Jeff Tracy: One hour

It’s a bland room, with walls in an indefinable hue of palest mauve, or perhaps it’s taupe. I was never very good at colours. Either way it fades into the distance, one of those shades that seems to draw back the more you stare at it. They probably paid some psychologist to tell them what colour to use, something restful they would have said; we want something calming and soothing. And this is the result. No doubt it has some fancy name like Violet Shimmer or Peach Blossom. Whatever. It’s paint. Not the colour I would choose though. Continue reading

Alan Tracy. One hour

He waited for his passenger. It was not pleasant, sitting here waiting, when he was desperate to leave, desperate to start this mission, but there was nothing else he could do. So he waited.
The passenger strapped himself into the seat, firmly pulling the harness tight, as if preparing for a rough journey ahead. These trips were never easy, never predictable. He nodded to Alan and leaned back, hands loosely clasped in his lap. Eyes half-closed. Continue reading