Quicklinks:
|
Great Writing - Home > For Kids > Mocking Bird Nights: Nature Walk
| READING ROOM | ||||
|---|---|---|---|---|
|
| COMMUNITY | |||
|---|---|---|---|
|
| ABOUT GREAT WRITING | ||
|---|---|---|
|
| WORK AWAITING REVIEW |
|---|
|
| GW IS... |
|---|
|
Great Writing creative writing community is designed to prompt ideas
and provide inspiration and motivation within aspiring and amateur
authors. Whatever your topic; from love poetry to Doctor Who or Harry
Potter fan fiction, Great Writing's online writing group is where you
can make new friends and improve your creative writing. |
| WHO'S ONLINE |
|---|
| We have 1608 guests online and 6 members online |
For Children
| print friendly version | |
| Mocking Bird Nights: Nature Walk | |
| By TomtomKent | ||||
| 11 April 2007 | ||||
|
The second Mocking Bird Nights short. Previously: Mark Bird is a teenaged Detective. After a car crash kills his father and comatoses his sister he moves to America to live with his estranged mother and her new family, the Mockings. He has survived his first week of death defying adventure and mystery. Now he just wants to start college... Two: Nature Walk. I sat in the big, air conditioned sedan and watched the world go by. Cherry sat next to me, my half sister. She was all big smiles, mocha skinned, and a head that bobbed to music only she could hear. Mum was in the front passenger seat, lost in her dreams again. Lawrence, the step dad was driving. He was a giant of a man, skin like midnight, eyes like granite, a laugh like a lion’s roar, a belly like a furnace, and fists like anvils. He couldn’t hurt a fly, but he looked like he could make a race extinct with a swift punch or three. We had spent the morning looking at a college. I had scored quite well at GCSEs before I moved out to the US, and if I was going to have to live here I wanted to get on with my life. Mum had booked me on a course before I even agreed to come over (mathematics, which was a good choice) and had convinced me easily to go visit the campus. I had toured around, met the Student Reps, and signed the paper work. It was nice. The kind of place that people had thought colleges in America should look like since the fifties. All yellow bricks and clock towers. It was a fair drive there, out into the county wilderness, past rolling hills and forests of ever green trees and cobweb shadows. You can imagine that my head was spinning in all kinds of strange directions. My body was a patchwork of bruises still, but it felt refreshing to be doing something that was normal for kids my age. If there is such a thing as normal for kids my age. Around half way back we had to stop for petrol, to use the toilets and stretch our legs. And to escape the endless tune that Lawrence had been humming for hours. The sun crisped air was a relief. The gas station was a squat grey concrete cube at the side of the road. A few pumps, an out building for the conveniences and a fore court of pumps that had been beaten into submission over the years, by wind rain and snow. Paint was peeling from the walls, fly posters offered mismatched colours on the windows. It was the sort of place that you could see on any road, in any country. The sort of place that lulls you into a false sense of security with cheap petrol, then commits day light robbery when you buy a soda. I climbed out the car, let Cherry take my arm, and strolled towards the store. On a day that normal, you just know there will be trouble. Kate doubled back to the car, and tucked her Laptop out of sight. She had been impressed by one of my party tricks and I was teaching her to cold read. That’s where you appear to stand in front of someone and Magically deduce everything about them. Note the word “appear”. It’s a trick. When I strolled up to complete strangers and guessed a lot about them I had spent hours on the internet, looking up their home pages, their adverts, their entry in that web page reuniting long lost friends, their blogs, and anything else they might have tucked away in the public domain. Then it was Public Records. Oh yeah they are “Public” for a reason. If you ever want to scare someone when they invite you to their new house look it up in the census records, then match some of the names to birth certificates, death certificates, wedding licenses, anything you can. In a seven hour day you of research you can learn everything you need to know to scare the willies out of the new family. “Oh wow. I feel a strong presence here. I feel someone who was raised here from a child. They were a girl. I’m getting the letters L and J in their name. I can feel... Yes! I can feel a strong love for a man. Maybe their husband. A blue collar worker. And there were kids.” If you want to make things spicy, pay attention to the “cause of death” line, and say “energy” a lot. “I’m getting a lot of positive energy here...” Kate was busy looking up as much as she could about the family moving into the house at the end of the street. While I had been looking around the college, she was compiling and rehearsing her cold read. “Want to see a dead cold read? One with no back ground checks or research?” I asked, before we stepped into the gas stations shop. “Sure.” She agreed. She held the door open for me. I strolled in, picked up some reading material for later (National Geographic, a couple of super hero comics, Empire, and Time –to be read in that order). I chose a couple of cold drinks, a bag of sweets (Americas greatest crime is a lack of Jelly Babies) and I sauntered up to the check out. The woman behind the counter greeted me without looking at me. Her face was sallow and miserable. “Bad day?” I asked. “Uh huh.” She agreed. “I’m sensing some money trouble. Your finances are going up and down a lot.” “Mostly down.” She sighed. “And I left my handbag on the bus last week. No sign of it now.” “Yeah. Hang on... I’m seeing some money, a purse, a couple of cards, oh and something personal to you.” “Yeah. Pictures of my kid.”Then;”Hey! How did you know that?” “Magic.” I warned her.”Got toilets?” “Over there.” I strolled past Cherry, and gave her the drinks as I past her. She gave an impressed smile. The woman behind the counter looked confused. I hadn’t rocked her world. I stepped into the Gents to freshen up before the rest of the journey. While I was washing my hands (you don’t need to know the details) I heard a heavy screeching as something pulled up outside. From the sudden rush of voices and laughter it was a school bus, probably from a summer camp. Lots of city kids needing a sugar rush after a day in the woods. I stepped out of the washroom. A crowd of teenagers in matching tee shirts and caps were clambering for sweets. Yep, summer camp kids. A couple of kids, around my own age, were barking orders. The councillors I guessed. I went to catch up with Cherry, she gave my drinks back to me, and we started to make our way to the door. On our first step a huge black off-roader screeched to a stop by the door. Dust and smoke billowing behind it. It was driving too fast, stopping too quickly. On our second step three men were hustling out of the off roader, all in jeans and shirts, all wearing hockey masks and gloves. Each carrying guns. Big guns. Assault rifles, automatic weapons that fire a lot of very large bullets with a lot of power in a short space of time. The sort of gun that you would expect a soldier to carry for ripping apart other soldiers, rather than hunters to carry for hunting animals. The sort of gun you don’t carry unless you want to kill people. Cherry didn’t take a third step, but I did. I closed my hands on the door handle, as it was pushed open in front of me. My path was blocked by three men with death in their eyes. The woman behind the counter was jabbing the silent alarm, the kids were carrying on oblivious the facts not yet sinking in. In the fore court Lawrence stopped filling the car with petrol, and started digging out his mobile phone. Strange, one of the gunmen was pushing his way behind the counter to tear the CCTV recorder from the wall, yet none of the three had even looked out at Lawrence. They hadn’t shot the woman behind the counter before she tripped the alarm. They knew the police were on the way, they weren’t worried. They intended to be gone by the time the Police arrived. Why were they that confident? Were they going to kill us all? If their guns were loaded they would likely have enough bullets to do that three times over. “Leave no evidence”. But in today’s world, where everyone watches television and knows a little about how forensics and crime labs would work in a perfect world that seemed unlikely. If they had the slightest inkling of ballistics, or if one of them handled a cartridge case without gloves they would be painting the station with evidence that pointed towards them. If they were half smart. Could I assume that? They stepped into the centre of the room, and swept the barrels of their rifles around us. Showing us that they could kill. Instinctively a lot of people were kneeling down, hands on their heads, or holding their hands up. The thug with the wreckage of the CCTV video recorder spoke loudly and clearly, in a practiced tone. “Listen up. There is only one of you who I have to keep alive. His name is Frank East. The rest of you are disposable. So Frank shows himself now. Or I start killing people. OK?” Short sharp and to the point. One of the adults from the Camp Bus stepped forward. Brave, stupid and lying. “That’s me. Let these people go.” The thug with the voice grabbed the brave and stupid Adult, and kicked him to the floor. “Well done bud. The boy we are looking for is seventeen. Between five feet nine and six feet. That makes you a liar. Which makes you the first target to die if Frank doesn’t show himself. You there Frank?” “Him!” One of the girls from the Summer Camp was shouting. Her voice was helium high and squeaked like nails running down a blackboard. “It’s him!” She was pointing at me. For a second the world stood still, no one moved, no one spoke, no one breathed. All the eyes in the world were on me. Mine were burrowing into the Squeaker. If there was any justice in the world I would have spontaneously gained the mutant ability to fire laser bolts from my eyes. Instead I was rugby tackled by one of the Three Amigos and the butt of an assault rifle pushing down onto my throat. My hands were pinned together and there was the zipper sound of a cable tie being pulled tight a split second before I felt it bight into my skin. A canvas shopping bag was pulled over my face and tied off. Two meaty hands grabbed my shoulders, belonging to two different people who grunted with effort as they lifted me. The floor disappeared beneath me, and my feet dragged as I was frogmarched outside. Cold air hit me like a wall, the concrete floor threatened to trip of graze me. There was a shout, a warning perhaps that I didn’t catch, from Cherry. Then a stuttering, deafening burst of gunfire. The Boss Thug was shouting something, but my ears were ringing and his words were lost to me. I was tossed into the back of their off road car, and the door slammed perilously close to my head. My ears cleared and I heard a voice. Whiney, hoarse, British and scared. I realised that it was mine. I had been screaming for some time. “I’m not Frank. I’m Mark. Mark Bird. I’m not him!” “Yeah.” The thug sighed. “Right. Shut up Frank.” The vehicle lurched to life and sped away as fast as it could. I decided I could not hang around in the back of a jeep waiting to die, so I spent the time trying to think of names for the thugs. Huey, Pew, and MacGroo were settled on quickly. My sense of direction was mucked up, so I had no idea which way I was travelling in. After what may have been a few minutes the jeep bucked and bumped as it left the road and started to move down hill, on a muddy track. If there was a track at all. Huey (the thug who seemed to be in charge) was humming to himself. It was one of those habits people got in to help them concentrate. He was driving. Pew was the quiet one rapping his hands on the window, nerves and adrenaline making it impossible for him to sit still. That left MacGroo, the closest one to me. The one with bad aftershave, a chesty cold and a Brooklyn accent. “Want to talk to us there Frank?” He asked. “It’s Mark.” I corrected. “Want to talk to us Frank?” He repeated. “What about?” I hazarded. “Guess. I think you know.” He laughed. “Just say what pops into your head.” Technically I should have been sensible, polite, and tried to help them. I should have been honest and admitted I simply didn’t know. But I am a mouthy sarcastic little scamp when I’m kidnapped. “Well,” I began, “people always assume that The White Cliffs of Dover is an English song, but it was in fact written by Americans who wanted the US to join the UK in the war.” “What?” That must have been Pew. The only voice I hadn’t placed so far. “Well, it starts about Bluebirds being over the white cliffs. Utter rubbish, the only bluebirds from the UK were land and water speed record holding vehicles. If they were over the white cliffs they were in big trouble.” The barrel of a high velocity assault rifle jabbed my cheek. “Want to try again?” MacGroo asked. “Yes. My name is Mark Bird. I don’t like being kidnapped. Let me go.” “I could shoot you.” MacGroo threatened. “Yes you could. But I’d rather you didn’t.” I shrugged my shoulders, the cable tie cutting my skin. “Are you wearing ear plugs? Those things are a bit loud. If you fired in this small tin box of a van you’d pop your ear drums.” “Just shoot him.” Huey sneered. “Shut him up.” “No.” There was an excitement in his voice. “I can make him talk when we get there.” If you were ever a boy scout, or a sea cadet, or an army cadet, or anything along those lines, you get into a lot of good habits. I was a Sea Scout, and a Sea Cadet. My key ring was a Swiss Army Knife, I always carry a small torch (a micro-LED type), I always wear sensible shoes, I never pay the extra for brand name clothes when plain coloured sweat shirts and jeans are cheaper, I can tie a bowline and a Reef Knott, and I do a good deed every day. I slid my hands down behind my back to the pocket I keep my keys in, and opened the scissors on my knife. Opening my wrists as far apart as I could in the bindings, cutting away from me to avoid an accidental slicing of my veins as the vehicle lurched and bumped. I cut the cable tie, and held it in place, then slipped the knife back into my pocket. I pushed myself into the corner of the seat, my back pressed against the door, feeling for the release. I found it, pushed my fingers around it and waited. If I stayed I was going to be tortured, and I was going to be shot. No doubt about it. I wasn’t who they wanted, I couldn’t give them anything, but I could give them up to the police. Therefore I would be dead very soon. So I had to leave. Soon. The jeep slowed, maybe for a corner, maybe we were where we were headed. I braced myself, pulled the release and pushed back. I tumbled out, rolling as I hit the floor, the same roll that Cherry taught me from her Free Running. The jeep had slowed but not enough, pain washed over me, but I was alive to feel it. I kept rolling. When the momentum was gone I pulled the make shift mask from my face and ran. I was three paces away before I heard the jeep doors opening and people clambering out. It had taken those last few seconds for the jeep to stop, for people to react. I was charging blindly through the trees, downhill. I wasn’t fussy which direction I was moving in as long as I was moving away from all the idiots with guns. My limp leg was hurting, my body was covered in gravel rash, and when my adrenaline stopped blocking my pain my entire body would scream in complaint. But I was guessing bullets would hurt a lot more. So I ran. I let gravity help, I didn’t look back, didn’t slow for breath. I tripped on tree roots and uneven ground and tumbled down, but I let myself carry on. Then I found a ditch to climb down into, and I hid. I waited there, quiet and as small as I could make myself. Listening. Shouts, cries, heavy footsteps. Two of them had come down the hill looking for me. I listen to the shouts. Lew and MacGroo. They were still thinking of me as Frank. They still held their rifles. In theory they could shoot me any distance up to a mile away. If they had line of sight. You know how on films the hero can shoot a man in a leg or arm to slow him down? No chance of that here. A bullet from a rifle like those is big enough to tear an arm or leg apart. If the damage from the bullet, or its pressure wave hits an artery (which it almost certainly will) the body loses too much blood and dies in minutes. The chances are they will be aiming for the torso. The central body mass. A huge big target full of things that the body can’t live without. I pushed myself down into my hiding place. I had a number of disadvantages. Firstly, I have no appetite to hurt maim or kill anyone else. The last one was certainly out of the window. Secondly if I was forced to fight my only weapon was a locked Swiss Army Knife blade. Which has a much shorter range, and far less killing power than the weapon that armies use. Thirdly my body had not healed from my last beating, and rolling out of moving jeeps had not helped. I was going to be in a world of pain. To my advantage I can be quiet when I have to, and move quietly. I had the cover of the trees. Best of all, with a little luck the police would be looking for me. At the first sign of a siren the chances are that the erstwhile kidnappers would flee. Or at least that is what I told myself to keep my spirits up. I closed my eyes and tried not to scream. I kept them closed for three heartbeats, then opened them. Footsteps were getting far too close. I could hear someone moving around at the top of the ditch. “Hey Frank? You there bud?” It was Pew. He was half saying the words, half singing them. Like a nursery rhyme. “We don’t want to hurt anyone. But we need our stash back man. That was our product.” Oh joy of joys. Drug dealers. I held myself still. He was moving around almost on top of me now. Every so often the nozzle of his rifle appeared over the top of the ditch as he peered over to look down. It was almost directly above me. I grabbed it and pulled it down. He let out a yelp as he tumbled off balance and down into the ditch. The wind was forced from him, and he let go of the gun. Result. I smacked him hard in the face with the butt. Then I swung it at his temple and knocked him out cold. He slumped to the floor. I found the safety catch on the rifle, and engaged it, then I found the magazine release, and tossed the bullets away. There was one in the chamber, but I had no idea how to release it. I pulled Pew’s coat from him, stole his wallet, found a lighter and some loose change that I disposed off. Then I found some cable ties, like the one that cut into my wrists. I put it on and pulled it tight until his hands blossomed with trapped blood. He had a cell phone in his jeans, which I pocketed, a knife which I threw away, and some other odds and sods. Nothing useful, I tossed them into the undergrowth. I pulled his boots off him, and threw them into a tree, then cable tied his ankles. He groaned, starting to come around. I ran. Deeper into the woods Is topped for breath. I didn’t have time to asses my location yet, I just couldn’t do it. My head was buzzing, I was in no condition to think. Heading down was easy, and took me away from the guns. Ahead, further down I could hear a river. I stumbled on, and tossed the rifle into the river, hoping to make it as hard as possible for Pew to retrieve it and shoot me. I started to head down river, looking for some where to ford a crossing. After a few minutes I found a way down to the stone bank of the river as it forced its way over a series of craggy boulders. On the other side was relatively level ground with a wide enough bank to use as a path. I clambered across, struggling against the tide, ignoring the fact I was now soaking wet and freezing cold. My stolen cell phone started to dance in my pocket. It was set to give a silent ring. I flipped it open and shut to cancel the call, then open again, and selected the option to dial the last number to have rung the phone. Behind me, back across the river and fifty meters to my left a ring tone sounded loud and clear. A pop princess sung out for a new lover. MacGroo had a very bad taste in music, and was worryingly close. He answered and gave a grunt. “You there?” He asked. “No. He’s asleep.” I warned. “Frank? Bud, don’t run. We need to talk.” “Yeah. Do you know where I am?” “No.” He admitted. “Then go play in traffic!” I disconnected the call and ran deeper into the woods. I reached a road at the bottom of the hill. It was hours later, but it seemed like minutes. Adrenaline plays funny effects on your mind, you lose any track of the seconds you had once held on to, you gave up on thinking, and you just moved. But now my adrenaline was out of luck, and my muscles couldn’t go on. I had ran, or walked, or crept, or hustled for miles. Now I needed to stop. I collapsed by the side of the road. I flicked open the cell. I could dial nine one one, but had no idea where I was. I would have to find a landmark. At least it had half it’s battery left, should last a good long while. I sucked in breath, and tried to calm my nerves. I closed my eyes for a few seconds. I needed to be able to think. To clear the cobwebs and white noise from my head. I found my memory floating back to my first week. To Natasha. To her room in the hospital. The choker she had on her bedside table. I knew for sure it was a medallion of the Patron Saint of Lost Causes. I had thought it was St Christopher at the time. Now I wondered if it had been Saint Jude. Funny I should remember the portfolio but not the name of the Saint. Saint Jude I decided. Judas, one of the Apostles. Patron Saint of lost causes. Why had I thought of Christopher? My eyes flicked open as I heard a noise. Distant voices from down the road. I pulled myself up, and though my entire body complained I moved on. The gravel rash on my hands and cheek felt like gnawing insects, catching the cold of the air. I moaned to myself as I recognised the voices. Lew and McGroo. Keeping low I edged forward, I could see them ahead of me. Their Off Roader pulled up by the side of the road, their rifles on their backs, stamping their feet to keep their muscles warm. I flicked out the phone, and rung McGroo. He answered in a flash, I didn’t give him time to talk. “Your friend is near where I first left your Jeep. In a ditch. Hog tied, but alive and well. For now. Go get him before he gets Hypothermia.” I shut the phone off. They argued for a while and McGroo won. He pushed Lew into the Jeep and they sped off up the road in search of their comrade in arms. I turned and hobbled in the opposite direction. The sun was sinking towards the horizon fast, the summer evening was going to become a summer night soon, and the temperature was going to nose dive. It doesn’t matter if you think or degrees C or degrees F, or even in Kelvin, if Brass Monkeys are getting nervous. I stayed close to the edge of the road, and I forced myself to keep looking. I had no idea how soon the Friendly Neighbourhood Drug Barons might take to retrieve their friend and resume their search. After what seemed like an endless walk I heard the thunder of heavy wagons on steel rails. The railway. I crossed the road and stared down an embankment, the railway passed beneath the road at a concrete bridge. The railway cut a wide gulley through the woods, with signal posts glowing welcomingly in the distance. Oh yes! Every bridge had it’s own number. Signal masts normally had telephones. Railways did not move. The gulley was wide. I could walk to a signal mast from the bridge, well away from the trains. Three meters away at a guess, which is pretty much three yards. I was desperate, but not stupid enough to go dancing around on the railway, I would look for the bridge number, find a signal with a phone –hey! The signals were all numbered too!- and walk alongside the railway but keep as far away as possible. I slipped down the embankment, took my time, and after a very confused conversation with the Signals-Operator over the crackling phone line I found myself waiting back by the bridge for a Police Patrol car. The mobile rang. It was a very annoyed sounding Pew. He swore at me. A lot. “Listen!” He screamed. “You stole our stash. If we don’t get it back we are dead men. So right now you better be ready, as we are going to kill you! We are going to-“ I cut him off. They rang back three times, I refused to answer. I tossed the phone off the bridge and watched it smash on the rails. A little while later a Police Cruiser pulled up. The two officers with in waved at me to get in. I sat in the back of the cruiser watching the world roll past. Seeing a lot of where I had walked that day. I was cold and wet, and hurting, and hungry. They were from Cipher, two of the deputies from the local police station there. The older and wider of the two offered to stop somewhere to get me a hot drink and something to eat. I mumbled in agreement. The younger, more Chinese and more female of the pair told me that a lot of officers had been looking for me. A police helicopter had been coming the highways for the Jeep. I tossed them the wallet I had stolen from Pew. She eagerly tore it open and started talking excitedly into her radio. Then came the highlight of my day. Several rounds of high velocity rifle fire tearing apart the engine block of the Cruiser. We rolled to a halt, and the Deputies pushed me out of the car, keeping me low on the floor , with the cruiser between myself and the rose blooms of muzzle fire that were exploding in the woods above us. The pattern was clear. One of the two Dealers was firing as another ran forwards and took cover behind a tree. Then the Dealer at the back ran forwards to take a position and cover the approach of their comrades. Obviously they had more than three rifles, a fourth as a spare. A spectral green glow bobbed at head level, marking each of the attackers before they could fire. Night vision goggles. Crud. The older deputy leant across the cruiser, firing his pistol into the darkness, at the bursts of flame as each rifle fired. The other was preying to her bosses for back up on a squawking radio. I pushed myself back onto the against the car, it wasn’t much of a barricade against the fire storm. A lucky shot could tear through the car, and into myself, or one of the police officers. The three Stooges must have been desperate. Who ever they owed their Stash to, or who ever they had not been able to pay for their stash, must be a very bad person. Or they were just mad and thought that their attack would make them local heroes. A box stuffed in the glove box of the cruiser caught my eyes. A red plastic box. A red plastic box containing flares. I stared at the flares. I heard our attackers getting close. A plan formed in my head. “I’m almost out of ammo.” The rotund deputy told his partner. “Clip and a half left.” “I know.” She shouted back, then addressed me. “Stay low Mark. We have friends coming.” Panic laced her voice. “But things are going to get mighty hairy.” “They are wearing night vision goggles.” I told her. “they amplify light. A lot. A flash of light would almost blind them. You could move while they were dazzled.” “Running out of time!” The older deputy screamed. “They are close to the road.” The percussion of the gunfire was very close. I could hear the deafening thunderclap of each shot. The shells bouncing off stones as they fell. I could hear them stepping onto the road. I could hear the metallic click clack of a magazine being pulled out, ready for new one to be slotted in. I could feel them moving closer. A few steps from the edge of the car. I slammed the flare on the ground, and the tip ignited into a plume of rose tinted flame, as bright as the sun, and I threw it up over the car. Three men screamed as the light was magnified and amplified by their goggles, blinding them. The two deputies charged, springing forwards at the stricken foes, and slamming them to the ground with well measured brutality, containing them at gun points, their fingers tight on the triggers of their service pistols. It was all over before the flare died out with a damp sizzle. Three days later I was still nursing my wounds (that were accumulating at an exponential rate since moving to America), and talking to you. I was slumped in the chair by your bed, speaking a constant stream of nonsense, just relieved that I was alive to tell you. A heavy hand rapped on your door. Shave and a hair cut. Three bob. I turned around, and saw Lawrence there, framed in the door way. Mum was there too, she pushed him in with a jab to the shoulder. “Hey Mark.” He said with a nod. “Hey.” I said. I smiled at him, smiled at Mum. He shrugged uncomfortably. “Some one has been asking after you.” He told me, a smile crossing his lips. He gestured up at the ceiling. “Sorry, I don’t believe in him.” “No, not Him. Perhaps a fallen angel though?” “Natasha?” I found myself smiling. “She’s awake? That’s great news. Joe must be happy.” “He is.” My mother gave me a scolding look. She was never around long enough to send me to my room back home, but that is the look she would have used. “Cherry and Joe have been talking to her, and she has been talking to the police. And now she wants to meet the dashing young man who was so helpful in defending her honour.” “I wouldn’t want to disillusion her.” I sighed. “I wouldn’t want to impose...” “Yes.” Lawrence told me, in no uncertain terms. “Yes you would want to. And you will.” He grinned. “Please?” I hate the way he can be so annoyingly nice. My tired legs were carrying me up the stairs to Natasha’s room, despite my complaints. I stepped nervously into her room, that now smelt of fresh roses and the honeysuckles in a vase on her side board. There were fewer machines going BEEP, and a bundle of medallions hanging over her headboard. A bundle of medallions showing the effigy of saints. She had the most perfect smile on her lips. “Hey.” She greeted me, in a voice that sounded like dry bones cracking, but was soaked with humour. “Hi.” I smiled at her. “You are looking better than last time I was here. You don’t me, my name is...” “Mark.” She caught me in the gaze of deep blue eyes. “I don’t know you. But I would like to. I hear you are here a lot seeing your sister. I would like it very much if you would find time to talk to me too. Please.” “I would like that too.” I sat on the edge of her bed. “Perhaps you could answer a question that has been nagging at me for days now?” She said she would. And when I asked her my question she smiled wider, and unhooked the medallions that hung over her, and started to spread them out on her duvet. Then she began to tell me all about Saint Jude, and Saint Christopher, and a lot of other Saints beside those.
Only registered users can rate and write comments. Powered by AkoComment 2.0! |
||||
 Previous item
|
Next item
|
|---|