A submission from Adam Ellis of Indiana, United States. He asked it be made known this was a prologue to a ongoing novel of his. He also asked for any and all advice on his writing.
“She’s gone, I'm sorry."
Gone?
It strikes me that the words to describe this sudden wave of anguish don't exist, and only those who are touched by its arduous hands know what it is I'm talking about. It's a level of agony, anger, sadness and disbelief that is truly unmatched by all else.
I stand here now facing the blue clad messenger of death. I can feel the disbelief written on my face and although it seems like my mind has begun to understand, my body lags behind. ‘Gone’ was a word I had feared for months and finally hearing it spoken aloud robs me of any sense of willpower.
I wonder briefly why the doctor lurches forward, but as he nears I see his frame towering over mine and I realize the misery has brought me to my knees.
I see her for a quick moment and begin sobbing. I don't remember what exactly happened next, but I didn't care.
My mind had already run to the past.
Some Time Ago
Another wave of nausea sweeps through me, sending the next batch of vomit up and outwards. I felt a slap on the shoulder, and was sure it was death beckoning until Sam and her grinning face entered my field of view from above. Her hair hung down, stopping shortly above my forehead and despite the uncomfortable circumstances, I smiled. I hated her for making me do it, and for being responsible for my current state, but I remained smiling like a dumb ass until she spoke.
“You can keep up eh?”
She pulled away and even though her face was no longer hanging down I could hear the smile in her voice.
“I-” my very clever retort was cut short as another wave hit.
She laughed behind me, in that melodic honey layered voice I hated loving.
One very slow and painful groan escaped the depths of my lungs.
Sam giggle again, and through the verbal drug I heard the bathroom door open and close, then another voice confirmed I had gained an audience.
“What we watchin- ha! told ya he's a lightweight.”
I was busy damning Max, the newcomer, to all hells when the third and final wave of sickness racked my poor, frail, sick frame.
A cheer went up from behind me and I turned to see money exchanging hands.
I tried to look at them with disapproval, but the feeling tends to lack depth when glared from below.
I stood on wobbly legs, and braced myself against the stall wall as a sailor braces himself against a ship, and with the same kind of dedication, I took a step.
A round of applause followed me as I made my way to the mirror, and I could feel congratulating hands on my back.
I turned when I felt the world had stopped spinning and looked to the group.
Sam was upfront, her grinning smile contagious and addicting. She was leaning casually against the door, one leg crossed over the other. I stared a moment longer then normal and turned away when she caught my watching eye. She smiled softly behind pursed lips and I winked, not caring.
Behind her stood Stephan, with his cropped back hair and trimmed vest. The tall man carried with him an air of leisure that formed perfectly in his gentle smile. It was a graceful curse to be friends with Stephan, the man everyone wanted around.
“Feeling better then?”
The question came from Charles. His smile was somehow both wide and cunning. I found it always confusing that a smile could be both so inviting and frightening at the same time. Perhaps only those who knew him well saw the darker side of that smile, and it was the first layer that entrapped its countless victims. Or maybe women liked a smile with a side of potential danger. Who knew? Because certainly not I.
I nodded, an obvious lie as I didn't think I had the strength to find verbal words.
Charles laughed in his high class accent, forcing the rest of us to laugh too.
Damn the brits.
Then there was Max. Not the brightest or best looking kid around, but he was the most loyal friend I’ve ever had and had been since forth grade. The guy would literally take a bullet for me. No doubt the bullet would probably be intended for him anyways, but it was the thought that counted.
“Im not a lightweight” I said in a string of slurred words. Dammit, it had sounded a hundred times more confident in my head.
“Im not drunk either” I continued, digging my grave even deeper. I was an articulate drunk, really. Its just that my mouth sometimes failed to follow through with what my mind was commanding. It was the of curse being sober in your head.
I watched as Stephan put an arm around my shoulders wearing that soft mask of his. Did he always look like this?
“Common Pal, lets find us a cab”.
The daylight was a welcome sense as it struggled to find its way into my room, fighting for space between the closed curtains. If I had to pick one friend to put me to bed after a night at the pub, it was Stephan. The saint always remembered the curtains.
The sound of chatter came through my door, and after managing to roll over, the heavenly smell of coffee followed.
Best thing about sharing a house? There was always coffee.
Using willpower that existed solely for the buzz of coffee, I pushed myself to the side of my bed, ignoring the sudden pounding in my head. My third attempt to stand was successful, and bracing myself for the sure humiliating comments of my house mates, I opened the door, inviting in the sounds of sunday morning.
“There he is!” someone yelled.
I raise my hands to cover my eyes, blinking away the sudden sun caused tears. I make a bow with a sweeping gesture and smile when I hear Sam laugh.
A croaking voice somewhere begs for coffee and sure enough a mug is placed in my hands.
“You guys are the best.”
Charles chuckles in his British way.
“So you kept telling us last night.”
My vision comes slowly, and I see the four of them sitting around our kitchen island.
I smirk lightly. “Was that me?”
The last seat at the table beacons me, and I take my usual place, nurturing my coffee as if it were a lifeline. It kinda was actually.
“How long did I sleep? I asked.
“9 Hours.”
“10 Hours.”
“Three days.”
I turn to Max, my trustee sidekick.
“How many hours man?”
He holds up one hand and I groan, knowing that evening was going to be rough.
“Only five hours?”
Max nodded smiling, knowing how I got after a bad night of sleep.
I sighed and let my head slip into my hands.
Damn.