Jackpot

Emily Komiyama

Description

Stanley Daniels has a PhD in bad luck. Every bus missed, his umbrella inside out on rainy days, even his boss of two years calls him Stephen on the daily. A man of few words, he follows his routine down to the second. Waking at 5:57am. Staring at his clock until 6:00am. Burning his toast at 6:23am. Hating on everyone until bedtime. But today will be different. On the first anniversary of his wife's passing, Stanley finds the universe acting strangely towards him. He misses the bus. Standard. The wind blows against him. What's new? But people at work are acting different. There's a buzz in the air. Suddenly he's not invisible anymore. And a sudden summoning to the 11th floor sets in motion a series of events that will change the course of Stanley's life. Is she watching?Is she pulling strings from above?And will an unclaimed lottery ticket play a part in the most un-Stanley of days?

Informations

• Publié par: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Date de parution: 28 février 2020
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781528915229
• Langue: English

Extrait

Jackpot
Emily Komiyama
Austin Macauley Publishers
2020-02-28
Jackpot About The Author Dedication Copyright Information© Acknowledgments Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV Chapter V Chapter VI Chapter VII Chapter VIII Chapter IX Chapter X Chapter XI
About The Author
Emily Komiyama is an award-winning writer based in Melbourne, Australia. She has been accepted into multiple international film festivals, runs her own magazine as a film critic and editor, and had her work staged in New York City. She has since moved back to Australia after living across North America and frequently bounces between her home countries of Australia and Japan. Jackpot is her first piece of published literature.
Dedication
For Christine. Forever my voice of reason.
Copyright Information©
Emily Komiyama (2020)
The right of Emily Komiyama to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781528914093 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781528915229 (ePub e-book)
www.austinmacauley.com
First Published (2020)
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd
25 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5LQ
Acknowledgments
To my father, Hiroshi, for rocking the unofficial/official manager’s cap.
All the Codys, Coombers, Komiyamas, Quales and Kings. You’re the right kind of family crazy.
Chapter I
Sigh.
5:57 am and Stanley was wide awake. He never quite understood why he woke up so early every day. He was never a morning person. He didn’t warm to the birds chirping. Or the sun gradually filtering in through his drab blinds. You wouldn’t catch him dead going for a walk along the river at this time of day. Or, ever really. He was never much into fitness. The joggers, the mothers, the dogs, the bike riders, the pesky birds trying to salvage the five-dollar muffin crumbs from Pudding’s. And the wind. It was too windy for his liking.
Despite waking up before most, the struggle to physically pull himself out of bed every day was evident. Not due to laziness or depression, just simply because – he knew today would be like every other day before it. Nothing exciting would happen in the few extra minutes spent on his feet.
I should get new sheets.
The faded sheets and blankets were still neatly tucked around Stanley as he lay awake in the dim light of slated sunrise. The tightness of the linen edged the curve of his middle-aged gut, and the space beside him remained untouched and smooth. His toes wiggled at the end of the bed out of habit.
Sigh.
He turned and looked at his basic bedside clock. 5:59 am. He stared at it, barely blinking. And then it blared. 6:00 am and the room was full of noise. The annoying cheeriness of a radio theme jingle, followed by the boisterous fellows who thought they were funny with their sound effects and natural ‘banter’.
As much as he thoroughly disliked this part of his daily routine, he still failed to move to turn the radio off. He turned his head back to the ceiling and just listened with internal disdain.
“Gooooood morning, Yalers! You’re listening to Classic Radio, your one stop station for all the golden oldies.”
“That’s right, Doug. Hope you’re all having a glorious morning. Get ready for some frostiness today. It’s going to be a cold one, dudes.”
“And dudettes.”
“And dudettes!” Morons.
“Mmmhmm. I’m missing that sweet, sweet sunshine. But hopefully your day can be brightened a little better with that wee little forty-million-dollar ticket from last night’s draw still unclaimed.”
“I think I may need to re-check my numbers, Doug!” they cackled wildly.
“I think we all should! Best of luck everyone. Here’s a catchy tune for your chilly morning commute.”
Stanley remained motionless as his room was filled with a classic pop ballad. The smooth, crooning voice could not be any more out of place than Stanley Daniels’ bland, suburban bedroom. 6:02 am and he moved. Sliding his arm from underneath the blanket, he rolled over and it was quiet again. A few minutes in and he’d just exhaled his third sigh for the day.
Shuffling into his equally dull bathroom, Stanley flipped the switch and temporarily blinded himself. Squinting hard, he didn’t have to move far to find the shower. He stripped down, leaving his stained and worn-out slippers for last. The shower was as expected. Small, cramped, unclean. The trickle of the rusted shower-head barely wet the little hair left on Stanley’s thinning scalp.
God damn it.
The deep odour of charcoal filled the kitchen. Stanley lazily hit the side of the toaster and the blackened toast popped, giving him what he expected to be the most exhilarating moment of his day. He glanced at the microwave clock. 6:23 am. Fingering the remains of his breakfast, he threw them on a plate. He slumped at his small and tattered dining room table for two and dragged some jam across one of the slices. The crunch didn’t seem to bother him – it clearly wasn’t the first time he’d ruined his breakfast, or simply failed to turn down the heat on the appliance. Through crusty teeth, he cleared his plate without any level of discomfort or care.
Chapter II
The irritating dimwits on the radio weren’t wrong. The weather was miserable. Stanley was pushing himself against the wind to the bus stop. He stood an intentionally fair distance from the usual faces he saw every morning. Despite never speaking a word to any of them, he seemed to know a lot about their far more exciting lives. The tall, chiselled metro who would arrange secret meet-ups with someone who was clearly not his girlfriend.
“I’ll just say I’m going to the gym, babe. Don’t stress.”
The plump woman with the big hair and the thick European accent who would call her adult son and pester him to find a job, or at least a wife with one. She would juggle between English and Italian, depending on her frustration levels. But either way, it was easy to decipher by her tone alone.