Pre-note: Hello readers. I'm working along at my novel, but I keep wondering if there's even a point to writing it. I will keep writing, if only because I like writing and it helps me think stuff through, but I keep wondering it I'll ever finish my novel, and if will it only ever be posted on this blog, or will something more exciting happen to it? I don't know, I just I just keep writing to find out!
(Sorry, Jasmine, for all the miss-used commas there :P)
Chapter two, section two:
The fourth time I woke, Jake wasn’t there. In his place on the green chair beside my bed was a pile of clothing, with a paper ripped from a spiral notebook folded on top.
I’m leaving a dress and some under- some clothes for you. They will fit. I’ll be back. I’m sorry if I was too bold the last time you woke; please realize I’m as new at my job as you are to this place.
-- Jake
The first thing I did was find the mirror he’d held up for me the last time I was awake. It was on a simple table beside my hospital bed; I quickly grabbed it and held it up in front of me.
I sighed. Even if I was dead, at least I didn’t look like something out of a horror movie.
The next thing I did was inspect the clothes left for me on the chair. There was a pair of simple navy cotton underwear, a bra, a dark blue sundress and a pair of leather flip-flops not unlike the ones Jake had worn.
In the windowless room I sat up and slipped the nightie off. The wings on my back seemed to have a mind of their own, slipping out of the material with one smooth movement. My body was as untouched as my face, thankfully. Everything laid out on the chair fit perfectly, to a degree that made me wonder how they’d gotten everything so right.
I slipped my feet into the flip-flops and slowly stood up. I suddenly felt a rush of energy, although I had no IV or memory of eating. I walked to the door of the small, white room, and reached for the handle.
At that moment, Jake opened the door. I managed to jump back with speed I didn’t know I had, and Jake quickly swept into apologies.
“Sorry! Gosh, I’m so sorry; I didn’t see you standing there.”
“It’s no big deal, honestly, I’m fine.”
“Come follow me, ok?” Jake said. “I have someplace I’d like to take you.”
“Ok,” I answered, as he held the door open for me and I walked into a bright hallway.
As soon as my feet were out the door, I was in a hallway that triggered something from my past. The door was one of many in a row along a white wall, yet it was what I faced that caused me to gasp.
The opposite wall was made completely of glass.
Something in my mind was telling my body to panic, and so it did. My head spun and I leaned against the wall beside the door for support.
“New Wings, are you ok?” Jake’s hand grabbed my arm, helping me slide into a sitting position on the floor. I squeezed my eyes shut and willed myself to think, yet still the walls spun to me as I was hit by clear memories.
At first all I could remember were pieces of my life. Elementary school, my parents, my first pet, and then another picture started to piece together. There was a crowded hall. I had books in my hands, leaning against a glass window. There was a noise; I fell backwards. Then I woke up here.
“Oh my God. Right, the window, I am so sorry.” Jake had slid down beside me, and realized the same thing I did: I had died falling from a window just like this one.
The shock hit me physically once more; I lay my head down on my folded knees. I wanted to cry, scream and shake these pictures from my head. Instead, I heard Jake swearing under his breath.
When I lifted my head from my lap, he was watching me with a steady gaze.
“Do you... remember?” he asked quietly.
“Yeah,” I mumbled. “I remember.”
“How much?” he said, his voice almost panicking.
“My – my – death. And my life, or, at least, pieces of it.”
I watched his head fall into his hands.
“I’ve screwed this whole thing up...” he mumbled.
“It’s ok,” I said. I didn’t quite know what to do or say; I was never one for comforting other people, and the sudden realization of my death left me speechless.
“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” he said, looking at me with huge eyes. “At least, not this way. I’m so sorry.”
I didn’t respond; I didn’t know how to. I’m not supposed to know? Why? It hurt to think. There was too much, yet not enough, that I could remember. Details were blurred, and my life was only there in pieces with blank spaces spanning years. I’m not supposed to know. Not today.
Logic kicked in. I couldn’t deal with it; I knew I’d break down, so I decided to push the memory of my death away for then. Maybe not forever, but for then.
“Jake?”
He looked up at me. “Yeah?”
“Why don’t we just... keep going? Start again?”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah.”
He pulled himself to his feet, shaking his head, and then reached down to pull me up.
On my feet, I shook the hand that had lifted me up, and said, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he replied, and then a strained smile came to his face.
Jake gestured to the hallway around us, saying, “On behalf of the Upper West End Hospital, I welcome you to the city of Soleres.” He said this last word with a European accent. “I am Jacob Hepburn, your Guider.”
“My guider?” I asked.
“Yes. Like a tour guide, I’m assigned to show you around this world. You can ask me anything you want,” he explained as we started down the hallway.
“Nice to meet you, then, Jake. I’m Annika McCalden.”
“Nice to meet you, New Wings.” He smiled.
“New wings?”
“It’s a nickname for those new to this place – new to their wings.”
I almost laughed, except he was completely serious.
“I had somewhere in mind I wanted to take you this afternoon,” Jake said, pulling car keys from his jean pocket.
“Ok,” I answered as we hit metal doors at the end of the hallway. On the other side was a busy reception area, complete with doctors, nurses and pairs of people all sporting the same white wings. Following Jake, we managed to squeeze our way to glass doors on the other side of the room, and out into fresh air.
I think every writer at some point questions the validity of what they are writing, but often the process itself is reason enough to keep going and the more you write, the better writer you become.
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