With air this still there was no way that I couldn't be dreaming yet
again but as I glanced around, the white hospital walls looked foggy and grim- nothing like the creepy crispness that came with my dreams. Wiggling my toes, rough linen rubbed against the tops of my toes and warmed briefly before cooling again. I winced as my back complained- validating my time in the alleyway. Lifting up my hand, I realized the reason why I didn't feel hungry yet couldn't remember when I had last eaten. The tape covered up the IV needle sticking into my hand but just seeing made me more cautious about any kind of movement that could dislodge it.
Finished with my self inspection, I turned my attention to the four walls around my bed. Wait. Correction. I was in a hospital cot that was surrounding only on four sides by pale cream hospital curtains- explaining why the "walls" I had seen upon awakening were so foggy looking. At this point I had confirmed that I was indeed in the free clinic. Judging by the fresh faces of the nurses bustling about, I concluded that the night crew must have gone home only an hour or so ago. Having come in to help out once or twice when the days at the orphanage were slow, I knew that it was unusual for them to have overnight guests like me in the first place. A distressed looking woman still wearing clothes stained with blood from a probably freshly treated wound passed into my field of vision. She slowly made her way out of the clinic looking much too dazed and preoccupied to be completely healed. As soon as the thought leaving the clinic to free up space for people like the woman, the throbbing of my back flared up into a pain so intense that I could do nothing but close my eyes and give in to the sandman again.
Rosie stood in front of me. Much less talkative than she had been on the phone, she just stared at me. So instead, I shifted my attention to the kid clutching her right hand. He looked to be about 6 or 7 judging by how steadily his gaze held mine. Although I had never seen this kid before, the deep blue of his eyes reminded me of my own reflection. I got the feeling that we didn't just share the same shade of eyes though. While Rosie still held his left hand firmly, his eyes told me that he was still alone. On the outside, he looked fine. I'm sure he smiled and laughed just like any other kid. But from personal experience, I knew that the kid other people thought him to be couldn't be more opposite from the kid on the inside. On the inside, there was doubt and confusion but most of all, there was loneliness. Shaking myself out of the past, I looked back at Rosie. By the determined set of her shoulders and the tightness in her eyes I knew that she lived for this boy. I knew that even though she could barely feed herself, she made sure the kid never went hungry. I knew she would do anything to stay by his side because otherwise, he would have nothing.
I also knew that Rosie was dead.
Finished with my self inspection, I turned my attention to the four walls around my bed. Wait. Correction. I was in a hospital cot that was surrounding only on four sides by pale cream hospital curtains- explaining why the "walls" I had seen upon awakening were so foggy looking. At this point I had confirmed that I was indeed in the free clinic. Judging by the fresh faces of the nurses bustling about, I concluded that the night crew must have gone home only an hour or so ago. Having come in to help out once or twice when the days at the orphanage were slow, I knew that it was unusual for them to have overnight guests like me in the first place. A distressed looking woman still wearing clothes stained with blood from a probably freshly treated wound passed into my field of vision. She slowly made her way out of the clinic looking much too dazed and preoccupied to be completely healed. As soon as the thought leaving the clinic to free up space for people like the woman, the throbbing of my back flared up into a pain so intense that I could do nothing but close my eyes and give in to the sandman again.
Rosie stood in front of me. Much less talkative than she had been on the phone, she just stared at me. So instead, I shifted my attention to the kid clutching her right hand. He looked to be about 6 or 7 judging by how steadily his gaze held mine. Although I had never seen this kid before, the deep blue of his eyes reminded me of my own reflection. I got the feeling that we didn't just share the same shade of eyes though. While Rosie still held his left hand firmly, his eyes told me that he was still alone. On the outside, he looked fine. I'm sure he smiled and laughed just like any other kid. But from personal experience, I knew that the kid other people thought him to be couldn't be more opposite from the kid on the inside. On the inside, there was doubt and confusion but most of all, there was loneliness. Shaking myself out of the past, I looked back at Rosie. By the determined set of her shoulders and the tightness in her eyes I knew that she lived for this boy. I knew that even though she could barely feed herself, she made sure the kid never went hungry. I knew she would do anything to stay by his side because otherwise, he would have nothing.
I also knew that Rosie was dead.
My new post talks about your character, even though he's never seen in it:
ReplyDeleteAlistair walked through the halls of the orphanage, peering in offices, looking for the man known as “Christophe Moreau.” Xiu Li told him that Mr. Moreau may have an idea of where the police took Annalisa. Eventually, he came to an office with a plaque that read “C. Moreau.” Alistair knocked on the door. When no one came to the door, he let himself in. Inside the room, a light flickered from the fixture attached to the still ceiling fan. The air inside the office had a dead feeling about it.
Julius knocked on the door. His skin felt tight and he seemed like breathing was a job.
ReplyDeleteChristopher Moreau opened the door and Julius walked into the Orphanage.
From Sile N'Bhroin:
ReplyDeleteI followed him and we found a man lying behind a dumpster. His clothes were ratty and glazed with a layer of dirt. He had clearly been lying there for a long time.
“Arlen, get his legs. Help him up.” I moved behind his head and lifted it from the grimy ground.
“Are you okay, sir?” I asked. “What’s your name? Can you hear me?”
“Christophe...” he said. His lips barely moved.
“Christophe? Okay, we’re going to get you out of here. Stay with us, alright? Stay with me.”
“You... just you... who...”
“Shhh, it’s alright. We’ll get you to a hospital,” I said.
Together, we carried Christophe to the free clinic at 7:30 in the morning. My father offered to get us all coffee while Arlen and I waited for Christophe to wake up.
Four hours, 15 cups of coffee, and five doctor check-ins later, Christophe woke up on a ventilator and an IV.
“Christophe? Are you okay?”
He nodded and asked, “Who are you? Did you bring me here?”
“My name’s Sile. My brother, my dad, and I found you in an alley and rushed you here.” Arlen and my dad stepped forward and waved.
“Your brother and your dad? Are they here now?”
“Yes, they’re right here.” I grabbed Arlen’s arm and pulled him forward. “This is Arlen.”
Christophe looked from me to Arlen and gave me a strange look -- similar to the look I received from Sister Marta earlier. He looked around the room one last time before his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he passed out.
I looked at Arlen and shrugged. Perhaps Christophe’s recovery would not be as speedy as I hoped.
She saw Mr. Christophe from the orphanage , he was beaming. His eyes glowing with kindness. He was floating too. Trixie Jean reached for Mr. Christophe’s hands. They began to dance, soaring above fields now the scenery was unrecognizable to Trixie Jean. Trixie Jean had never felt so calm. Suddenly she heard a loud bangs. Gunshots. They weren’t stopping. The feeling of serenity disappeared. She tried to gasp but she couldn’t, tried to scream but all she heard were her babies cries. The gun shots wouldn’t stop. Mr. Christophe’s hands became icy in hers and he dissolved away.
ReplyDelete