house of cards 1

Chapter 2

Getting closer and closer to the light, its heart churned restlessly, greed, enthusiasm, and ambition intertwined, everything around it disappeared, only the light that attracted it tightly, the power of this light The dream that transcended all it had, made it irresistible, left it no choice.

Thursday, June [-]

She dragged her exhausted body back home, stumbled up the last step, and closed her eyes exhausted.It seemed that only a second later, the morning sun crawled to the edge of the curtains, calmly landed on the pillow, piercing her face, like invisible fingers trying to open her heavy eyelids.Distraught, she rolled over.My head was groggy, my feet were still sore, and the bed beside me was empty.What a bad decision to help someone else get rid of their second bottle of Rhineland last night.Alcohol let her relax, let her guard down, only to be cornered by a pimple-faced, morose-talking guy from The Sun.She had no choice but to pour the last little wine into his shirt, and then drove the annoying ghost away.At this time, she quickly lifted the duvet and took a look, making sure that she hadn't completely wronged herself in the half-drunk and half-awake state, and let the man spend the night in the bed.Seeing this, she sighed, and didn't even have time to take off her socks before falling asleep.

Mattie Stoling pounded the pillow hard and lay down again.She deserved a few extra minutes of sleep because she knew she was going to have another sleepless night tonight.Tonight is election night.Really a cursed day.The voters will have a grand vengeance.The past few weeks have been brutal for Mattie, with editors stalking and bombarding her every day; overwhelmed with deadlines; and emotions oscillating between exhilaration and exhaustion.Maybe she should take a few days off after tonight, sort out her life, find a bottle of slightly better wine, and spend the night with a man of slightly better quality.She pulled the duvet to wrap herself more tightly.Even though the early summer sun was so dazzling, she still felt chills all over.

That feeling has been with me since I left Yorkshire about a year ago.Her original intention was to put all the condemnation and anger there behind her.But no matter where she went, she could still feel the cold shadow of the past closely following her, especially when she was sleeping, the bed was like an ice cellar.The cotton batting under the pillowcase had clumped together, and she shivered and buried her face deeply in the pillow.

She kept trying to calm down.After all, now she can concentrate on nothing else, without being disturbed by emotions.In this brutally competitive and male-dominated world, she is ambitious and wants to become the best political reporter. On this road, she has cleared the obstacles and is gearing up to see if she is real gold.The only thing she needs to transcend now is herself.However, when the feet are cold, it is difficult to calm the mind; when there are dirty clothes all over the place and there is no time to wash them, how can you go on the road with ease?She flung the duvet back and managed to get out of bed, only to find the panty drawer was empty.She miscalculated on this matter, and forgot all about it.There's so much to do and so little time to do the damn laundry.She rummaged through the other drawers, left no corner untouched, cluttered the room and found nothing.It's really annoying.Still, she's glad that no men are witnessing her embarrassment now that she's left to rummage through the hamper.After searching and searching, I finally found a pair of shorts that I replaced a week ago, but I only wore them for one day.She flipped her shorts inside out, slipped her legs in, and went into combat mode.Mattie Stoling sighed, pushed open the bathroom door, and started another tiring day of running around.

The evening twilight began to spread in the June sky, and the four rows of mercury lamps illuminating the big screen lit up with a dull "click".The facade of the building was illuminated like day by this highly intensive light.This is the headquarters of the party, and the façade of the building, imitating the Georgian style, seems to be penetrated by lights at this time.The curtain of a window on the third floor was drawn, and someone glanced hurriedly at the scene outside.

Also attracted by the light was a moth.The moth had been waiting for a long time in the crevice of a tower of a nearby church, waiting for the opportunity to move as night fell.Standing in the center of Smith Square, this elegant church named St. John was designed by Wren [referring to the famous British design master and architect Sir Christopher Wren (Sir Christopher Wren). 】Designed and built, it was changed to vulgar use a long time ago, and the name "St. John" was abandoned.But its four limestone towers are still the most visible and important buildings in this seatless square, which is in the heart of Westminster.The people looking out stared at the lights and frowned disapprovingly.But the moth was not unhappy at all, but trembled excitedly.Fueled by [-] watts of light and centuries-old instincts, it spread its wings.

The cold air that just entered the night made the moth tense all over, and he couldn't help approaching the sea of ​​lights.It flies over the gathering crowd under the lights, over those who are hurrying and preparing for something noisily.Getting closer and closer to the light, its heart churned restlessly, greed, enthusiasm, and ambition intertwined, everything around it disappeared, only the light that attracted it tightly, the power of this light The dream that transcended all it had, made it irresistible, left it no choice.

The body of the moth threw itself on the lampshade, and a bright flash passed by. It hugged the hot glass tightly with its wings, and within a thousandth of a second, it was vaporized and transpired.The moth's scorched black corpse quickly rolled and fell to the ground before even a little desperate blue smoke could escape.Night devoured its first victim.

Another victim, willing to be swallowed early by the night, was now leaning against the brightly painted bar of the Marquess of Granby.There are more and more people around, more and more noisy, and the bar is located on this bustling street corner.The Marquess of Granby was a respected and beloved soldier more than 200 years ago, and more pubs in the land are named after him than anyone else.But the Marquis himself went astray in the great storm of political struggle, lost the battle, and finally died sadly in debt and sorrow.The same fate was about to befall Charles Collingridge, it was rumored by many of his more forgiving friends.It wasn't that Charlie Collingridge had ever won an election and reached the pinnacle of power; nor had the Earl of Granby, which wasn't the norm in those days.Collingridge was in his fifties and looked older, worn out, and his military career hadn't been particularly illustrious.Two years of service in the national army had only made him realize how incompetent he was in life.Charlie has been trying to do something decent, but he's always in trouble.Of course, if you're an alcoholic, there's nothing unusual about it.

He got up early today, shaved and tied his tie.But now there is some stubble around his mouth, and his tie hangs half-dead on his chest like a "flying half-staff" mourning.The vodka the bartender gave him had already been gulped down two glasses; but the bartender looked into his eyes and knew that he had drunk more than that that day.But Charlie was a mild alcoholic with a smile on his face and good things to say.He pushed the empty wine glass back to the clerk.

"Another glass?" the bartender asked hesitantly.

"Have another drink yourself, please, buddy." Charles replied as he reached for his wallet. "Oh, but I don't seem to have enough money." He muttered, looking at the lone bill in his bag with some disbelief.Then he turned his pockets upside down again, and took out a bunch of keys, a gray handkerchief and a few coins, "I'm sure I still have some money..."

"That's enough," replied the bartender. "I won't drink it, thank you. There's a lot going on tonight."

"Oh yeah. My brother Hal, you know that?"

The bartender shook his head and pushed the refilled glass over the varnished countertop to Charlie, secretly glad the old drunk was out of money and would be leaving his bar soon.

"You don't know Hal?" Charlie asked in surprise, "You sure do." He took a sip of his wine, "Everyone knows Hal." He took another sip of his wine, "He's the Prime Minister!"

(End of this chapter)