Griffin’s perspective

Hello, guys! I figured since i had homework due on Monday, updating this blog with my “story so far” based on H.G Wells’ novel, The Invisible Man, i just might finish re-writing this third person perspective book on time! I also decided to write from the antagonist’s perspective, because why not? 
Good practice, and something to blog about. 

I will not waste time, as a matter of fact, in telling you why it is that I write this. However, I will make it known the circumstances that have led to this moment.
It was a miracle. A perplexing, unprecedented miracle that I happened to discover: A geometrical expression involving four dimensions. A method by which it would be possible, without changing any other property of matter, except color, to lower the refractive index of a substance to that of air.
In other words, I had discovered the key to invisibility; to power, fame and glory.
Oh! What a wonder would it have been to have unparallel ways to control the very fabric of the world- the irrational minds of ordinary human beings.
I had big plans for my discovery. I had dreamt it all, but never once thought of the possibility of it all unfolding this way. Much to my dismay, these may be my final hours of peace. But I must make my intentions clear. I must make it known to someone out there that I have reacted as any sane man in an insane situation would, that it is not my fault that I suffer.
My name is Griffin, and this is my story.

Day 1
I arrive at Ipping Inn only to be greeted by an extremely taken aback woman at the counter. A natural reaction from any of my encounters, I think. I demand a room and give her a shilling. She takes me to a neat little room, free of any light as we enter, and rushes to open the curtains, remarking “It is such a wonderful day isn’t it, Sir?”
Small talk. Why does anyone bother?
I tell her my rather eerie requirement of absolute privacy and ask her for whether supper could be arranged as immediately as possible.
When do you suppose my boxes ought to be delivered?”
“Why, nothing sooner than ‘morrow, Sir.”
Tomorrow! How am I expected to spend time away from my precious research.
“Why Sir, there was once an accident that occurred on the steep slope up Bramblehurst station. A carriage up- settled. Accidents happen, don’t they?”
Not this again.
I decide to brush her off by asking her for matches for a pipe that wasn’t really out.
However, she was still curious. That’s probably why she thought she could try to know my reason for a visit to Iping by bringing along “a man wanting to take a look at the clock.”
I rush to let them know that my sole reason for a visit to Iping was my desire for solitude.
I believe that they understood, but their curiosity remained.
This clock jobber and woman seemed to be suspicious of me, as anyone would be, I suppose.
The woman’s cold attitude to my question on the positive delivery of an earliest of tomorrow forced me into a defense.
“You see, I’m an experimental investigator.” I say, trying to sound kindly convincing, “They contain my apparatus and appliances- and that is why I am in dire need of those boxes. They will allow me to continue my inquires.”
“Ah, of course, Sir.”
“In addition to my need of quiet, my accident-“
“Thought as much.” Said the woman to herself.
“- has left me with sensitive eyes, which is why, as you can see, I am fond of the dark.
”You will also be good to know that I do tend to lock myself up- sometimes for hours together- and even the slightest disturbance, be it a stranger’s arrival, renders me in a state of extreme annoyance.”
“Certainly, Sir. But might I be so bold to ask-”
“That would be all.” I rush to end our prolonged conversation.
She leaves, but the clock-jobber seemed to only have just begun. I saw him undo the works to delay his stay. I stood, silent and still, while we stared at each other for a good minute or so.
Once he realized, perhaps, he looked down.
“The weather-”he began.
“Why don’t you finish and leave?” I ask, anger finding its way to my tone of speech. “All that needs to be done is fixing of the hour hand on its axle. You’re only bugging-”
He interrupts me by saying he was almost done. Then he leaves.
Finally, my quiet.


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