Sam

The fun is never ending at the Indie these days. I’m enjoying the stories and prompts coming out each week, and everyone has stepped up their game – AWESOME!

I thought I’d give Head Ant the prompt "Empty pitcure frames" and in response she wrote the wonderfully intruiging: Gallery. Hopefully there's a follow up sometime soon!

I was prompted by Alison Newton, you can find the prompt at the end of this post – and yes, its part 4 of the story of been writing recently. You can catch up by reading: 1, 2, 3 ...

Part 4

Louise and Lisa. Those were their names.

Louise tried to explain their story in as much detail as possible. We were all in the kitchen; a soft bulb illuminated the ample seating area. Lisa sat quietly on the other side of an old mahogany table, speaking only to bluntly add facts that she felt Louise was missing out.

The difference between the twins was evident in their temperament. Lisa came across rude, fidgety and impatient, whereas her sister was thoughtful and took her time telling their story so the information could sink in.

They'd been born with a hereditary disease that was in fact, a death sentence. Neither of them had been predicted to live past 4yrs old. Their parents both carried the Tay Sachs gene and inevitably passed it on to their twins. The thought that they’d brought two beautiful little girls into the world, only to die young, was too much of an unacceptable reality for the couple and they searched for options to an incurable disease ... As the twins told it: their parents heard news of an experimental procedure designed to combat against life threatening illnesses, although exactly what ones were never made clear. In an act of desperation in a new multimillion pound clinic, mum and dad signed consent forms they barely bothered to read and soon, the girls were subjected to a barrage of injections and subsequent tests. Though some of the examinations the team of doctors performed were strange, the girls appeared to have renewed strength and vitality after several weeks; something they lacked due to the disease taking hold of them very early.

Overjoyed at the results their parents made a show of congratulating the doctors and spreading the word about the miracle they’d witnessed.

That was a mistake.

On a night much like this one, with the rain pelting the streets, grey skies, and no break in sight; their home was visited by a group of men with only one in the group who was different from the rest. He wore a lab coat, like a doctor, and had an unmistakably excited look on his face, as though he’d found something he’d been searching for. It was at that point that Louise stopped telling their story. Even Lisa’s seemingly usual look of defiance was replaced by a much softer expression. Something terrible had happened that neither of them, by the looks of it, had come to terms with.

I wanted to hear more but thought it best to change the subject slightly. “We’re different aren’t we?” I asked.

“You could say that,” Lisa offered, “sorry I hit you and all that. I was acting on instinct mostly.”

“It’s okay really, I can’t feel a thing.” And I couldn’t. However hard the blow I had taken, there was no evidence of ever being hit, no bruise or feeling of concussion. It was as though I’d taken all my vitamins and then some.

“We are very different. Just how much we’re still finding out. What they did to us slowed our aging process. At first we didn’t notice, but when we turned 11 and still looked about 8 we began to question ourselves.” said Louise.

“So er ... I know we kinda stopped talking about your folks, but I’m guessing you two have been on your own for a while?”

“Yes, just not here. We got away, probably thanks to what they put into us, but we’ve never fully known what happened to mum and dad. It’s as though they’ve fallen off the planet.” Lisa said; which was probably the longest sentence she’d given me so far. I felt like she was warming to me but held back the smile that was about to form. The last thing I needed was to get hit again.

“We had to put ourselves into the system. Become orphans,” Louise continued, “It was the most logical thing to do as we had no other family, people were probably hunting us down, and as each day went by, we began to learn faster, it’s hard to explain, but I think we got smarter; more intelligent all of a sudden. We knew we had to lay low and come up with a plan, but for what, and how?” said Louise, rhetorically.

“You’ve heard all about us! We don’t even know your name?! Lisa interjected.

I hadn’t noticed I hadn’t told them. In a way I thought I had, I thought in some way I knew them already. I had come to this house, this place, for a reason. Like I’d been drawn here by an unseen force, led by instinct or something else buried deep within me. I couldn’t help feeling a connection with these twins. Even as we sat at the table, in a large kitchen that looked well kept in contrast to the state of the room I’d woken up in, I knew there was more to me simply finding this place randomly.

I’d almost forgotten Lisa’s question. “Sorry, my name is, Sam.”

“Sam, like as in Samuel?” Lisa replied.

“No, just Sam.” I said.

At that, Lisa got up and turned on a small radio behind her on one of the long counters that did the circumference of the room and lent against it for support.

Louise ignored her and carried on. “You’ve been altered Sam. Just like we were and at first you’ll feel great but that’s only for the first few days. After that the pain kicks in, and it’s of the worst kind.”

I didn’t want to believe it but how couldn’t I? They’d obviously experienced what Louise was attempting to describe, so I guessed I could take it. Couldn’t I?

“Yes we pulled through but I’m warning you Sam, it’s not to be taken lightly. If you get past this there’s a lot you have to learn, and quickly.” She said, reassuringly.

“What do you mean if I get past this? There have been others like me?”

“Yes.” said Lisa, in between humming the tune on the radio.

Louise flipped her sister an exhausted look. “There have been others like you who have come here, Sam. We’ve managed to intercept you all in various parts of this town; we try to help, but ...”

“But what?!” I asked, scared because I sensed the answer.

Louise looked to Lisa for help and got it with very little tact. “None of you ever survive.”

"Alison prompted me with: A baby born with Tay Sachs."

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 ... 

Come in out of the rain ...

Greetings once more fellow Inkers!

For this week’s Indie Ink Challenge I thought I’d continue the story I started last week as Kurt (who is now THE MAN) issued me a prompt I could sink my teeth into this week – which you can find at the end of the story. I challenged femmefauxpas with one of my favourite quotes. I can’t wait to see how it’s handled.

Miracles?! What the hell was the doctor talking about? I listened for as long as I could, interrupting whenever he strayed off the point, getting over excited, spitting out scientific terminology that my brain couldn’t handle. The female doctor grew more and more concerned as the layman’s expression on my face gradually turned to one of complete shock. She could see what he was telling me was beginning to sink in, I couldn’t fathom what I was hearing, and I was even less equipped to deal with knowing that I was no longer ‘normal’. It was round about the moment when he alluded to needing more tests for some kind of cryogenic procedure to preserve potentially damaged tissue which caused me freak out. The speed at which I leapt off the bed and dove straight past the two of them through the double doors was, inhuman. My body felt revived, new, and at the same time alien and somehow not totally under my control. 

I burst out into a long brightly lit hallway that went on for quite a distance unlike any conventional hospital hallway that I’d ever seen. Behind me both doctors were scrambling for the doors and as they came through, I dug my bare feet into the floor, cracking a tile or two – I think – and sprinted off as fast as I could. It was like a jet taking off. A gust of wind kicked up, filling my ears and confused me momentarily because there weren’t any windows to be seen, and after a moment I discovered I was running fast enough to create a kind of slipstream. Posters and papers that were pinned to walls ripped themselves from their places, open doors slammed shut as I sped past. I looked back to see a whirlwind of paper and dust in my wake. I had run for only a few seconds and covered the entire length of the hallway, the two doctors; somewhere in the distance moving forwards but not getting any closer.

It seemed as though I was the only patient they had, and they were the only doctors present. The place was deserted like a doomsday aftermath, without the apocalyptic mess and chaos that went with it. I’d stopped at a wall with a hallway to either side, both dimly lit. Only one seemed to lead to daylight that illuminated the rectangular shape of a closed door. I didn’t waste any time making a decision. 

A dull overcast canvas greeted me as I nearly yanked the steel reinforced exit off its hinges accidentally. I was running on adrenalin mostly, or at least that’s what I assumed. Rain pelted the street, cars roared past spraying water left and right and I gulped down the scenery like a person dying of thirst. I had come out under what looked like a railway bridge. There was no indication that there was a hospital in the vicinity. I turned to see a massive wall behind me and only the door I’d come through – what the hell! In either direction were miles and miles of motorway and no indication of where here was. My body felt like it was working independently of my brain and I began moving slowly at first then faster and faster until I was keeping pace with cars hurtling along the road. Regaining a little control, I found the nearest bank leading off the tarmac and ran up a grassy hill, up and over, until I was in a field. I wanted to stop but something carried me forward, my legs pounding the earth so hard and fast that I tore a track into the earth. Minutes later I was standing in a town I barely recognised, possibly a place I’d driven through once or twice before and never committed to memory, but I was here and I felt a strong attachment to the place in spite of myself. How many miles I’d come wasn’t clear, yet I wasn’t tired either. 

People were walking up and down a busy street full of cafes, restaurants and bistros. Those without umbrellas huddled under awnings, and in an attempt to blend in, I did the same. I was the only person under a pink canvas outside what appeared to be someone’s front door hidden between all the shops and businesses. In my red jumpsuit I felt about as different as anyone could feel. Everyone seemed to be dressed for the weather except for me. But I was different. The doctor had said it himself; his colleague had worn a troubled look that I found hard to wipe from my mind. I could see her face as clear as if she were right in front of me. She’d brought me in with the paramedics after the accident. Shouldn’t I be dead? Or at the very least, feel like I should be? I just felt, strange ... better ... altered. 

As I looked down at myself, at my hands, I barely registered a muffled sound behind me which must have been a door opening. Before I was given the opportunity to turn around, two very strong hands gripped my shoulders and pulled me into the doorway spinning me around. The speed jogged my vision and it didn’t settle before something hard hit me square in the temple. As I began to fall over, slipping out of consciousness, my vision cleared for a split second and I saw what I thought was a little girl.

Kurt's prompt was: I huddled under the building's awning to wait out the rain. Thanks Kurt - you're AWESOME!

Lazy Sundays

Lazy Sundays – what are they?

Good question, but I’m sure everyone has their own version, and if you don’t, what the hell are you doing?!
It’s a chance to do as much ‘nothing’ as possible in one day. I usually end up exercising, having wonderful breakfasts, watching episodes of Grey’s Anatomy, Archer, Supernatural, The Mentalist and other US shows. I read, I write whenever possible, and I tend to occupy either the bedroom or lounge for most of the day.

This week it was Grey’s, Terra Nova, X-Factor, a super awesome dinner, and some physical activity thrown in the mix; at a pace that I’ve grown accustomed to. I worked out to a Linkin Park soundtrack.

I love Sundays and look forward to them ALL week, like its Christmas morning or something.
Much of the appeal is the fact that I’m totally in love with the Butterfly and snuggling on the sofa is enough for me (I like the simple things).

The day before (8^th October) I took my nephew roller skating at the indoor disco I usually go to with my friends. Saturday daytime at The Renaissance Rooms is for kids and I invited a bunch of families to come down.
So ... Sundays are always totally awesome!

Now, I’m the kinda guy who sees a scene and immediately puts a soundtrack to it. If I took the entire weekend and turned it into a montage - the track playing over all the fun, the laughing, the food/drink, families enjoying time together and spending quality time with no interruptions; would sound like this: