The Platfrom

The Platform

The Platform, Written by Stefan Swift

Copyright © 2010  

Stefan Swift: Enjoy!

Chapter 1: London Paddington

An average city day in the busy offices of London gave a moan over the brisk, bitter winter breeze decorating the average lives of those it encountered. The busy workload with broad sheets and other stock exchange data bases flooding the carpets of those towers finishing for the New Year. The never ending stress following those most venerable putting its feet up for a few hours while its victims 'dazzle in the spot light', or ultimately fall on the floor in the worst case scenarios as a result of the tipple we all enjoy, maybe just that once a year. As we commute home from our hectic Stock exchange, on the night of New Years Eve, we may take for granted, but yet would miss the trees waving us on as a sign from the outside as a result of the global climate belts swarming its au'revoirs into London. Ann works in the Stock exchange, literally shipping money around the world processed from the United Kingdom, most probably being transferred to the over hearing . Ann Works in those tower blocks, dotted accordingly throughout the busy streets of London on that New Years Eve. Ann is one of the many whom commute, most days of their lives, from outer London to inner London, like the tragic money she handles. Meet Ann.  

After wishing American Debbie at the reception a happy new year and picking up the parker coat and 'the bridge' handbag consisting of an orange, and what seemed at the time to be an old gold ring worth pittance on those average tacky gold sights actually happened to be a 'Quality Street' sweet, left over from last week's 'katerstroph', the work shoes clicked through the historic stones of the old London town. All alone, witnessing the sense of the unknown and the unstable sense of security. Lamps shone to dim, to allow the weak and subtle emotion that Ann seemed to express daily, sing out in the silence passed the greens of 'visit England, to the depths' of the stage coach double decked bus. The number 23 from Oxford Street to London Paddington runs on the hour, as well as including some time skips in-between. Her black parker coat that she would never take off, even in summer unless she had to, or she was at work was as a battering ram through those lonely streets, giving her motivated confidence. She convinces herself that her drive for success and her spotless record of attendance and punctuality mincing the petty issues with her former bosses has put her where she is now, and no one or nothing will ever, or has ever thought differently. Her short black bob absorbs information to her brain, as though it would light, and her almost perfect skin would not be expected in the polluted streets of modern day London. A strong business woman with few ambitions, as she's already accomplished them. Brown pearls for eyes could wheel in any gobstopper from actors to the vulnerable. This was Ann Whitehouse. The business of London stained her hair and her attempts to find love.

Commuting across the London greens at around six o'clock, the moon shone brightly. Her shadows disintegrated and re-appeared every so often when she walked past the trail of lampposts away from the rest of the busy city through the gardens leading to the bus station on Oxford street, opposite Selfridges.

Re-entering into the spotlight of the city, Ann found herself perched on the edge sanity, when, yet again, the 23 was 3 minutes past its deadline. The swerving menaces of buses within the city of London create patterns which had subconsciously been calculated into Ann's mind. Her city rider led her onto her usual seat on the upper deck of the vehicle towards the back where her privacy could be respected by those others around her.

Her mind was used to the interns of the buses. Her queasiness was no longer stable and dignity broke out again with her travelling issues.

A purse had slid under the rows of seats dodging each and every beam, to tap Ann on her heal. Pretending not to notice, she showed no emotion or reaction and pretended that nothing had happened. A rickety latch gave way and the purse opened (which Ann noticed) and in full view next to her work shoe, she saw a family picture giving the happy family impression, but, with one girl sat in the background looking straight at the camera with no sentiment, as a blank canvass which reflected on the history and past life of Ann, forcing her into a subtle depression zone for a few minutes. As Ann went to pick the purse up, another hand met hers. She hesitated and so did the other. The other brown muscular hand made a gesture, then another, then another. The masculine hand lay on the floor of the disinfected bus, almost to let Ann investigate. She acted professionally, and picked up the wallet ready to give to the man sat behind her.

When she turned, a gentle "Boo!" to flirt was given by the man. Perfect brown spheres looking straight at her with a nose such as 007's, and a symmetrical face with short sharp hair shaped without the use of cheap cosmetics. Biceps overwhelming her, and triceps catching her eye almost made the woman faint until she saw his pecks create an illusion of a load of bank leaflets under his chest almost real. Being twenty, she almost had it all. An obvious flirt technique from him before he had her into his arms like a bee to a hive.

Passing him the wallet, she timidly suggested, "I think this belongs to you". "Thanks, oh, and sorry about that" she heard. "Well, we are both on this bus alone..... Are you going to introduce yourself?" The lack of one's self indulgence swam through Ann, where the man attempted to flirt again. "So what's your name, where you from?" Almost in confusion and not knowing what to say- "I'm Ann". "You are?"

"I'm John pleased to meet you". "Well here's your wallet". As she passed it to him, he led her hand towards his face, where the heat penetrated Ann's hand, leaving his, where in her head she was wrapped around and protected by vines of ribbons of this man whom she had never even seen in her life. She gave a smile.

"Why are you so cold? No in fact, tell me a bit about yourself first?" (What a charmer!). "Well, I work for HSBC in the London stock exchange from Monday to Saturday; most of the time I'm at work, and my favourite food is... spam? "You seem nervous?", "Are you ok?" "Fine yes, fine, just never been in this situation". "Well to be fair, I only have on special occasions", "so you're married, or in a relationship?". "No"-"tough crowd he replied". Ann and he laughed in unison. "How come I've never seen you on this route before?", "To be honest, does the past really matter, I mean, I've made a new friend, You've made a new friend, and now all we've got to decide, is where we go from now?". John would be the first person that Ann would ever have had in a relationship, which being inexperienced in all senses, almost excited her however, much she despised her emotions at that time. As the bus drove through London passing all the top named stores and restaurants, it seemed to be fate that no other person in the whole of London wanted to sit upstairs on the no. 23 bus from Liverpool street to London Paddington, via Oxford street. The cheesy chatter carried through, as she didn't really know what was happening to her, and he, long story short..... "So why are you here talking to me? Why me? This can't be a joke, you're the only one here, but...why me?....If you are one of those that gets into other peoples knickers from time to time, I'm flattered, but that was never really the image I hoped for". "You must be kidding; I was actually going to ask you out for a drink....the irony!"... "oh."

The double decked bus parked outside London Paddington, where this service terminated. "Really, where do we go on from now?"