The Hustler

He came into the room sleek and ready. A bright sparkle sat in his eyes as he smiled warmly and shook hands firmly. He was the man of the moment. The man everyone wanted to know. The one they wanted to be.


That was last month.


Now he sits in his office and twirls his pen. He wonders where to put the finishing touches. He checks that he has dotted his i's and crossed his t's. Sighing, he looks at the already dried ink with an air of excitement and dread. His moment would come again soon. Like his masterpiece, it would be a thing of great beauty.


He prepares for their reception; his and the masterpiece's. He calls his fellows aside. He talks to them about his idols, all powerful men that had at some point in their lives stood up to the world. He works them over, infusing them with a joy about the future that can only be reached by holding to the letter of the word in his masterpiece. But like every important moment in history, there must be some sacrifice.


This was all two weeks ago.


He stands at his window and watches the people amass. First came 5,000. Then 15,000-  35,000- and then 70,000. They have all come for him. His knuckles are white on the window sill. How could they be so misguided? So distrusting? So ungrateful? He told them what he would do. He told them and showed them for the last 8 years. How could they claim to be surprised? How could they call him a hustler? 


He pulls in a deep breath and his shoulders relax. It is his moment. He will need to make sacrifices. His reputation muddied, his intentions questioned, his blood argued cold and warm. But there will be no compromises on his masterpiece.


This is today.


*** Daily Writing Practice***