Mathilda - beginning of something I'm working on.

continued...

It was so cold outside – mid December – so I wasn’t surprised. I’d got dressed in such a flurry I really wasn’t physically prepared. I was almost shocked to find that I even cared about the cold, I sort of expected that nothing would get through this wall of numbness that was beginning to build.
Going out to my car, clearing the ice from the windows, starting the engine, flicking the fans on to hot, getting in the car, reversing out of the driveway, the drive there, trying not to skid on the ice, all the lights of oncoming cars: it was all a blur to me. It seemed like, a moment ago, I had been safely tucked inside my blankets and then, all of a sudden, I was parked facing the city hospital.
I inhaled deeply and slowly, turned off the ignition and climbed out of the car. In that walk across the stark, pitch black parking lot towards the desolate doors of the hospital entrance; I had never felt so alone. It was after I’d got inside, after I’d spoken to the receptionist, just as I’d begun my walk down the long dark corridors towards the room where Nathan lay, lifeless, that the memories flooded in.
It was June of the same year. Nathan had asked me to meet him at his solicitor’s in the city,
Lindley Blake & Raven. He said not to tell anyone. So I didn’t.
I’d arrived there just before one. I’d spoken to the receptionist. My mind had automatically flashed back there when I’d spoken to the receptionist in the hospital just now. Except at Lindley, Blake & Raven I’d noted that the receptionist was a beautiful young woman. I’d smiled at her. Thanked her for telling me where to go. I could barely remember whether the hospital receptionist had been a woman or a man. “Take the lift” they’d both said. And on both occasions I’d chosen the stairs. I didn’t like waiting for lifts.
I passed by window after frozen window along the corridor, drawings by sick children on the walls, posters about the dangers of smoking. The sickly mystery hospital smell: Medicine? Bleach? Death?
I was walking along the corridor at the solicitor’s again. The floor had cream carpets, the walls dressed with huge ornate paintings, floor lamps stood tall and elegant at the end of the corridor. The sickly sweet scent of lilies hit me – I recognised it from my ex girlfriend’s apartment.
I was back in the icy hospital corridor. I was coming to the end. To the door on the left that led to the room where Nathan’s body lay.
And once again my mind took me through the months and I was opening the big shiny black door into Mr Blake’s office and there was Nathan sitting at the table. He’d turned around to look at me. He didn’t look happy. Mr Blake was cheerful though.
“You must be Daniel?” He stood up and extended his hand.
I nodded politely and shook his hand.
“Come. Have a seat.”
I obliged.
“Now Daniel, I’m sorry – Mr ...”
“Daniel’s fine.”
“Great.” He smiled again.
“Well, we better get started then. Daniel, yes, I assume Nathan’s told you all?”
I looked to Nathan, hoping for some sort of recognition of the fact that, no, he hadn’t actually told me anything at all. But he just looked down. I frowned and turned back to Mr Blake.
“Um, no, actually - Nathan’s not told me anything.”
“Oh...I see.” His face fell a little, but only for a split second and then the smile was back.
“Well no bother! I can explain it all to you now. Hopefully you’ll be alright with everything it really is no big deal so you can relax straight off the bat!” Then he just sat for a while and continued to smile at me until I gave an awkward sort of laugh and realised it was my turn to speak.
“Fine. What’s this all about then?” I asked.


(CAN I ADD - I like to write with music. Some of the music that I like to listen to when I write this piece:
Batman begins soundtrack: Corynorhinus, Barbastella or Eptesicus - All Hans Zimmer and James Newton Howard.
More recently I've listened to "Famous Blue Raincoat" by Leonard Cohen. I can see it fitting in with the feel of this piece.
And a song which indicates the feel of how things go later: In the house in a heartbeat - John Murphy)

ALSO - sorry again it's all in bits and would you prefer I made a new post out of it everytime I add a new bit? Or is it okay to add it along in the same feed? All comments are GREATLY appreciated!!

Hi thanks, I take your points on board and appreciate your review, although with "realizing" I think it's spelled with an "s" in the uk and with a "z" in america.

Quick run through. this is actually good. Just a few suggestions.
( i am in no way trying to force you into anything/rewrite your work, i just review better when i change things, up front)
hehe.

When my phone rang, somewhere in the abyss of my darkened bedroom, it sounded louder than usual. Perhaps it was because it sent my heart pumping before I even had time to think about it- like knee jerk adrenaline.
A ringing phone in the night is rarely ever a good thing...

“Hello?”

The person on the other side let a trembling breath slip before they spoke.

“Mark? It’s Tim. There’s been...an accident.”

#0000BF ">That last thing you want to hear in the middle of the night. I felt sick immediately.

“What Tim?”

“I don’t know how to- oh god Mark. Nathan’s...Nathan’s dead.”

#0000BF ">I don’t know if it is physically possible or your heart to stop. But this is what I felt had happened. Everything stopped. In fact,I was still dreaming, wasn't I?

“What? Tim," i said, trying desperately to keep my voice calm."I, I don’t understand. How can he be-?”

“He...killed himself, Mark.”
I could hear the tears building in the back of his throat, clouding his articulation. I didn’t blame him, for I was entirely speechless. My mouth was bone dry.

“W-what? How could he? Why-why the hell would he?”

“He... killed himself.” The words came out as if Tim himself was still trying to ascertain their meaning. “Look, I have to go, the doctors are gesturing for me to come back in. Please, I know it’s late but please if you can, come down here. It’s the city hospital.”

He hung up before I had a chance to ask him anything else. Or even to comprehend what he’d only just told me. I sat, very still for a while, on my bed. And then I felt this overwhelming desperation envelope me.

I sobbed, I shouted, I screamed.

Without even thinking about it I grabbed the lamp shade beside my bed and fired it against the wall. It hit it with massive impact, shattered and fell to the floor in a hundred pieces, leaving the wall heavily dented.
I sat back down, wondering why I’d done that, #BF4000 ">realizing it had done nothing to help, and knowing that I was totally #0000BF ">incapable of helping myself – let my head collapse in my hands, and sat and *sobbed?.

Thanks! Yeah I know not giving you loads to go on lol.
Yeah you learn about Nathan later, quite soon actually in sort of a flashback scenario between the main plot and something that happened earlier.

And yes you're right about the question mark, not too sure what that dash is doing there!

SazzaMulgazza wrote:This is just the beginning of something I'm working on. I haven't properly committed to it yet but I do have an idea of where it is going in my head, all be it a vague idea... I'd appreciate whatever you have to say about it - I realise I haven't given you much to go on...


When my phone rang, somewhere in the abyss of my darkened bedroom, it sounded louder than usual. Perhaps it was because it sent my heart pumping before I even had time to think about it. It was like knee jerk adrenaline. A ringing phone in the night is rarely a good thing...
“Hello?”
The person on the other side let a trembling breath slip before they spoke. “Mark? It’s Tim. There’s been...an accident.”

That little phrase you least want to hear and most fear you will when you answer the phone in the wee hours of the morning. I felt immediately sick.
“What Tim?”
“I don’t know how to- oh god#FF0000 ">, Mark. Nathan’s...Nathan’s dead.”
#FF0000 ">I'm guessing we learn about him later.
I don’t know if your heart can honestly stop in the sense that someone, explaining a shocking experience, might say it did. But this is what I felt had happened. Everything stopped in fact. I was still dreaming, surely?
“What? Tim, I, I don’t understand. How can he be-?”#FF0000 ">either a dash or a question mark.
“He...killed himself#FF0000 ">, Mark.”
I could hear the tears building in the back of his throat, clouding his articulation. I didn’t blame him for I was entirely speechless. My mouth was bone dry.
“W-what? How could he? Why-why the hell would he?”
“He... killed himself.” The words came out as if Tim himself was still trying to ascertain their meaning. “Look, I have to go, the doctors are gesturing for me to come back in. Please, I know it’s late but please if you can, come down here. It’s the city hospital.”
He hung up before I had a chance to ask him anything else. Or even to comprehend what he’d only just told me. I sat, very still for a while, on my bed. And then I felt this overwhelming desperation envelope me. I sobbed, I shouted, I screamed. Without even thinking about it I grabbed the lamp shade beside my bed and fired it against the wall. It hit it with massive impact, shattered and fell to the floor in a hundred pieces. The wall left heavily dented. Then I sat back down, wondering why I’d done that, realising it had done nothing to help and – knowing that I was totally powerless to help myself – let my head collapse in my hands, and sat and sobbed.