Friday, 8 March 2013

Episode 6: Recollection

There was a sort of clicking noise somewhere far off in the distance. I could hear it ringing around my head, but couldn't tell where it was coming from. It sounded as though it was getting closer and closer, though, and that made me nervous. My eyes creaked open, only to be slammed shut again, blinded by a bright light that shone into them. With effort I turned my head in an attempt to escape the blindness. My neck shouted in protest, sore and stiff after being stationary for so long. Now I was able to keep my eyes open, at least, but I couldn't see much. My eyes were blurred from being closed so long. How long had they been closed, anyway?

As my eyes drifted around the room, I realized there was still a heavy weight on my neck, and I remembered the collar and the hum. All at once the memory of the sound hit me, and I was sick over the side of the chair. That was one benefit, I guess: now I knew I was in a chair.

The clicking, I realized, was a pair of fingers snapping before my face. I was finally able to focus on them, and realized that they belonged to the attendant. He was sitting across from me in another chair, a wooden skeleton of a thing. All around us was whiteness. His legs were crossed, and he had a clipboard in his lap. Atop it sat the gold watch, which he was looking at as I looked up. He noticed me then, and the snapping subsided. He smoothed his pants, looking back to the clipboard.

"Right. Patrick Kershaw, thirty seven years of age. Two kids, a wife, a border collie named Milo..." He looked up, tapping his lip, and repeated the name. "Milo... nice ring to it. One hundred and seventy pounds even, of average height. Brown eyes, brown hair, fairly average in nearly every way of your life. You're Canadian, but you were last in New York City. In the subway, correct? I suppose you wouldn't know."

I stared at him, feeling overwhelmed. My memories came pouring back, hitting me like a hail storm, each piece of icy precipitation a fleck of a different memory. I'm standing in a brightly lit room looking out the window onto a quiet street. Now I'm on the street looking in. There's a dog standing with its paws against the window, tail wagging, panting. I remember the whines; I could hear it from the street. I remember waving to my neighbour's dog.

Now I'm underground. There's a loud rush of air, and some sort of commotion. The subway platform is chaotic, a crowd of people muttering and leaning forward. There is a woman screaming. An empty stroller. A seeing eye dog barking.

I'm on the tracks. There's a whistle, a deafening screech, a blinding light as I hoist the swaddling clothes disguising the baby onto the platform. There's another scream. Then there's mine.

Then there is nothing.

4 comments:

  1. I must say, I absolutely loathe cliffhangers. There were so few questions answered and yet so many more questions have arisen. But every time I read another segment of this story, I just keep on feeling bad for Patrick.

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  2. You've done a great job of building the suspense throughout this series. It was really intriguing to find out some background information on the character. Hopefully we find out the rest of his backstory

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  3. The more I learn about this character the more I want to know nothing. But I agree with Paulina. I hate cliffhangers.

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  4. So much suspense, and the backstory is so confusing I can't wait to find out more!

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