tied to a building by day so he traded from home, often for fun. It was his dreams that he chose to place ahead of work and the pictures on his laptop’s screensaver were evidence that he’d been doing a lot of dreaming. In one picture Gary was sure Tom was standing underneath the aurora borealis, wrapped up in warm gear, with a massive grin.

That was what it meant. Gary didn’t know what it smelled like until now.

It smelled of clean sheets, good food and nice surroundings. It also smelled like the love and trust a father has in a sons abilities and Tom’s wife and children that walked into the house as Gary closed the laptop.

“Thanks for reading – I don’t usually talk after a post but I really enjoyed writing this. I loved trying to tie in the sense of smells, linking them to attitudes and ultimately the premise of the story. I want to thank my Facebook friend Remi for giving me the opportunity to write this. I hope he likes where I went with it.”