First draft of the first chapter of my first short story:

[ret5hd]

This is actually an adaptation of a dream I had last night. Comments/criticisms welcome...just keep in mind this is a first draft, mabe took 30 mins to write:

The Counselor

Chapter One

The chair spun slowly around, once facing the small desk with various papers and clutter, now facing the client sitting on the vinyl couch. The cat, an ugly grey tom with matted fur and an uneven temperament, was already sniffing at the clients leg.
“How are you today, Mr. Demmings?” the counselor asked, only briefly looking up from a clutch of papers in his hand.
“Cummins.” he replied.
“What?”
“My name is Cummins.”
“Oh, I see. Well, how are you today?”
The grey tom made an easy leap onto the vinyl couch and began sniffing the clients left arm. He soon focused on a small sore, mostly dry and crusty, and started methodically licking at it. The client gazed at the cat, reaching to pet with his right hand but the cat tensed back on his rear legs then hissed and batted at the incoming hand. The client returned his hand to his lap and gazed at the floor. The cat continued cleaning the small sore, making a faint sandy rasp with each lick.
“Mr. Dunning!” Pause. “Mr. Dunning! Please!”
“Cummins.” the client said, not moving his head but raising his eyes from the floor to look over the top of his glasses.
“Please, if you spend all your time arguing about your name...”
“Informing.”
“What?”
“I'm not arguing, I'm informing.”
“Informing. Fine. If you spend all your time informing me you won't have time for the business at hand! We must...”
“Well, it doesn't inspire much faith...”
“Faith!!! I think you have hit on a very important word today!”
“Look, I'm just sayin' that it doesn't inspire much faith in your services if you cannot even remember my name.”
“Your name is of little consequence here. In fact, it is of absolutely no consequence. No consequence at all! It is much too late for that. But this word 'faith' is of much consequence today! Perhaps for a brief minute we should contemplate the meaning of...”
“Why am I here?”
“Mr. Stemmings, I think you know why you are here. In fact, I think you are the only one that knows why you are here. Why don't you tell me what your mission is...what it is you wish to accomplish. Your objective, your commission if you will!”
The grey tom determined the small sore was sufficiently clean and stepped gingerly onto the clients lap. He placed both paws onto the clients chest and started cleaning under the left eye. The client sat unflinching, listening to each sandy rasp as the cat cleaned the viscuous clear leakage from his cheek.
“I am here to get my affairs in order.” the client said quietly, almost silently.
“Oh no, Mr. Strummings. Your affairs are already handled. Already set in stone. Carved in granite! At best, at very best, you are here to assist others in their affairs. To help tidy up, if you will, the loose ends and stray threads, the detritus, rubble and debris that lie scattered about! A mop and a bucket is what you...”
“Fuck you.”
“Mr. Stubbings! I am not...”
“Goddamnit, it's Cummins you ignorant fuck! Cummins Cummins Cummins!”
The grey tom momentarily paused at this outburst...a black fly zipped by...a brief shift of the tom's attention...a sharp bat of the paw...then a return of attention to the face in front of him, this time the right cheek. The tom lapped at the seeping liquid with vigor, almost lust. The client, now resettled, sat again unflinching, again listening to each sandy rasp. The black fly returned, ignoring the cat, settling on the lower edge of the clients lower lip. The client raised his hand...the grey tom hissed...the hand returned to lap.
A barren pause...the counselor looking concernedly at the client studying the floor. Rasp. Rasp. Rasp.
“Mr. Cummings...”, quietly. “We must continue. We must forge ahead. We must maintain our composure and move forward! For instance...”
“What is expected of me?”
“Why, nothing is expected of you! I'm surprised you ask that. The only question is what do you expect of yourself! This is a strictly voluntary process. You make of it only what you wish. There is no compulsion here! In fact, any compulsion at all would make the entire process pointless, impotent, and absurd! The process here is meant only to assist! To support! To facilitate!”
“I see.”
“Do you, Mr. Dummings? Do you really?”...a brief pause...”I suggest we suspend on that note and agree to contemplate the meaning of the word 'faith'.”
“What?”
“The word 'faith', Mr. Dummings...the word 'faith'. You brought it up, and if there is anything I am sure of it is that there are no coincidences! Contemplation is what is called for! Serene, sincere contemplation! The word 'faith!”
The counselor spun his chair around, quickly stabbing at a button on his desk. “Next!” he said authoritatively, and the grey tom jumped to the floor.