FRACTURED
Can’t
believe this, Daz thought to himself, as he sat on the worn down mattress.
Looking around him he realized that this space was stark, damp seeping through
the uncovered breezeblock walls that enclosed him, just a few more hours to go.
The musty taste in his mouth mixed together with the distant smell of
disinfectant.
He
was so stupid. Why didn’t he throw the piece away, instead when the coppers came,
they found it resting against his L&B ciggies deep in his jacket pocket. It
just proved what a fuck up he was.
The
heavy metal door rattled in its frame as another inmate was locked away. It reminded
him of the old TV series ‘Porridge’ that he used to watch with his dad, if only
it was really like that. He could barely stand the rank smell that emitted from
the corner of the room. He couldn’t physically bring himself to use the blocked
brown stained excuse for a shitter. They were treated like animals.
Daz
sat running his fingers through his dirty hair, returning his hands to his lap
where they hung loosely over his thighs. Acutely aware that the little black
box with a lens was watching his every move. The pressure of this confinement
weighed down upon Daz. The space felt fuller and fuller with each second
gained. Daz sat numb; he’d let himself down, and he’d let his mum down. His mum
wouldn’t even talk to him now. Just sat at home staring at the faded carpet
lost in her thoughts. She didn’t see him; she didn’t see him at all. He knew he
was a disappointment to her, his older brother Danny, in prison and younger one
dead and buried. Glad he’s not here to witness the family being pulled apart.
We’re
all victims of reality-on the breadline, the deadline to decay, Daz thought
darkly.
He
didn’t even miss his room with the faded blue walls and the photographs of
friends past. Would never take friends home, too ashamed. It wasn’t his mum’s
fault, she did her best but he knew she didn’t want to be here, she didn’t
deserve to be.
Daz
sat, transfixed by the little crack that was working its way across the wall.
Its dark edges spread like a gash across his heart. The rough jagged points
rose and fell with each breath. The crack seemed to mirror his life as the end
fell away sharply towards the floor. Daz almost laughed out loud. Even these
broken walls had him figured out. Slow tears rolled down Daz’s weary pale face
dropping heavily from his unshaven chin, wetting his tracksuit bottoms on the
way down. He began shaking as the tears turned into great gut-wrenching sobs
that threatened to overwhelm his weak body. The silence didn’t help. Closed in.
His sobs gently echoed around the room hitting the thick metal bars adding a
metallic ting.
Daz
wanted a friendly face, anyone. He couldn’t cope with an empty life. He didn’t
want to be here, he shouldn’t be here. It was a stupid mistake, a stupid thing
to do. Why did he do it? Daz was not going to admit it but he was scared,
scared of the guys that he’d wronged. Why did he promise Danny that he would
take care of business? Stupid, stupid, stupid. Daz was just a needy wannabe
gangster, even getting a tat that read, “Get Rich or Die Tryin”. He’d taken it
from 50 cent’s first album, thought it was cool. Didn’t realize that he was a
laughing stock.
Never
could tell when someone was playing him. Not bright enough. Even his bestest,
Mike thought he was a joke. Wannabe nerd more like. Puffing on ciggies but
never inhaling. He never left the house without his hoodie pulled over his
head. He spent hours in front of the mirror rapping the lyrics for Lose Yourself from 8 Mile.
“Look, If you
Had, One shot, One opportunity to seize everything you ever wanted in one
moment, would you capture it or just let it slip…”
God,
he loved Eminem. Tried to mimic his movements and the way he rapped. He thought
he could relate to him, that the lyrics were written about him. Daz would
battle his mates and when questioned about why he always won he would just
shrug and claim that it came naturally. He often said it was talent. It wasn’t. Only his bestest Mike knew that
this tough attitude was an act, a way of taking out his thoughts and feelings
without violence. Really he was a wuss. Never had a fight in him. His oldest
brother was the real thing. The real player around this area and everybody knew
it.
Come
to think of it, how did he get this way? He’d always tried to be Danny’s
opposite. It runs in the blood, he would often say. Lie. He even doubted that
the guy called dad was his dad. You’d think it was strange, but the estate was
riddled with bastards and single parents. He shuffled against the wall, feeling
uncomfortable. Daz shook the cramp from his leg as his trousers rubbed against
the tag strapped to his ankle. He’d already tried the tin foil trick but got
caught. Even put it in the microwave but that didn’t fool anyone.
Daz
stood waiting for the door to open, knew it wouldn’t though. His forehead
rested against the cold grey steel of the door, remembering the reaction he
always got from people. Heads down and eyes on the pavement, scared to make eye
contact. Even in daylight you can’t look at anyone nowadays. Daylight means
nothing today. Even he wouldn’t look twice at himself, not now, not ever again.
Daz
jumped back away from the door as the guard slid the viewer open to reveal two
eyes staring back at him. It all seemed so surreal. The guard spoke with a
stern northern accent.
“Darren
Jones, your transport is waiting”, said the guard from behind the door as the
bolt was pulled back. The heavy door stood gaping open as Daz stepped forward,
leaving his thoughts behind.
* * *
The
van grumbled into life as it set off with a jerk, throwing Daz back down into
his seat. Daz lifted his head just enough to peer out of the foot-square
blacked out window that separated him from the outside world. There were no
photographer bulbs going off or police officers pushing them back. Nothing.
Just the stationary cars parked up without their owners. The world seemed a
lonely place as Daz continued to stare out from his little box. A scream from
another box brought Daz back into reality. His reality. A shuffle in the next
box had broken the rhythm of the vans movement, the guards could be heard
shouting, wrestling to contain the inmate. Daz moved his hand to his head; both
came as the metal tightened around his wrist, acting as a gentle reminder.
20
years. For an accident, thought Daz while shaking his head from side to side.
He knew it was sad what had happened but it wasn’t meant to go down like that.
Daz knew he should have said no to the job or got someone else to do it but no
one ever listened to him. The van bounced heavily down the road. Every pothole
felt like a ravine. Daz was shocked but scared as he’d seen all this before
with Danny. Now it seemed it was his turn. The van took a sharp left that
pushed him hard against the cold, stark interior wall as well as hearing the
usual moans from the other inmates. The wall he was sure moved under his
weight. His mind playing tricks? Daz sat back in his seat, resting his head on
the box wall. He didn’t like the box it was an insight into things to come.
The
look, their faces…the clear hatred in their eyes settling on Daz. It was an
accident. Daz was sorry, sorry with every emotion in his body. The boy and his
family didn’t deserve to feel this pain. Nobody did. The van braked sharply
forcing Daz to lift from his seat then bounce back down. Outside suburbia
surrounded the van. Middle class idiots. Daz knew it was an act; he worked in
areas just like these. He turned his face from the window, lost in thought. The
area outside looked similar to the street where… A tear curled down Daz’s
cheek, a single moment of acceptance. A single reminder as a passage of guilt
escaped.
His
thoughts turned to his future or more importantly lack of. The van grumbled
along slowing as Daz’s certain fate approached. He knew his life was about to
get a whole lot harder as flashbacks from visits to Danny crept into his
thoughts. Daz’s bro always tried to remain positive and happy but the hollowed
out black circles wrapped around his eyes showed the real truth. He’d tried to
shelter Daz but ended up involving him in this mess. Daz thought back to the
boy’s family. Sitting, staring. They were clearly upset as the case opened on
how their boy had died.
Daz
was scared.
* * *
The
light burned in Daz’s eyes as he blinked back into consciousness. Tears ran
down his face as he adjusted to the standard issue prison bulb. The light
brought with it the uneasy sense of change as Daz studied the room through
slits. Turning onto his left side to get a better look Daz’s side exploded into
shooting stabbing pains that left Daz gasping for the stale prison air. Lying
back down, his chest quickly raising and falling afraid to investigate the
source of the pain. A shaky hand felt it’s way along the length of this body;
gently brushing over the thick cotton wadding that enclosed his abdomen.
Lifting his arm in the air Daz realised what the human version of a punch bag
must look like. Lifting his other arm skyward he inspected the damage. He was
met with huge angry purple and black splodges that vaguely looked like the ink
blots that the prison psychiatrist had shown him on his first day. A lot had
changed since then.
Daz
returned his attention back to the room. A single bed and a single chair stood
desolate in the room. Strange thought Daz. Rustling sounds at the door made him
jump and cry with pain. Looking up he was met by a pair of eyes that he noticed
where the bluest of oceans yet deep and hollow. Dead. Daz hadn’t seen his
reflection in days, if truth were told he didn’t really want to. Something had
slipped in Daz, something that would be lost forever. Innocence?
The
concept of being by himself was new to Daz; he hadn’t been left alone since he
got here. The room was bare, Daz noted while making a sweeping glance of the
room. It hurt to breathe. To move even slightly but Daz wasn’t going to show
anyone that he was in pain, didn’t need anyone’s sympathy. Wasn’t weak and
dependant like the rest of them out there. Sucking up to the guards as well as
being do-boys for the queers. Sick, that’s what it was. Always trying to shiv
you in the canteen. Daz guessed that was the reason he was in this strange
place. He’d get the bastards. Surprise them.
Weirdos
was what they are, getting on me back about that boy, when they’d murdered
whole families. Fucking hypocrites. Ain’t no one getting me, Daz thought
menacingly.
Daz
relaxed a little. He was sure the room was getting brighter. Out of the corner
of his eye he saw his old friend the little black box with a lens, perched on
the wall out of reach just above his bed. Daz could feel the lens watching him
as the air became thicker. The little black box with a lens was getting bigger
and bigger filling the space. Daz shuffled on the hard flat bed encountering
pain with each movement made. The lens bore deeper into him. Daz had had enough
and waved the flying V sign in the air. A sad minor victory in Daz’s head.
* * *
Daz
swaggered into his solitary cell after finishing his laundry job. Throwing
himself down on the bed, it was obvious that something was bugging him. Turning
over while out stretching an arm under the flat lifeless pillow. His hand came
to rest against a ball of paper. Pushing the pillow aside Daz retrieved the
paper, at once throwing it into the corner of the room. Daz screwed his eyes
shut as he rubbed his face in his hands. Didn’t ever want to remember but yet
just couldn’t forget. Just wasn’t expecting it. It had caught him off guard.
Daz thought the visitor slip was from his bestest Mike. It wasn’t.
The
look on their faces would remain branded onto his brain, surfacing when eyes
close. They were angry, still were but who wouldn’t be. They’d lost a son.
Their one and only lasting mark on this earth. Daz just didn’t care, not any
more. They’d rained on his parade, making him rot in here. Why had they wanted
to come? Answers. He just wanted to forget and get on with his sentence not be
forced to re-live what had happened. The boy’s mother and father didn’t agree.
Daz decided early on to take the smart arse route and answer back but it didn’t
get him very far. The boy’s eyes haunted him at his weakest moments. They’d
been lost in his sub-consciousness, hidden away from view. The boy’s parents
had initially triggered the recognition, their faces merged into the boys at
once. It was like meeting the living dead. Twice. They wanted answers, answers
that Daz didn’t have. They argued with him about having a gun on him, didn’t
realise that he needed it for protection. This comment didn’t go down well.
Just infuriated the boy’s parents further. It was then that Daz’s expression changed
as flashbacks flashed across his eyes. He saw the boy hiding. The rain of
bullets that were exchanged between gangs flying passed like silver fish
dancing across the sky. Daz regretted his momentary lack of concentration as a
bullet ricocheted off of one of those old school Royal Mail post box near the
boy. It was too late. He couldn’t stop the bullet, it all happened in slow
motion, like a cartoon version of life. Daz had recalled a pair of lonely
staring eyes looking towards the sky. A distant reminder of things to come. Daz
was sorry, really sorry but what could he have done? The boy was gone. He
regretted no not regretted but wished he hadn’t let the boy die alone. Daz had
wondered how long the boy had laid there in between a beat-up micro and old
fiesta. 30 minutes? 50 minutes? An hour or two?
Daz
wore his war wounds like trophies when walking around the prison yard now he
felt conscious of them but not in a way that made him feel proud. He wanted to
be the innocent boy he once was.
Daz
wanted sympathy from the boy’s parents. He wanted to feel their warmth and love
as well as forgiveness. He wanted a reason to be loved. Daz soon realised that
he wasn’t going to get it from them as they turned to leave.
A
bang on the cell door brought Daz back into the present. It was lunchtime with
the usual prison gruel. What is it today cold chicken mush pie or warm salad?
Daz thought to himself while laughing out loud.
* * *
Daz
sat rocking back and forth in his cell. He was bored of this prison life already.
The door’s metal viewer clacked open as an already opened letter came flying
through into the bare room. Daz got up and walked over to where it had landed
on the dirt-ridden floor. It looked like his mums handwriting as he scooped it
up off the floor with a jubilant swing of the arms. Daz stopped. Why had she
written? He thought out loud. What with their last prison visit not exactly
going to plan. Daz let the memory flood back into his mind as he regained his
seat on the worn mattress.
He
thought that it had started well just for the single fact that she had shown
up. He wasn’t prepared for the frosty reception. It shocked him. Out of all the
people in the world, he wanted – no, needed - his mum to forgive him. It never
even crossed his mind that she hadn’t come for that. It turned out she didn’t
even want to know him let alone forgive him. Just kept telling him that he
should have listened.
The
torn edge of the envelope ran through his hands, Daz looked back at the
handwriting. It looked like his mums but something told him it wasn’t. Daz
pulled the letter out as a separate letter fell to the floor. He let it be. The
main letter interested him far more, written on standard issue prison paper. He
began to read it out loud,
Daz,
My bro, my true homeboy. I should of
never let things get this far, I was wrong. You were just a little boy when dad
left; I tried my best to look out for you when mum wasn’t around. I tried to
stop you becoming me but I ended up dragging you down the exact same road. I’m
sorry little bro. I feel like I’ve got blood on my hands and it’s not washing
off. It’s my fault that boy died, I should never of sent you to do the deal. I
was wrong I see that now. I wish I had seen you before you ended up in this
shit hole. Mum doesn’t want to know me; I’m guessing she’s the same with you. I
just want you to know that it’s not your fault; it was an accident, a mistake,
and a tragedy. I was proud of the way you never let me down but I should of
pushed you away more. Made you do well in school, get good grades and a good
job. Made mum proud. It looks like it’s just you and me now Daz. Look after
yourself and keep that chin high. Maybe one day we will be reunited.
Danny
Daz
looked at the letter as tears welled up in his eyes, he let the letter fall to
the floor, in one graceful swoop. It brushed over the other letter that had
fallen out of the envelope. Daz looked worried as it bore the prisons official
emblem, an official letter. He knew what it said even before looking.
Danny
was dead.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
HARD SUN
The time had come thought Sophie as she took deep
head clearing breathes. The dated social services building loomed in front of
her, this 23 year old girl stood staring at the 80s concrete hell hole they
dared call an architectural masterpiece. Yea right she thought. She had
travelled, seen the world, this was not an architectural masterpiece. Sophie
wiped the thought from her head as she pushed through the metal-framed glass door
into the small reception area. Her smart black heels stuck to the worn carpet
like chewing gum caught in hair as she walked towards the lift. It took all of
her control not to scream out as she regained her composer, as she pressed the
lift call button.
The lift was no better, dark and dingy. The once
perfect mirror on the wall was cracked across the middle: sticky tape holding
it together was turned up at the ends covered in dust. Sophie fumbled with a folded letter she had
taken from her handbag; a name printed across it seemed to make her nervous
almost impatient as her foot tapped repeatedly on the lifts lino floor. Ms
Cook, Records Advisor, this was the lady that stood in the way of her knowing her
past, her true self. The lift shuddered to a stop as the ping signalled the
lifts arrival.
The lift exited in the middle of a long corridor
that seemed to stretch out for miles, the same looking wooden door repeated
multiple times down the corridor. Sophie weaved her way down the dimly lit corridor
until she found a door marked RECORDS in cheap plastic letters. She raised her
hand to knock; the door swung open revealing an older lady, middle 40s casually
dressed. Both Sophie and the lady jumped back for a moment. Regaining herself
Sophie inquired as to where Ms Cook’s office was. The lady motioned her further
into the room before pointing to a small office hidden deep at the back of the
already small room. Sophie knocked tentatively on this new door as she listened
for a signal to enter. A muffled voice rose from inside as Sophie entered the
office.
The room surprisingly large on the inside stored
a simple wooden desk and a couple of comfy chairs behind which sat Ms Cook
poised and ready for work.
“Hello, please do come in, you must be Sophie?”
she offered with her hand outstretched.
“Hi, yes I’m Sophie, thank you for seeing me Ms
Cook,” returned Sophie accepting her hand firmly.
“It’s quite alright, you would be surprised by
the number of people we see here who are seeking their relatives just like you.
Right, I have had a quick look over your case file and found all the files that
relate to your adoption if you’re ready to see them Sophie?”
Sophie sat staring at her as she processed the
information, she couldn’t believe that in that thin brown file that rested
between them, that it would give her all the answers to those unanswerable questions
from years ago. It almost seemed to easy, to quick, so many questions yet to
ask. She breathed deep as she nodded her head towards Ms Cook.
“Now Sophie I will go through the file with you
so that you understand and if you have any questions then I’m here to answer
them. If you want to stop at any time just tell me. Ok Sophie?”
“I understand”
The file only contained two sheets of A4 paper
plus a smaller piece of paper that looked like a birth certificate that had
been folded several times. Ms Cook handed her the birth certificate, with
shaking hands she began to unfold the paper, to her surprise it gave a name in
the birth mother column. There was no name given in the column for father, this
didn’t shock Sophie, as she had never expected to see her birth mothers name on
the form. Sophie began to read the details out loud.
“Eleanor Carlson, 18 years old, no known address,
London, Born 1968, Childs Name – Sophie Carlson, she named me?” she looked up
at Ms Cooks understanding face.
“That’s right Sophie, sometimes the birth mother
names her baby before they give them up for adoption, it’s there way of trying
to stay in control when at times its an impossible situation”
“But my last name isn’t Carlson?”
“Your adopted parents will have changed it to
theirs, the name you use now Sophie, it’s nothing to worry about most adopted
parents change the name” Ms Cook reassured her with a smile.
The other sheets of paper were just standard
issue forms declaring the birth mothers rights over to the adopted parents.
Stapled to the back of one of the sheets was a sealed brown envelope; written
on the front in elegant black letters
was Sophie. Ms Cook detached the
envelope from the sheet of paper before handing it over to Sophie.
Careful not to tear the envelope Sophie worked
her pale thin fingers under the seal pulling the glue apart. The envelope
contained a small handwritten note that encased a passport-sized image of her
birth mother, Eleanor Carlson. Her features crafted as if by Da Vinci himself.
The same unruly eyebrows that no amount of plucking could sort, even the same
deep chocolate brown eyes that people always told her were cow eyes. Her lips
were neither smiling nor frowning they just rested effortlessly upon her young
face.
Sophie unfolded the small note that had sat
unopened in her hands:
Dearest
Sophie, if that indeed is still your name,
I know
that I don’t deserve any forgiveness from you or to even ask anything of you
but I want you to know that I never wanted to give you away. The timing just
wasn’t right; there was no money to look after me let alone you my sweet, I
wanted you to have the life that I couldn’t give you, the freedom to learn and
live in a world without hardship. If you can forgive me Sophie and whenever
you’re ready I would like to see you.
Please
find me Sophie; I will be waiting, always.
All my
love
Eleanor
Carlson (Mum)
Without a sound Sophie nodded to Ms Cook before
collecting the file as she turned to leave.
* * *
After the day she had just had she did not want
to deal with this bullshit.
“Look Tom, I’m not sending you anymore money,
you’re going to have to learn to look after yourself, you can’t keep running to
me when your broke!” she screamed into her mobile while in the staff room at
work.
“Well what sort of mum are you then? I’m living
with dad in a new country and I have no money. You said you would help me!” Waves
of chatter ebb and flow in the background, distorting the line.
“Don’t talk to me like that young man, you maybe
21 but I still deserve respect I’m your mother! You chose to live with that
piece of shit! I warned you not to!” Her voice breaks as anger surfaces.
“Fine, please yourself you selfish old bitch!”
came the answer before the call cut out leaving her listening to the persistent
dial tone.
Her hands were white as she slammed the phone
into the table before regaining her composer. The late evening sun hurt her
eyes as she tried to shade them from the blades of sunlight that broke through
the gaps between the office buildings opposite. She looked down at the
pavement; watching the people go by unnoticed in the shadow of the light. The
steady clack of soles hitting tarmac seemed to accompany her life like a
soundtrack as the swish of overcoat sleeves reminded her of the sea as it
crashed against the rocks at the bottom of a cliff.
After her seventh coffee on her way back home she
opted to walk instead of catching the number 21 bus. Her feet were poised at
the edge of the pavement; eager for the lights to flash green while her stare
remained focused on the crowd at the opposite side of the road. Their blank
expressionless faces stared back through the stream of traffic. Workers,
students, street cleaners and bank managers waited motionless in the darkened
sky. A thousand lonely faces in the world lost in thought as they glanced to
the tarmac and back.
As the lights flashed amber she made her way
across the road, dodging the oncoming people she began the long journey home
furious at Tom. How dare he think he can speak to me like that and get away
with it? She shook her head as she decided to take a short cut through the old
disused supermarket car park that led almost directly to her council flat
block. She could see them in the distance, standing tall like giants of the
night, uneven lights shone from various windows in no particular sequence.
The night air carried a chill that sent shivers
down her spine as a branch cracked somewhere behind her. The darkness hung like
a net waiting to be dropped on its next prey. She turned sharply to find that
she was the only person around, the only person walking across the car park,
chuckling to herself for being so sensitive she carried on walking, convincing
herself it must just be birds in the tress that lined the car park edge.
From nowhere she was pushed to the grit covered
tarmac ground as she felt a pressure on her spine, like someone kneeling in the
small of her back, She screamed out with pain but all that escaped was a
mumbled cry as her face was pushed further into the ground. With blood seeping
from her torn fingertips she tried to claw her way out of the grit. Her leather
handbag ripped from her shoulder as she heard bone snap, deep gut wrenching
sobs escaped her tiny 41-year-old, 5ft 6” frame. An acute hit forced darkness
upon her as her already weakened body fell silent. The night air circulated her
broken body as strands of litter decorated her torn clothing while blood
escaped from her various cuts dampening the cold hard ground that surrounds
her.
A pair of white nurses shoes padded across the
tiled hospital floor as she followed the sound with her swollen bruised eyes.
Distant voices echoed off into the distance bouncing from plastered ceiling to
tiled floor to chipped walls before fading into silence.
A monitor beeped to the left of her in constant
regulated pauses as her chest rose and fell under the whitened cloth sheets.
The old wooden door swung open as a young, rather handsome doctor entered the
room, without a word he shone a bright white light deep into her eyes as her
lent into her face, his breath dusting over her pale cheeks as she felt his
chest rise and fall against her body. He quickly moved away as he examined her
chart that sat at the end of the bed before exiting the room the same way he
came in. She blinked a couple of times to try and shift the different coloured
shapes that had formed in her vision but to no avail. A constant pain throbbed
at the back of her head as a tight bandage concealed her forehead.
Strip lighting swayed from a single electrical
cable as the light flicked, casting uneven shadows that danced across the
mottled walls where the damp had seeped in. The window catch looked to be
sealed shut by layers of heavy lead paint. Towards the bottom of the glass a
small crack jittered across the pane. Metal bed frames squeaked as they sagged
under the weight of the ill and infirm.
St George’s crypt sat in 10 acres of countryside
that faced north, distanced from any nearby towns or cities. Wispy trees
blocked out most of the light as their heavy branches concealed the crooked
entrance. The once elegant 1800s hospital had turned into an almost derelict
haven for the mentally ill bustled up into the one remaining habitable wing of
the hospital.
The door sat ajar at the far end of the room, a
slither of light fell across a pair of unworn cream slippers that sat at the
end of the bed. Her arms remained tightly wrapped in the thick heavy blanket as
it covered her broken body from view.
“Hello, how are you feeling today?” asked the
young doctor
“Ok…what happened to me?” she crocked.
The doctor looked down at the clipboard before
answering, “You were mugged a few weeks ago, you were quite ill for a while, we
haven’t been able to find out…w…who…who you are” Stuttered the doctor.
“Oh ok,” she looked slightly puzzled.
“Your handbag was taken and you had no other
forms of identification on you, I’m sorry. It also seems like you have
sustained a serious head injury, as you haven’t been able to remember anything
from before the attack. This maybe temporary but we won’t be able to tell for a
while, I’m sorry” apologised the young doctor
She nodded her head in agreement. “Ok”
“The police have issued a photograph of you to
the media in the hope that someone will come forward, ok?”
“Yes”
* * *
Sophie passed an old newspaper stand on her way
from the social services building, unsure where she should start her search for
her mum. She kept re-reading the letter over and over in her head, wondering
what circumstances lead to her being adopted. Sophie wanted answers, deserved
answers. First thing in the morning she was going to the library to find out
more information on Eleanor Carlson her mother. Until then through she needed
some light relief as she scanned the stack of newspapers on the outside of the
booth a headline caught her eye “MUGGED WOMAN LOSES MEMORY”, she began to read
the short extract on the front cover;
A mid
40s female from London was found over four weeks ago in east London after a
horrendous mugging where she was left badly beaten and with no forms of
identification. Police have been appealing for witnesses or anyone who may know
this woman as she has suffered serious memory loss meaning she cannot remember
anything from before the attack. Her attacker is still at large. See page 8 for
more details.
Without looking Sophie folded the newspaper as
she paid the newspaper seller 40p. There was a small photograph on the front of
the woman just after the attack, her facial structure hidden under the swelling
and bruising. To think that someone could do this is beyond belief thought
Sophie as she walked to a nearby bench to continue reading the article.
Turning to page 8 Sophie nearly dropped the
newspaper in disbelief it can’t be can it? Staring out from the folded
newspaper was a more resent photograph of the mugged woman that looked strikingly
similar to the small snap shot that she held in her other hand aged of course.
The photograph of Eleanor Carlson her birth mother, the image wasn’t a clear
one but she could make out certain seminaries. This couldn’t be thought Sophie
as she examined the newspaper photograph carefully, matching their unruly
eyebrows and deep cow eyes. Without a second thought Sophie began to run to the
nearest Police station to identify Eleanor Carlson, her mother.
* * *
As the evening set in she awoke from her restless
nap to see a tired looking young girl curled up in the rooms’ only comfy chair,
streetlights glancing her face as daylight disappeared. She remained still,
quietly gazing out of the window. She watched as a few strands of hair shifted
as the outside air blow through the draft in the cracked window. She cleared
her throat as Sophie span round to face her, she looked so familiar but still
she couldn’t place her. Sophie moved over the door to shout the doctors before
returning to the comfy chair.
“We have had some news on who you are!” said the
excited doctor “You are Eleanor Carlson and this is your daughter Sophie, you
gave her up for adoption Eleanor but she has found you”
“I…I…I don’t understand I have never had a
daughter”
“You are just tried Eleanor try not to get upset,
I will leave you and Sophie to talk”
She just laid there staring at Sophie, this
couldn’t be she was a nobody yesterday and now today she had a daughter that
she didn’t even know about. She shook her head refusing to believe that she was
this Eleanor Carlson woman. She might not have been able to remember most of
her life but she knew deep down that Sophie wasn’t her daughter as Sophie moved
closer to the bedside.
“I know it must be hard to take it all in but I
really do believe that you are my birth mother Eleanor Carlson, don’t you
remember anything at all about me? The doctors said that if you did start to
remember things then some big life changing event would be the first thing to
come back”
“I’m sorry…Sophie…but I’m nearly 100% sure that
I’m not your mother…I’m sorry”
“The doctors are going to run tests on us
tomorrow” answered Sophie almost willing her to remember the day she gave her
up but to no avail.
“Ok” she answered despondently
The next day Sophie greeted her with a smile as
the doctor read out the test results.
“The tests show that you have had a child Eleanor
and that you’re a DNA match to Sophie” smiled the doctor
“I’m not Sophie’s mother, I’m sorry, I don’t
think I’m called Eleanor either”
“Stop saying that! Stop saying that! I know you
didn’t want me but you could just admit that I am your daughter and you will
never see me again!” shouted Sophie
“I’m not your mother, I don’t have a daughter,
I…I…I think…I have…a son?”
“No you have a daughter, what don’t you
understand? What was the letter all about then? Why did you say you wanted me
to find you if you still aren’t going to admit that you have a daughter?”
replied an angry Sophie.
“I’m sorry Eleanor but if you had a son then why
hasn’t he come forward to identify you? The doctor inquired.
“I don’t know please don’t shout at me, I don’t
know” she started to cry, “I just know that I’m not your mother, I’m sorry. I
don’t know anything about a letter, I don’t know what you’re talking about”
“I should of known that you wouldn’t want to know
me now if you couldn’t stand me as a baby” tears rolled down Sophie’s pain
etched face “I don’t know why I cared so much, even after all these years you
still can’t admit that you have a daughter” she cried as she ran from the room
towards the hospital lift.
Her tears overflowed as the lift moved between
floors slowly descending to her floor as the metal doors clanked open her tears
dried up as she came face to face with a ghost. Eleanor was still in her
hospital bed so who was this woman, this woman was the same height, weight and
build as Eleanor, her features eerily the same even her eyes matched.
“She’s a twin” Sophie whispered the words under
her breath.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Identity
Travelling through this barren
land, I wonder why so many of us are attracted to it. Walking over crushed
compressed gravel, stone, sand and bits of tar the sensation is strange to say
the least. Wandering over centuries of ruins and the foundations of homes that
were left behind from years ago. I remember a time when life was simple and I
had no worries, nothing to stress about or other people too think for. But now
my life has changed almost beyond recognition. The days slowly turn to night and
visa-versa. The never-ending treadmill of daily life as, we all go though the
motions. I’m starting to think I can’t take it anymore. I’m wearing away at the
edges soon I’ll just be another tragic victim of society, another faceless
clone categorised with strangers’ sympathy. There’s no end to these feelings
and thoughts that are trapped somewhere inside between reality and imagination.
I
start to hurry over suspended pieces of weathered metal as the bridge
transports me across. The tired dirty green material creeks and sighs under the
weight, just another day. Just another memory remembered. Another bolt loosens
its grip; another screw works its way free. I can’t walk fast enough as the
thoughts trapped inside my head start to spill from my mouth as I try to
control my breathing. Steps made from trees span from wall to wall balancing
usefully over metal supports. I can see the world beneath; a motorbike stands
alone covered in rubbish and dirt that’s collected as time goes by. The image I
see all too clearly reminds me of …well me. The wood unlike me gracefully flows
down towards a floor that’s laid with large slabs of old Yorkshire stone. The
colours vary through each surface and shadow as patterns dance across them in
front of my eyes. My trainer’s brush across the rough uneven surface with each
step I take. The floor seems so inviting as I stop and sway. No this isn’t the
time or place. Stepping through weathered sandstone gateways the railings set
back from the wall as traffic passes by. Crossing over black and white stripes
objects move ever closer until lights fall upon me to cast my shadow onto this
pot holed surface. The surface is like a pressure pushing down upon me similar
to this fake reality I’m living.
Water rushes by underfoot as eyes divert from
the water below. I stop dead. The opportunity is there as I look around I see
no people, cars, animals or distant eyes watching me as I tightly grip the
railings of this tired rusting bridge. Old road cones and supermarket trolleys
have met their watery end here as rusted remains protrude above the surface of
the water. A final farewell. Pieces of trees tumble past dragging someone’s
supper along with it. Branches sway and whistle as the evening breeze ruffles
through their dying leaves and carries with it any distant sound. I walk on.
Trembling
trees stand guard beside the murky rivers muddy edge. The bitter cold as set in
and de-leaved all of the trees. Naked like me they stand exposed and raw like
yesterdays dirty washing. Tangled shrubs and bushes entwine with discarded
crisp packets and yesterdays newspaper that bares the headline Another
Victim. Each bush tells a story, a secret that’s been hidden from view. A
sock hangs from a lonely branch as it swings in the breeze. The threads and
holes are on show for the whole world to see. Puddle ridden paths lead along
the waters edge; I’m sandwiched between a cold unwelcoming stone solid
structure and a swollen angry brown river. I’m hidden from view. I’m always
hidden from view. I stand in other peoples shadow out of sight. Picking a path
carefully through the many obstacles along the way I lose my footing and
crumple to the ground. With clothes caked in mud and the leftovers of some
thoughtful person’s take-away I start to sob quietly as I don’t want anybody to
hear my cries. The tears curved and clear reflect the emotions suppressed
inside. Nobody’s there to see them roll down my cheek and drip from my chin, so
there’s nobody there who cares. The taste of sick rises up my throat and into
my mouth as I see breakfast once again. I really don’t feel well with my vision
still burred but I walk on.
I
take a few steps forward as I take a look at the ruins of a once bright and
cheery life that’s now in tatters like the sleeves on my worn jacket. The path
narrows to a point as the light quickly fades and the moon slides from sight. I
look back though blurred vision but the path as disappeared; trees, bushes and
shrubs surround me. I’m alone like I’ve never been alone before. A bird’s sad
song floats by my ear up high into the blackened starless sky. Suddenly I feel
a pressure against the back of my head. My eyes start to glaze over as a black
mist fills my vision. The world starts to seem out of reach as my hands search
for something in front of me. I struggle down to my knees with the sharp gravel
opening new wounds. The pressure still pushing, my breathing becomes deep, what
is happening to me? The trees move closer with each intake of air as the sky
surrounds me. A sharp gust of wind rushes by catching me off guard as it takes
my arms from under me pulling me face first into the ground.
Silence.
The bird’s sad song stops dead.
No sound can be heard not even the water flowing past. I lift my head up but my
eyes cannot focus and muscles will not move. My energy drained from me by a
known source. A sudden deep voice sounds from the back of me as a new pain
shivers down my spine. Panic rises as I realise that this isn’t how I wanted it
to be. I needed a final statement, a moment of impact. A final… goodbye. For a moment all is calm once again until the
pressure increases forcing dirt into my mouth as it grinds against my teeth.
The panic starts to set in; I’m struggling to breathe, to clear my throat, and
free my face from the dirt gravel path underneath. Small stones act like bits
of shrapnel that fly into the open cuts of my face with each new blow. Blood
trickles down my nose and into my mouth, the taste of iron so bitter yet so
sweet at the same time until I’m plunged into darkness.
The temperature’s changed, I’ve
been moved I can sense it. The heat is just about bearable as pools of sweat
form across my forehead before finding a path down along the surface of my
face. My eyelids flicker and flutter as specks of dirt are cleared from my
vision. I try to focus on something; anything but it’s too dark. Thoughts run
though my mind as I search for an answer. No light at all, not even shadows
form around me. I wait for my eyes to adjust but it’s impossible. With my
breath strained I realise I’m bound with some kind of industrial tape across my
mouth and entwined round my hands. I’m restricted within my boundaries. How did
I get here? I run my tongue along the tape that’s over my mouth; it’s sticky
and rough as my tongue drags across it. I taste the dried blood at the corners
of my mouth and it reminds me as I feel my face crack under the remains of
cuts.
A
light suddenly flickers at the back of me in the darkness as a door hinge
squeaks in the distance. My eyes dart upwards towards the crumbling ceiling as
I see dark shadows approaching me. Why can’t I see them? They dance around just
out of sight. My eyes franticly search around the empty space as I sense
movement around me. The feeling of hundreds of pairs of eyes looking at me is
almost too much to bear. Heart rate racing as the blood pumps around my body
with fear. With each heartbeat I sense someone moving closer until I feel the
heat from their sticky breath brush over the base of my neck. The closeness
raises the hairs across my body until I’m paralysed by fear. A shiver runs down
my spine along with a single trickle of sweat until it reaches the base of the
solid chair.
The light flickers out.
The tension holds as I try to move from side
to side in a frantic effort to see in this darkened space. I’m lost in this
place that feels familiar. The air thick and musky encircles me in dread as the
temperature rises until I feel my head flop to the right. My head just a weight
on a rope swinging from my shoulders. Dead weight. The weight of my arms and
legs becomes apparent as I slide against the rough edges of the chair. My arms
suddenly spring free as the tape unwinds but not before I crumple into a heap
onto the cold concrete floors. My fingers claw at the floor through the piles of
dust and grime. My fingers start to bleed as my frantic efforts go un-rewarded.
The pain in my forehead slowly explodes as the tension falls onto my eyes.
I’m
aware of the movement of my arms and legs falling free from my sides, as I’m
elevated upwards towards the compressed night sky. My limbs start to sway as
I’m propelled forward into a puddle of stagnant water. I struggle to free
myself from the puddle as I start to feel drowsy; my eyelids flutter as
everything starts to fade to black. The end maybe?
Water splashes onto my cheeks and
rolls down towards the corners of my mouth. I gingerly open my eyes as I start
to roll onto my side. As I do so a sharp pain erupts and shoots down my spine.
A reminder I guess. My eyes start to focus and blink back the suns golden
almost white rays that sweep across me. Tears run down my face helped by the
falling raindrops that dance over the cuts and wash away the dirt clotted
blood. I feel the deep thoughts rise inside of me but the rain distracts them
for a minute as I hear the bird’s song high above me in the trees as I wrestle
to my feet. I can see a faint rainbow colouring the sky. A bit weary I stumble
against the wall and feel the cold stone as a sense of relief washes over me.
My palms and fingertips feel along the sharp edges of the stone structure until
they slide across a smooth surface. I turn to find a reflection staring back at
me. For a moment I don’t recognise this person, I lift my hands to my face as I
search for evidence of the blood and cuts I had had only a moment before. Frantic
hands rub across my face, through my hair and down my body but…there’s nothing
there. Not even a scratch or graze. I don’t understand. The pain and hurt
quickly builds up inside as I realise that nothing has changed. There’s still
nobody beside me, nobody to wipe away the tears that I cry all of my emotions
out into a puddle of shattered dreams.
I
look through the tangled bushes pushing the branches from my view, into the
river, the water bubbling past as usual, and same murky brown colour as before.
The trees lazily standing guard against any intruders. I start to walk slowly
as I find my feet. I break out into a run as I slowly sway and stagger along
the rough gravel path. I fall to my knees holding back fresh tears as I realise
I know this place. I distant bell chimes as time starts again. Another day as
begun.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
STARK WALLS
These stark walls closing in, so many
empty spaces in which you will find a darkness, which can only be described as
hell. Although, there is a light that shines within, descending light where
ever it lays its golden shine. And then, it’s gone a moments past and then its
back to this empty space. The shimmers of light dance along the tinted ground
and up the wood chipped walls, like a lightening bolt threatening the living
creatures that roam at night.
At night the danger increases and
every sound reflects the ‘tick tock’ of a grandfather clock. Another shaft of
light defends you from the dark night that creeps and crawls until it engulfs
you, until your gone without a trace. Your heart, for a split second returns to
normal, as the light brushes along your face, filling out the contours on your
face, that’s weathered and uneven and spills over with secrets and feelings
that were shadowed within. Then it’s black once again.
The mist is falling now, the panic
rising, as danger waits around every corner, under every broken bottle that lay
beneath your feet. Every crack and crunch amplified in your face, a gentle
touch of your cheek sends shivers down your spine, as you turn to face the mist
enclosing you realize that your not as alone as you think. The sweat slowly but
carefully covering your forehead and running down your neck, reminds you that
things aren’t what they seem.
The midnight breeze flows past your
body, the crisp tint of cold air, hits you dead. The sharp cut of air flowing
about this enclosed space is a relief against your hot, sweaty, shivering body.
The smell is rank, tangled with the
stale smell of empty food containers that litter the pathways of life; also
they become the paths and roads we walk on. The food has been munched on by
disease-infested rats that scurry around the walls of this enclosed space.
Space which has no better use than to
be a rat infested area, one stage up from the rats are the drug users and the
homeless who don’t help themselves but litter the damp inhabitable floor space.
Careful where you fall. The dark makes
them hard to see.
Through the damp floor, filthy walls
that crumble and fall and unhygienic surfaces there’s something that brings
these people here. It could be the old lady who stands at the end of the
corridor, yelling and shouting abusive language at anyone who cares to listen
or the people who dare to walk past. It could also be the constant flow of
drugs and whores that spend their time loitering around the opening to this not
so empty space.
A space where not only people walk
past without even looking or look and tut at what they see. A place that stays
the same whether its daytime, night time or even summer or winter. A space that
everyone knows and that everyone wishes they didn’t.
A place so dark and dingy that even you
yourself don’t know it exists and if you do you never show it to anyone because
everybody’s trying to hide it and protect everyone else from it.
You know of this place when your born
until the day you die. You never want to reveal it or share with anyone the
place that everybody knows exists.
Everybody knows this place. We all hate that
dark place that forms inside us.
That special place we hate…©
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE INSANITIES OF MAN
Window frames shudder as tortured
screams echo through the maze of corridors to rooms’ unseen. Flaky pale blue
eggshell paint peels from the cold damp walls as groves mark the side of the
corridor where trolleys have collided. Footsteps thunder through empty
corridors as the noise trails behind into the swish of swing doors. Raised
cries seep through the bolted metal door as stern eyes stare on through. Woven
fabric straps thrust and twist through rusted metal loops that snap shut. The
clasps clink against the cold sterile plastic covered mattress, as the final
buckles are pulled tight across his chest. The faded unknown stains of
yellowy-red spread from chin to crotch. Stale odours are released like bullets
from a gun as the straps pull tight, holding the weathered moth eaten cloth in
place. His breathing escalates until the orderly’s tug him roughly onto his
back. His mouth opens as if to let the words escape into the silence. The
straps strain tight against his frantic cries as his lungs try to expand and retract.
The metal door scraps shut
against the steel frame as distant breeze escapes, ruffling the few strands of
mousy brown hair that hang from his damp forehead. A shiver runs through his
body like water down a drain, collecting fear as the colour runs from his
ageing face. The creases spread across his strained face while trapping
memories as they fade from sight. His teeth clench shut against the harsh stale
air that circulates, trapped in the room. Another breath escapes through parted
lips, shallow and hoarse, his voice remains a whisper. A silent message too
those unseen. Yellow Light warms the
otherwise empty room as daytime slips in, a welcome release from nightmares
hidden in darkness. His eyes stare fixated to the shadows that inhabit the corners
of this stark room. The trees cast shadows that dance in front of the window as
their silhouettes’ reflect from the draping plastic that hangs from his
weathered flesh and bones. Closer inspection reveals letters and numbers in
sequence. A branding of sorts, as a record of health is brought into question.
Soft cream coloured leather eases the hands over quilted patterns that wrap the
room in padded foam. Twelve by fourteen. His hands shook uncontrollably as blood
pulsed through veins that run cold. The seams are almost unnoticeable as the
quilted patterns enclose the room. The screech and cries of the metal bolt as
it scraps across the metal door release, reflects the pain within. Piercing
blue eyes view him while no sound emerges from within or without, the slider
closes. His eyes dart around the room as if living out a dream or journey. No
sound. Just longing that reveals the sadness in his eyes. The images like
memories flicker and lose signal like channels on analogue TV. Life in black
and white, like living in a 1920s film, stuck in shades of grey. A sudden
movement from beyond the door evokes tension that rises from his lower back to
his shoulders, creating irritation that spreads into an angry rant. Twitching,
shuffling out into the cold corridor he murmurs something unheard. The light
flickers on/off causing illusions of shadows dancing over the chipped plaster
walls. His fingertips scrap the surface of the leather, collecting under his
pale white nails. The wheelchair rolls forward as his hands rest uneasily over
the rigid arms. The repetitive movement scratches away at the surface of his
uncertainty, creating a well that runs deep along the edge of the wheelchair.
Separating this life from last. Coloured specks of soft foam appear under
reddening hands…The heavy steel doors along the corridor swing shut behind him
as the wheels shake from side to side while the rubber twists free from the
rusting metal spokes. The wheelchair rolls to a stop against the dinted plastic
table that sits alone in the middle of the bare room. The still, airy silence
is broken as the lone single door opens that sits to the left of the room gives
off a steely cry. A tall, slender brunette doctor wearing a white coat walks
towards the table. As the cards rest on the table his eyes dart between the
doctor and the swing doors. A tension is exchanged between both sets of eyes as
they meet across the table. His eyes shift from side to side as he collates the
data of the room. Just letters and numbers stored in sequence. The mood seems
to change as her face drops into concentration while scanning over the medical
notes. The bruises that are visible round his wrists tell a different story.
Her eyes lock onto the welts that surround the bruises, uncertain of there
reason for being. His hands reseed further into the oversized gown, as it
drapes over his skeleton figure, like clothes hanging off a washing line. The
doctor signals to start by clearing her throat, the sound disturbs him from
thoughts untold. He watches her mouth opening and closing yet the words just
float on through. The softness of her voice lulls him into a state of calm, as
he focuses on the movements of her mouth; the rounding of the mouth as ‘O’s are
pronounced, form perfect circles. The slight peak of whitened teeth gleam through
when sentences end.
The room stirs with silence as
the radiator gently crackles into life in the background. Through the window, tall
spidery trees sway to and fro as they shake the leaves from their branches. A
distant breeze blows through the gaps unseen. The whistles come as varied
screams from nature. His gaze, captured by the movements beyond failed to
notice the doctor’s constant unbiased stare. The moment breaks in two, like
twigs snapping underfoot as she repeats the last question. As he looks around
the bare room his gaze meets hers as the tension breaks.
“Don’t ask me any fucking
questions,” he growls into her young naïve face.
“I just want to show you some
cards” she replies flatly into the silence while turning her body away from him.
His gaze flickers between the
doctors and the window as a look of concentration crosses his face. She follows
his gaze as it falls towards the window as if in search of escape. The silence
remains a constant while she shuffles the cards into no particular order until
her hands come to rest over one striking image.
“Tell me, what you see in this
image?” She spoke flatly while presenting the card in front of him.
He graces her stare for just a
moment, as his mouth opens then snaps shut.
“I don’t see any…fu…ck…ing…thing!”
He snarls through clenched teeth.
The Doctor clears her throat as
she reaches for another card. Without speaking she places the next card in
front of him, awaiting a reply.
He stares into his lap avoiding
her gaze, his thumb and forefinger rolling together in slow motion. Under his
pale green oversized gown his legs begin to twitch and tap uncontrollably onto
the footrest of the dated wheelchair. The Doctor begins tapping her chewed black
biro against the card that lay before him. He raises his head until his eyes
rest on the image shown on the card. The large black ink blot spread out in
front of him, enticing interest with every beat of his heart. The rhythm breaks as the Doctor begins to
remove the card from view; he quickly grabs her by the wrist, firmly but
without emotion.
“Did I say you could move that
card, Doc?” He spat with hatred in every word.
The Doctor recoils her hand as
his grip loosens, her breathing sharp and fast come in huge gulps as she
re-arranges her coat back into place whilst never losing sight of him. She sits
motionless like a child waiting to be punished.
“Now listen, I will look when I’m ready and stop looking when I’m ready, you hear
me Doc?” He spoke quietly but forcefully aware that one more out burst would
alert the orderly’s attention.
“Yea…uh…yeah sure” The Doctor
replied uncertainty trying to regain control of the situation.
His gaze returns to the inkblot
in front. The Doctor begins to speak but was met by a piercing stare, while she
continues to sit motionless.
“You know something, Doc? I can
see an Elephant! Am I right?” He laughs menacingly.
“I…f th…ats wh...at you s..ee
than th..ere is no ri..ght or wro..ng ans..wer” Came her stammered slow reply,
uncertain of her own voice.
He laughs at the worry that
crosses her face before returning his attention to the image in front. His
smile falls sharply as anger flashes in his eyes, as he raised his skeletal
arms in the air he removes the card from the table, throwing it across the room
to the window in one sudden sharp movement.
The Doctor jumps to her feet as the table falls towards her before
coming to a rest on the scuffed floor up against the chair leg. The card falls
below the window ledge in the corner of the room, as it brushes the dirt that
covers the floor, the orderly’s run in to restrain him.
“No! Wait!” the Doctor shouts to
the orderly’s that hold him tight against the wheelchair.
“Leave him be, it’s fine, please
leave...Now!” She continues to shout until the orderly’s have left the room.
They leave the room with no
emotion showing, just a blank expression that graces their eyes.
“Now, do you want to explain what
that was about? Before I call the Orderly’s back in to take you to your room.”
The Doctor asks, as his head drapes from his nearly none existent shoulders.
“Nothing, just continue if you
must” comes his quiet, defeatist response.
“I’m here to help you, if you recall anything please tell
me” she spoke in an almost whisper before reaching for a new card. Her fragile,
china like hands positions a new card where the old one had sat.
“Now remember, tell me anything
that comes into your head when looking at these cards” directed the Doctor.
His gaze remains transfixed where
the old card rested. His eyes dart across the image as if breaking the image
down into letters and numbers. He lifts
his hand to the table as his forefinger begins tracing a pattern onto the card.
His face crumples as a single tear rolls down his painfully dry cheek. He began
to speak.
“It…reminds me…. of a little
girl…trapped…in between…metal panels” he gulps “Who is this girl? Why are you
showing me images like this?” his voice broke high with concern.
She quickly removes the card as he
breaks down sobbing into the sunken lap of his gown.
“Why... Why am I upset? I don’t
know this scene…. why?” he pleads to no one in particular.
The table remains clear. Even
before the next card is fully visible the colour drains from his already colourless
face as his hands clasp each other nervously.
“What is it?” asks the Doctor
with concern upon seeing his reaction.
“Plea…se, Plea…se don’t show me
this one. Plea…se I don’t want to look. TAKE… THEM…A…FUCKING…WAY” he replies
through shaking fingers split across this eyes.
“Ok, ok… calm down, just a couple
more then you can rest” she reassures him while franticly scribbling down his
actions and comments.
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO” his screams
echo into the bare room catching the Doctor off guard.
“It’s flying towards me! Get it
away. Stop. Please stop!” he shouts while fighting an invisible attacker, his
arms flail in the air, legs lashing out as the wheelchair twists and rocks on
the worn out lino.
“It’s ok there’s no one else in
here” reassures the Doctor calmly.
“It’s large wings hit out at me,
I can’t escape, I’m with others, No, maybe, please take it away” breathlessly
he tries to bargain.
His arms and legs twitch and
shudder as his eyes lock onto the image in front. The Doctor covers up the
image quickly with another to try and stop the terror that appears to reside in
his eyes. His stare breaks free into a
sinister smirk that unnerves the young Doctor as she takes a step back towards
the barred metal windows. He returns his attention to this new image that sits
on the battered plastic table. His eyes widen but no sounds escape his tightly
shut mouth.
Anger flickers across his eyes as
he holds her stare across the cheap plastic table before diverting his gaze
towards the card in front.
He begins to speak.
“I told you…”
The words fade out as he searches
for a memory to fit this unknown image seen. The air catches in his throat as
flashes of colour shoot across his eyes, red…white…black…yellow. No soundtrack
plays just vivid flashes of light, out of sequence.
“So how does this image make you
feel?” asks the doctor quietly.
Without looking up, he shrugs his
bony shoulders.
“Nothing” he replies bluntly lost
in thought. His focus however remains fixated to the card, as thoughts and
memories run through his mind like dogs at the races, until a sharp pain shoots
across his skull.
The wheelchair is pulled away
from the cheap plastic table as the orderly’s remove him from the Doctors room
with a sharp tug. He holds her unbiased
gaze until he’s dragged though the swing doors into the dimly lit corridor. The
wheels jump and brake in a stop start motion as he watches the sturdy metal
doors shut hiding their interiors from view.
The corridors seem to breath as the trees tap against the blown single
glazed windows, as if to make contact with those within. Shadows rise and climb along the darkened
corridor walls brushing over every imperfection and crack that separates the
plaster. His eyes focus and re-focus in the dim light trying to define the
edges that sway across his vision. His eyes reflect the images just seen as
terror and fear immerse his eyes while the dim light casts shadows that turn to
shapes, like the inkblots that spread across his sight sweeping into the
shadows. His hands wrap around his frail body as if to protect it from those
unseen. The gown gathers over his weak body like tissue in the womb, protecting
the innocent. The footsteps that follow him calm him as images come flooding
back.
“The…. girl, the…bird?” he
whispers into the still air.
“So real, was…it…real?” his voice
fades out into the darkness of the corridor.
His mouth begins to move in slow
motion as the street lights flicker on/off outside triggering flashes of scenes
already acted out. His head hangs loosely pulling him forward forcing him to
lean forward as the dull ache escalates into a throbbing pain that’s working
its way across his forehead. His head flies backward into the wheelchair as his
entire body shakes loose of the restraints.
His eyes roll back into his skull as white sticky foam appears at the
corners of his mouth; this memory is too much to bear…
The lights flicker past, lighting up the interior for the briefest of
time. They blind but just for a moment. A glimpse of flesh so fresh and pure
flash by as shadows dance across the surface like figure skaters on ice. A
strand of hair catches in the breeze that shines like chains of gold from
centuries’ ago. Multiple features, cute button noses and blood red lips dazzle
as the passing light catches. Eye lashes curve skyward but are unmoved, as eyes
remain shut, tight against the night sky. As Stray hairs stroke the skin.
What jewels lay beneath those delicate lids?
What memories have they yet to witness?
Tarmac gravel flicks up underneath as the tyres search for grip. The
treads spin in slow motion as tyre marks are carved into the road surface. The
weight shifts from front to back as parts of the tyre wall are torn away from
the dented rims. Plastic cracks under the sheer force that emits from each
tyre. The wheels lock and jam tight. No frantic actions or movements will help.
The reflections of oncoming traffic slide from body panels as they blur into
the night. Flashes of red and white lights shine on every surface as it spins
round like candy canes at Christmas time. Lights scream past as they shoot off
to the side.
A distant reminder of things to come, as lights come and go across the
windscreen.
No sounds are heard; just like movements from a silent movie. The
silence breaks as horns blare like frenzied cries while shards of glass
disperse. They tumble and fall to the ground like tears of a child. The light
catches the edges like stars dancing through the night sky.
The black metal crumples and twists as if in slow motion against the
aging oak tree. Colours transfer as two becomes one. The steam rises as if a
signal for help. A pool of liquid seeps from underneath as it sits patiently waiting
on the tarmac. It reflects orange and black as the indicator bulb flickers and
dies.
The weakened branches creek as they stumble from the oak tree. The
glass smashes as twigs pierce the roof. Torn fabric hangs down like badly drawn
drapes that sway in the stillest of air as if letting souls escape.
The leaves tremble from the branches like the passing of souls lost, as
they descend onto the debris-shrouded highway…
His eyes glaze over as fragile trembling
hands reach towards his weathered face as the shock subsides into panic. His
breathing accelerates at a rapid pace whilst his pupils dilate as the air
catches in his throat. His weakened arms battle against the fabric that
restricts his every movement as legs kick out into the corridor. The orderly’s
strain to regain control over his convulsions, as he breaks free; collapsing in
a heap onto the solid cold floor. A sticky red liquid seeps quickly onto the
sterile floor tiles. The blood spreads deep into the groves that criss-cross
the worn tiled floor as his eyes slowly shut tight against the frantic shouts
for help.
The empty silence breaks. A
constant monotone beep that surrounds his ears echoes through his skull. His
senses are evoked while his eyelids twitch and flutter open, as the bright
white lights infiltrate his vision. Strong plastic looking loops glide along
the steel metal rails that encloses him. His body tingles like feathers dancing
across the surface of a lake, as a hand that shakes with emotion gently holds
his hand tightly. A soft gentle whimper stirs his concentration as warm tears
collect on the firm mattress. A familiar female voice cuts through his
thoughts, bringing him back into the stark lightened room. His eyelids suddenly
flick back to reveal a standard hospital room that slowly comes into focus. The
heavy wooden oak doors sit in the middle of the pristine cream wall while the
stark white lighting runs in the opposite direction, juxtaposing the edges of
the room. His gaze drops to his side, intently lingering over the people that
surround his bedside. As he looks around the room at each person, a single tear
escapes that reflects the faces that he thought were lost…
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