His Unwavering Gaze

Chapter 1

Rushing through the busy street of Cheshire, a countryside in England, Luna whizzed and slithered her way through the nooks and crannies of people. Beside her, she stealthily dragged her worn out and rusty bicycle, with the groans and scowls of women and men alike in earshot and sight. Her movements relaying how frequently the scene occurs in her daily life.

She had one agenda in mind: to get to the workshop before Mr Boggart, the very generous and kind boss of hers uses her head as a car jack for one of the many faulty vehicles lined up to be fixed.

Luna Roberts' job choice as a mechanic was one by default and from her premeditation, was in haste to get to it. Well it could be termed as more of a part time job, an entitlement that cannot be laid out in precision.

Working as a part time mechanic within
the male-dominated workshop, which entailed the duties of car washing and truck driving or even becoming a part time news paper delivery 'guy', was not the ideal career Luna had in mind. Heck if you asked of her optimal occupation in her days of education, none of what she currently was would have even sprang into mind. That is because none were classed as the first choice of 'a feminine career'. According to societal standards that is.

On the contrary, now being opened to a new perception of life, Luna lives by her own standards. This was a choice she arrived to, keeping in mind the best interests of her mother and frail ten year old brother of which she bestowed upon herself the responsibility to provide for them and to settle the bills and debts of their almost rundown cottage.

Luna

'Damn those fish cakes' I quietly grunt. It was all the fault of those deliciously, pleasantly displayed goodness, encased behind one of the windows of the locally renowned bakery. The deceitfully appetising smell had to tango into my nostrils causing me to lose focus for  a good ten minutes. A whole good chunk of ten minutes enough to last my timely arrival at my second part time job of the day.

'Now my head will undoubtedly be served on a silver platter for lunch today at the workshop with a side of the reprimands my boss is sure to yell out towards me. The final words I would hear before my demise. It should have been those blasted fish cakes in place for God's sake'.

With exactly a minute and two seconds remaining before all hell breaks loose for me, I sigh in relief as the usual sight of the words BOGGART'S MECHANICS in block over a huge metal shed came into view.

Fully determined now to somehow beat the time frame before being declared late, which is something Mr Boggart most certainly despises, I subtly thrash my way through the gradually reducing herd of people, eager to cross the road to my safe haven or most accurately hell.

A sudden screech of tyres is all I hear before red and blue spots begin to cloud my vision.

Just great.

3rd Person

The tyres of the sleek Lamborghini came to an abrupt halt as a stout yet strongly built middle aged man rushed out prior to the incident a few seconds ago. Of course it didn't occur instinctively because for him to be able to move out of the car, authority had to be bestowed by his upper hand. For he was a mere chauffeur in the eyes of the still, cold looking individual with sharp features situated in the back seat. His features obscured by the tinted windows to the outside world.

A grunt of annoyance escapes from the closed lips of the upper hand observing the small crowd that began to form around.

'Miss, Miss are you okay?' the anxious chauffeur shook the body he hoped to not be deprived of consciousness.

In a situation like this, the best decision to make is to call for medical attention or help. But due to the fear of his upper hand's strong detest to being mixed with 'irrelevant fuss' he refrained from doing so.