Written in spare 15 mins at work. The idea came from, rather oddly, Darkness playing on the radio (hence the first word). First posted on the BBC site, thought I'd move it over to here as soon as I found this site. Darkness, that's how it always started. It wasn't like waking up in the normal way. Normally I wouldn't want to open my eyes because of the painfully bright sunlight streaking in from the bedroom curtains, I'd cover my eyes, with my hand, arm, the pillow or the duvet. Now, even if I could, I didn't want to open them because I feared the horrors that would be forever burnt on to the retinas.
Solid, smooth, cold, hard. This wasn't the comfortable bed that had cost me three weeks wages and four lost Sunday afternoons choosing the correct fabric, headboard, and spring tension.
The coldness of the slab was nothing compared to the coldness in the fingers that traced their way up my torso. You need to have felt it to truly understand. All our life we're surrounded by people who are warm. From the loving cradling arms of our mothers, the clumsy fumblings of the first girlfriend, the gentle soft touches of the wife while she takes care of you when your unwell, even the drunk who picks a fight with you on a Friday night. They all have a warm touch. To be touched by hands that are cold, that don't have warm blood pumping through their veins, that's real suffering. Only then do you realise how alien they are.
Unable to move, with no idea what they are doing to my body, it still is my body, no matter how detached from it I now feel. Being tortured by the horrors that my own brain creates, the cold fingers creep across my face. Slowly awareness starts to slip away. It's difficult to decide which is the greatest threat, slipping back in unconsciousness or staying awake. Going to sleep would be easy, fighting to stay awake at least gives the impression of having some control, but I don't, the fingers and the slab fade away completely.
Sunlight breaks in though the bedroom window, the hand, arm, pillow and duvet do their best but they cannot stop it pricking my eyes. The memory of the horror returns, no, not a memory, just the slender fragments of a dream. I'm safe in my own bed.
Look at the fear in that face, that's a face that's felt real fear. That's my face, in the bathroom mirror, while I shave, while I watch the blood slowly trickle from my nose and splash in to the sink turning the water red. It was real, they had taken me again.|
Written by Karenhoffen (37 comments posted) 13th January 2008 | I thought at the end that this was the cliched "and then I woke up" sort of tale and then I realised that it was about an alien abduction and looking back at the title (I'd forgotten) I realised that yes this was about aliens. So perhaps the title needs to be a bit more memorable to help with the overall understanding of the story.
I found it gripping and liked the comparison of the warm and cold hands. I would have liked it to be longer, perhaps as part of a longer series of stories. I'm intrigued and want to know more.
A couple of other comments:
If it was really dark, how could an image be burnt on your retinas?
Final paragraph - there are three "that's" in close succession. As the second "that's" is for "that has" as opposed to "that is", it might be better spelling it out in full.
Overall, very enjoyable. | Cool twist
Written by John_O (139 comments posted) 24th January 2008 | The very brevity of this works for it, just enough information to get the imagination working on the question - what's happening here?
Could undoubtedly improve with a polish, but I'm not complaining as it was a good read.
John_O |
Only registered users can rate and write comments.
Please login or register. Powered by AkoComment 2.0! |
