Another unfinished project

I have this tendency to being a story, get a few pages, perhaps even a few chapters in and then I loose interest in it or my ideas for it escape me. Here is another such project. Tell me what you think, perhaps if you like it I'll pick it back up again:

Perfection

Dear Sirs and Madams,

           

            I am writing to you on behalf of the human race established on the planet Earth of the Milky Way galaxy. We humbly request a counsel to discuss the future of this subset of the human race.

            We believe that we have lost our vitality and are becoming stagnant. We are experiencing an unexpected epidemic of severe depressive states. We respectfully request a species set back so that we can begin again. Thank you kindly.

                                                            Sincerely Yours,

                                                            Rigel Nethers,

President of the Earth Systems

            A deep sigh escapes Rigel’s lips as the pen falls back to the scarred wooden desktop, nearly rolling off of the edge. His eyes take on a glassy look as he stares at the crisp white sheet of paper with his signature scrawled across the bottom; the tight curves of his handwriting stare back at him. A few moments pass and he sighs again. Rigel leans back in his chair, cringing at the high-pitched squeal it admits as metal rubs against metal. He runs his fingers through his hair, mussing the once meticulously placed gray strands.

            “How did it come to this?” there is no one in the room with him.

            “Look at you, now you’re talking to yourself, pull it together.”

            He stands and paces the room a few times before stopping in front of an abstractly shaped mirror, somewhat resembling a painters pallet that has been cut into pieces. Frowning into the mirror his hand finds a corner of the glass and shoves it aside, it moves easily without a sound, unlike his chair. The small cupboard houses a myriad of hygiene products, among which lies a small black plastic comb that Rigel retrieves. Turning the comb over and over slowly in his hands, he stares at it but doesn’t seem to see it. Yet another sigh from his lips brings his eyes back into focus. Rigel taps the comb against his palm, runs it through his hair and then places it back into the mirrored compartment. As he slides the mirror closed he puffs his cheeks out in an odd gesture before letting them fall slack against his bones again.

            Rigel crosses the room and sits back at his desk. His glance lands on the piece of paper once more and then shifts to a cabinet to his left. On his feet once more he pulls a key from desk draw and uses it to unlock the cabinet revealing several bottles of liquids, most of which are one shade of amber or another. Idly, he sets the key on top of the cabinet then runs his fingers across a couple of the bottles. They are unmarked bottles, each clear textured glass. He taps a well-trimmed fingernail against one half-full bottle of clear liquid. A diamond cufflink clinks against a small matching glass as he pulls them both off of the shelf and sets them next to the key on top of the cabinet. A small drop splashes onto the wood as he pours the liquid into the cup.  After downing that in one drink, he pours another and carries it with him back to his desk.

            Once again he sees his signature on the letter. Once again he sighs. Continuing to stare at the paper, he sips his liquor. A knock at the door draws his attention. He sits up right and sets the glass down.

            “Come in,” he says

            His office door eases open a foot and stops; his daughter’s head slides in through the narrow opening and smiles at him. A warm smile crosses Rigel’s face as well as he beckons her to join him. Like a spy trying not to be seen, she slides her slender frame through the small opening and closes the door immediately behind her as opposed to opening it wider and walking directly in.

            “Hi Daddy,” she says.

            “Hi Princess …” he responds.

He cocks and eyebrow at her as she crosses the room, making no explanation for her actions. As she walks she buries her hands into the front pockets of her jeans. She has pushed her arms in as deep as the will go into the tight, black fabric; which gives her arms a rigid appearance and makes her slump over a touch. She sits on the edge of one of the chairs opposite of him and smiles again.

            “Is that the letter, Daddy?”

            “Yes, Bria.”

            “So … it’s all but done then?”

            “Yes, Bria.”

            “Well, it’s probably for the best.”

            “Princess?”

            “Yeah, Daddy?”

            “What are you hiding out there, Bria?”

            “Oh, uh, well mom asked me to come get you. There are some men outside who say that they are from the Federation, they want to see you, Dad. I don’t think that they are here about the letter. They’re armed,” She speaks the last part much more softly.

            Rigel