Still in summer clothes ...

I thought I’d continue in the Indie where I left off thanks to a prompt from, Major Bedhead. I asked Amanda to find the motivation to act and she ROCKED her prompt with: Small Miracles.

You can find MB's prompt at the end of the post along with the links to part 1 & 2.

Part 3

The Central Nervous System is an amazing and wondrous biological device that scientists have studied and tried to recreate with differing levels of failure and success.
It works via neurons that send signals to other cells as electrochemical waves. These waves scurry along fibres that are very thin called, axons; and this causes chemicals called neurotransmitters to be set free at various junctions called, synapses.
Neurons coordinate physical actions within humans and animals, transmitting signals to different parts of the body. One such signal, one of the many that travel faster than a thought told my hand to move to up where a set of other synaptic signals were telling me I'd been hit very hard on the back of my head. I had to wait for the next inevitable sensation of pain, but to my surprise I could only feel a dull throbbing which, as I focused on some more, subsided very quickly.

Though there wasn't as much pain as I'd expected; a feeling of nausea swept over me followed by a weird notion that I was going to be okay ... it was just a matter of time.
Taking stock of my senses I had neglected to soak up my surroundings. My body was righting itself without my help; that much I knew.

I began to sit up, first on my elbows, then hands, until at ninety degrees I could see the room clearer. The ceiling was neglected, dirty and in great need of painting. The walls told the same sad story and from the look of the floor, there hadn't been much emphasis put on housekeeping. I was facing one of the four depressing walls when I heard a faint noise directly behind me, like someone was moving and stopped.

Turing quickly on the narrow massage-like table I was resting on, my eyes met two girls standing at the mouth of the room. Both were probably no more than fifteen years old, and identical from head to toe with one immediate difference. Both had on summer clothes regardless of the rain pouring down outside and both were looking at me, and that’s where the differences began.

Though their eyes were the same shape, colour and depth, one looked totally innocent whilst the other had a weathered, distrusting look about her. I surmised quickly that she must have hit me, and it was her I saw before losing consciousness.

We all remained, looking at each other, studying, questioning, but not uttering a word. The silence began to grow deeper, thicker and pungent with the absence of sound as each second passed. The rain outside was the only indication that this wasn’t some kind of silent movie.

As though she knew it was coming, the one that unnerved me spoke.

“Yes, it was me that hit you. My sister thought I hit you way too hard, but I knew you could take it, any softer and I wouldn’t have floored you.” She said, as though it was a means to an end.

I took it all in. Her nonchalant tone, the way her eyes scanned me for a reaction and the embarrassment on her twin’s face.

So far the last few hours I’d been awake before getting knocked out, as well as the conversation I was debating having right now, were shaping up to be the weirdest in my life.

How had I run so far, so fast? Why did it seem like I have a higher than usual tolerance for pain? And why my mind was racing, putting together ways to bolt out of the room even if it meant crashing through a wall. It certainly felt like I could do it.

“That’s right, you probably could,” She said giving her sister a nudge, “that’s how we felt several years ago.”

Wait?! Was she reading my mind?

“No, I saw you looking at the wall as if it were an option, not an obstacle.”

 Now I was confused and it showed. The one that had done the talking sighed, backed out the room and walked off to her right. The other stayed looking at me as if I needed a hug, maybe even a shoulder to cry on. I didn’t trust her but something about her made me feel like I should.

I slid off the table to my feet and stood in the middle of the room. Floor boards creaked underneath the dirty carpet and a damp smell met my nose. I knew I was still in the same part of town, at the house I’d stood outside using an awning for shelter against the rain, I just didn’t know why and what for.

“I’m sorry about my sister,” she apologised, “it’s been a while since we’ve had company.”

“You live here alone, the two of you?” I asked finally.

“No, this is just the place where people like you come to, if you ever get out of that place, that is.”

“I thought it was a hospital. What is it really?”

“Come,” she said beckoning me out the room. “Let’s go downstairs to the kitchen and talk, it’s nicer down there and you should be somewhere comfortable. Some of what I will tell you may be difficult to digest.”

M.Bedhead prompted me with: The Girls in Their Summer Clothes - Bruce Springsteen

If you want to see how it all started, hit: 1 and 2 ...