Young Writers Society

This is written in eight hours. How do you think I did. If you think this is good, let me know. If it's bad, let the world know! Like it if you think you sorted it all out!

Bright beams of incandescent light blindingly into my eyes. I shut my eyes. The pain is too great. Why do I feel like every bone in my body has been shattered? My skin feels seared and torn. I try to bring my hand to my face, but stabs of agony tears my breath away. Tears streak down my cheeks. They do not go far.

A hand reaches from my shoulder. It clutches a small swab of tissue, and touches away my tear. It recedes. The light wobbles off towards my left side and is replaced by a face. Well lined with age, this face looks caringly into my eyes. Its mouth flows in blurry movement. I can hear nothing.

Terror grips my heart. What happened? My mind screams at me to focus, but I cannot control the turmoil my thoughts have spun into. Where am I? What happened? Where? What? How? Why? I try to gain control of my terror.

I slowly fade away into the blackness of unconsciousness. Or have I? My mind struggles to the past. Painfully I drag up incoherent thought after thought. I remember my hand closing the shutters to the bakery I work at. No. That was not what had happened. Do I even work there? I cannot remember clearly.

Resolution swells inside me. I pull again at my thoughts. My feet travels down crumbled granite towards the car-park. My mind stumbles, as do my legs. They crumble under me. The black overcomes me.

Reality grips me again. Time has passed. Or has it? I have lost count of time. There is no light for my eyes to behold. No one looking over. I suppress the dread welling in my stomach. I tell myself that I am alone in my bed, and that night has fallen. The face? My mind tells me it is a apparition. Of what? I do not know. I bury my doubts and questions in repetition of this explanation.

I try to open my eyes. I have forgotten that my eyes are already open. I see into the darkness. A queer pull forms on my eyelids, as though I am trying to lift them. Shock grips me. My eyes are not open. I jerk my arms, trying to wriggle to a sitting position. Nothing but frustration fills me.

I slowly pick myself up. Again on the graveled path, my feet wobble me nearer the car-park. My fingers fumble for my pockets. Left trouser pocket. Nothing. Right trouser pocket. Nothing. Keys? My vision blur. I wobble, but keep my stand. My hands wander over my trousers, looking for keys. I find something in my back pocket. With numb fingers, I pull out a rattly bunch of longish metal sticks. Some were very jagged, others were rather smooth.

Sifting through them, my fingers search for the familiar edge of my car’s key. I find it quickly, and hold it out in front like a dagger. I stumble on towards my car. When I reach it, my hand directs my keys to the door. I stab the paint as I fumble my keys into the hole. Something is not right. My head spins anew, and a volley of liquid flies from my mouth onto my window.

Gingerly I pull open the door and clamber into the driver’s seat. Another volley spews out over my steering wheel, my temple rushing after it as I fade into the black. I find myself back in the dark. A sick dizziness is crushing my head. I pant painfully. Retches come from my stomach, but I swallow them down.

A hand steals comfortingly over my elbow. Confusion clouds over my mind why would people touch my elbows when I'm lying on my back. It dawns on my that no one was near me.

I tear away from my sickness, and awake with startled slumber. I am in a whitewashed room. Everywhere I look, I see. White? Pearly white? Ugly white? My mind struggle to comprehend. What am I in. Have I gone insane? I dread an answer and quickly tell myself to think of other things.

Staggering to the walls, for there are no doors, I hammer desperately on it. I bring myself close to the wall, almost hugging it in despair. It moves. I find myself on the floor. No. Not the floor. The wall is now under me.

I jump up in shock, my mind clearing as I come to realize that. My hand finds the steering wheel and I squirm in disgust at my own half digested juice. It looks like a pancake mix I was just preparing hours ago. Maybe I ate a batch? My hand jabs for the engine key, and I rev my car into a roar.

I gingerly pressure the gas, watching in satisfaction as the car parked in front of me looms bigger. I turn the wheel towards the exit and stab into the radio. Ducksause blares loud and clear. ...Barbra Streisand...Barbra Streisand...the lyrics repeats over and again amidst bursts of loud music.

My feet wobble as I try to adjust to standing on a wall. The novelty of it does not wear off. I make a tentative jump to see if it will break. I find myself somersaulting over towards the ceiling, landing nicely on my feet. I look up, my head spinning. Where am I? A Gravity globe? Or should I call it a cube? The edges of the room are stark shadows in the whiteness.

I run to them, the room twisting under my feet. I try to touch the shadows, but they retreat quickly. I am afraid. Why? My mind keeps asking. Why do I not know what is happening. I want certainty. Is this real?

I slip in the middle of a step. I find myself again in darkness, unable to move. I want to move. Please. Whoever is out there, make this darkness unreal. Please, I plead, petrified.

Shivers run down my back. I see a distant light and turn to it. Yes, a distant light. It is a star. Please, undo whatever I have done. I am not on my bed. I am floating in the gloom of space. I look down as far as my eyes can see. Icicles are forming on my body.

No. Please. Don't. Not me! I try again to think of what had happened. The whiteness of the room does not fade easily, it seems. I hear something buzz in my ear. I feel it. An earpiece. Thank you! I want to scream. This is reality. At least it is better than to be alone dying in space.

I hear a static filled voice telling me to stop moving. I obey. A crack appears in the floor just a meter ahead of me. I remember. I am training to be an astronaut. Of course. Bad dreams happen all the time. Grinning widely, I jump through the hole, bending slightly.

My head hits the steering wheel hard. I feel the car skid sharply as rain drenches my windows. What is happening? Crashing?! No! This is not real! It's not possible! I'm training to be an astronaut! Another bad dream! My min is filled. I struggle to steady my car. A lorry is pushing into my rear, spinning me back to face him. My tires screech loudly into my ears. I see one rear wheel shoot away into the dirt by the road. I cringe in terror. Have I been drinking? No. I cannot think of that. The truck plows through. I watch as its wheel crushes the passenger seat beside me. A long rod slides out at me. It looks like it comes from a rail gun. I scream in terror. The face I saw much earlier comes to hover again above me. The mouth moves again. Same shapes. I screach my terror into the sky. A bubble wraps around my head. I dare not think. I fear I will delude myself into believing this is real. It is not. Of course it is not.

I hear gun fire. My feet hits the ground and I roll. The earpiece falls out and I scramble for it. I am wearing a white jumpsuit with silver bands. I cower my head and jam the piece into my ear. I crawl towards. Nowhere there is nowhere to go. I am still in the white room. I fin my feet, but crumple quickly again to the floor as I hear blazing guns.

I remove the earpiece. It is vibrating violently from the noise being transmitted. I throw it on the ground. My mind races. There is an attack going on on the station. What station? I must help. I want to help. I fear something terrible will happen to me otherwise, like karma coming back to get me. A long steel pipe dangles out from my chest. It doesn't really dangle as much as it is holdings in the air. I am stuck like a roasting marshmallow on one side and the other side is slammed into the face of a cliff. I look down at the road, some thirty meters below. My car is burning bright. The truck has reversed, and is now some twenty meters to one side. A man is frantically gesticulating with a han to his ear. He is calling for help.

I figure I need to call for help. I pick the earpiece up. Does it have a microphone? Please let it have one. I waft this silent prayer into the air. Inspection reveals nothing. No microphone. In fact. There is no visible speakers. I look down under the bubble glass protecting me from the vacuum. I can make out faintly in the darkness a long black thing that rises out like a microphone. Should I scream for help? I do. Nothing happens.

I hear sirens wail in the air. My vision is returning to a blur. I see red liquid pooling down below. All I can think of is a writer with a quil overladen with ink. I droop my shoulders. Shouts of urgency and despair echo towards me. I can hear the screach of a braking vehicle, an gather enough strength to make out a fire engine. Big long ladder coming. Good. I wan to sleep. I shut my eyes.

Static fills my bubble. Loud and varied. Someone is trying to talk I me! I can actually hear! Euphoria fills my head. I begin shouting gibberish. Me ah. Help the. Waterfall! Ya! Spaceman! I'm a superbaby!

The floor cracks beside me again. I resist an urge to jump. I peer slowly through the cracks. I see myself looking at me. A mirror. No. Reality warp. I am looking at myself. I see a small passageway. Like an air duct. I crane my neck upwards. There is the air duct above me. Should I crawl down into it or jump up towards it? I gingerly grab hold of the passage's sides and slither downwards.

The firemen hold me carefully as they transport my limp form to the ground. Placing me on a stretcher, I am rushed to the ambulance. Medics scramble around me. Someone places a mask on me. Oxygen rushes into me. Blood comes out. A hand pumps on my chest. A pain jabs into my elbow veins. Both elbows. I feel a rush coming through the needles. Blood. It freezes in space. This I reason is the cause of my immobility. If so, why can it move my neck. I struggle for an explanation, and find none. I look again at the long black thing. Sound no longer comes from it. I lean back and relax as much as possible. If I die today, at least someone is watching me die.

The passageway I crawl in is a tight fit. It is a short awkward trudge. I see light at the end. I exhilaratedly lumber to it and fall head first into the opening. The passageway disappears above me. I am in a white room. The same white room. In despair, I rip my clothes off and collapse, weeping, near a corner. This is hell. I cannot take this any longer. Please wake me from this hell.

I wake up in a hospital bed. A large cast engulfs my entire body below the shoulders. Tubes lead away from below the plaster to bags and machines. I feel like an experiment. I turn my head slowly. On my left stands a small drawer stand, on which a jug and mug graces. A book I propped up, as though someone had left it in the middle of a read. I groan and look again at my cast.

Scribbled all over it are patches. Patches from my days with NASA. My service patch is tattooed on my right leg's cast. It is a flying duck in a field of stars. My left cast houses a drawing of an award I received. I guess my daughter drew it, because she loves pancakes.

I quietly slip back into a slumber, the bubble coverin my view once again.