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I wrote this story to practise writing something that doesn’t have any magic or paranormal beings in it. Perhaps with a bit of literary flavour? Tell me what you think in the comments.

fancy restaurant

Delusional

by Ronel Janse van Vuuren

 

Erik stopped in front of the restaurant’s dark window and checked his reflection. Satisfied that he could find no fault, he walked to the entrance and waited expectantly for one of the waiters to open the door from inside.

As he stepped into the restaurant, everyone stopped what they were doing and stared at him. He smiled in self-satisfaction. It was as it should be. He didn’t spend so much time in the gym for nothing. As he walked to his table, all the women there swooned at his mere presence.

‘I’ll have to hire a bodyguard to keep them off me,’ he thought as he winked at a blonde. He was sure that she fainted.

The light from the chandeliers reflected softly off the silverware on the table. Erik grinned at himself reflected in a spoon. The restaurant was almost as perfect and timeless as he was.

‘Excuse me, sir,’ a young man said to him just as he reached for the menu.

Erik ground on his teeth and looked up. He could see that the boy didn’t spend much time on his appearance. The jacket he wore was at least a decade old. And definitely not from one of the foremost fashion houses in Europe like Erik’s was.

‘What?’ he didn’t ask too friendly.

‘This isn’t your table. I booked it weeks ago,’ the young man said firmly.

‘And your point is?’ he couldn’t believe that the pre-schooler was still there.

‘This is a restaurant where you need a booking in order to get a table,’ the young man continued.

‘I was here first. And clearly your surname is mine too. You should feel pride in that,’ Erik said with a smile meant to be as friendly as a shark’s.

The young man pulled his mouth unhappily and walked away.

Erik opened the menu, quite pleased with himself.

‘Ahem,’ someone cleared their throat.

Irritated, Erik looked up. A middle-aged man, smartly dressed in a black tuxedo and matching tie, stood next to the young man who was back again like a mosquito.

‘Can I help you?’ he asked the older man.

‘I hope so,’ the well-dressed man answered politely. ‘Are you Martin le Roux?’

‘Of course not! I’m Erik le Roux,’ he introduced himself and proffered his right hand. The older man shook his hand.

‘Nice to meet you. I’m the manager of the restaurant. I’m afraid this table is booked under Martin le Roux’s name. I’ll have to ask you to leave. The restaurant is fully booked.’

Erik could feel his cheeks burst into flame. Everyone in the restaurant was watching them. He scraped back his chair and stood up.

‘I’m too good for a place like this anyway,’ he hissed as he stormed out of the restaurant.

In his haste, he collided with a waiter carrying a tray with an array of drinks. They fell and all the glasses broke. Erik, in his expensive designer suit, was soaked through with the contents of the glasses. He stood up. All the patrons of the restaurant applauded and laughed at him.

Erik could feel steam blowing out of his ears as he stormed out the restaurant’s doors held open by a waiter. He smelled like a distillery. He’d never been so humiliated in his life. The laughing faces of the people in the restaurant danced before his eyes. He’d get back at all of them. No matter how long it took.

He raced his Maserati away into the dark night.

 

“The best thing about life is that it comes one day at a time.” – Unknown

 

I hoped you enjoyed this. I thought about having Erik drive off in an old rusted VW Beetle, but I thought the commentary on how much debt he must be in driving a Maserati was more poignant. What do you think? Do you know someone like Erik? Are you like Erik?

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