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"come in," said a voice she though you remembered from the phone calls.She pushed the door open and stepped in to a dimly lit room warmed by a large log fire at one end. In front of her was a large brass bed lit by a single large spot light, the rest of the room was almost pitch black in comparison to the bright light over the bed."hello," you stammered."there will be no talking, unless i ask you a question" you hear Mark say, you where sure that was him.You look around and saw at one end a chair with a figure sitting in it, but shrouded in darkness so you cannot make out more than an outline. a small table next to the figure had a dim lamp and a glass on it, nothing else."how do you feel," the voice asked."nervous," You stammered."there is nothing to be nervous about," said the voice.You want to ask if that was Mark, but knew that it was not allowed. "Go and stand next to the bed," mark told her, "and then slowly turn round so i can see you properly."You walk to the bed and stand. Besides, when you've had your dream and lost it, it's tough to get all excited over the idea of settling for an empty substitute.But my friends didn't want to listen to that, which they downplayed as "just whining." I'm not sure why friendship is deemed these days an excuse for intrusion into one's private feelings, but it seems to be so in the eyes of an awful lot of folks. They were all enthused about my move, kept telling me it was high time I got a "new start" and how this was a great opportunity to do that.It struck me as more an opportunity to improve my living circumstances but not much else. And I had little real enthusiasm for it, truth be told. Still, nicer quarters would be pleasant, and these days I was into putting the best face that I could on things.So I was pretty much packed up by the evening the phone rang. I checked the caller ID as I always did, but didn't recognize the number. Resigned to what was probably telemarketing, I picked up with my usual laconic.
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