[ OT ] Sunday Free Write : Leave A Story , Leave A Comment - CliffsNotes Edition

Hey guys, I'm considering trying to flesh this out into a chapter, or an act. Whatever you call a segment of a story that's bigger than this but smaller than complete. Questions at bottom so as not to bias anyone. Prompt start: 
 
 I carefully emptied the contents of the box onto the floor around me, surrounding myself in nostalgia. There were some good finds in here: a couple of radio alarm clocks, a fax machine, a ( sadly broken ) original etch a sketch, and a solid collection of Master System games. Really though, I'd bought this collection for just one thing. Rooting around near the bottom I plucked out a near perfect condition cassette recorder. Panasonic, expensive back in it's day. 
 
 `` If you were n't so obsessed with the past, maybe we'd still have a future!'' Ugh, what a drama queen. Did she realise how cliche that sounded? Her words bounced around my head nonetheless, unwelcome amongst the childhood sentiments that had already risen up. *Obsession. * Her fucking cats were an obsession, this was a hobby. If she'd spent less time doting on Anna Marie and Clancy Fluffleback she might know the difference. 
 
 I inspected the blank tapes, all C46's. Four tapes, 8 sides, so... about 3 hours of recording time. Not bad. More than enough to have some fun with. 
 
 It seemed like a lifetime since I'd spent my days recording news reports, complete with ad breaks in between. In some ways I guess it was. Unfortunately, reality kicked in somewhere around 99 and my nasal voice proved unsuitable for broadcast of any kind. I had ended up studying journalism instead, which was sort of the same thing. Sort of. 
 
 I slotted in the first tape as I cast my mind back to my youth. Dougie Phelps? No, definitely not. Erm, Daniel Fields? Closer, but still no. Donald Franks, that was it! Man of the people, hero of the airwaves. 
 
 I hit record and to my relief the little red light beamed back at me. I took a breath and prepared to slip back inside Donnie's shoes. 
 
 `` Good afternoon folks, remember to tune in weeknights at 7 sharp for the'News In Frank' with me, your host, Donald Frank.'' 
 
 I hit stop and wound the tape back. That felt weird, really weird. I'd almost forgotten how much I'd wanted to be this guy when I was younger. As an adult, I wanted to be him even more. 
 
 The tape machine clunked to a halt and I hovered my finger over the play button. Part of me wanted to spend the evening stalwartly informing the residents of Chicago, Illinois, about the days tragic events and political intrigue, but I knew subjecting myself to my own voice for any length of time may not be a smart move. 
 
 Whatever. I hit play regardless and the little recorder began to regurgitate my soundbite back to me. Bearable. Certainly not pleasant, but not as horrendous as I was expecting. Something about the low quality of a cassette tape took the edge off. 
 
 As Donald Frank went quiet, natural disasters and multi car pileups vied for my attention. I wanted to relaunch my career with a bang. Perhaps the Mayor had been caught taking bribes from the unions, or better yet, had been caught bribing the unions himself. Death and destruction was exciting, but it took real guts to expose wide scale corruption. 
 
 ``... nger can we make it? I do n't see what we can ev...'' My heart sprang into my mouth, who was in the house!? 
 
 `` We get it, we're trapped. Shush a second so I can record this just in case. In case, well, you know.'' Shit, 2 of them in the house, but where? 
 
 `` Fine, be but be quick. They must be on the third floor by now.'' 
 
 As the penny finally dropped I slammed stop on the cassette player, as if allowing it to continue would somehow pose a great threat. In the silence I could hear my heart slamming against my chest. I cussed out the the cassette recorder as embarrassment set in and a familiar surge of heat rushed into my cheeks. Nobody was here to see this, thank God. The guys at work would have had a field day with this, bastards that they were. 
 
 Taking a moment to breathe in the comfort of my own living room I regained composure. It had just been the surprise of it all. I was fine. Nothing on a recording could hurt me, I'd just let my scaredycat instincts get the better of me, again. With fear and anger slipping away, curiosity rose to the forefront. 
 
 What was the deal with this tape? They were all supposed to be blanks, the guy assured me they were blanks. More importantly, was that real? A radio recording perhaps? The quality was oddly high for a bootleg recording though, and the show seemed far more authentic than any of the plodding audio dramas I could recall. With my body still suffering the ill affects of adrenaline, I placed a shakey finger back on the button and let the voices resume. 
 
 End prompt. Was just wondering if the character seemed even remotely `` real'', and if he seemed like someone who could push a story along? I think I wrote him as someone who'd been unlikely to investigate any of this under his own steam, so I'm considering have him being the lead but throwing in a second main character with a bit more oomph and can drag him along. 

