Sometimes I go out by myself and stare across the water
I had the idea for a story for the first time in a while yesterday.
The first time he woke, the sound of hissing steam and glass being moved abruptly greeted him. The words presented themselves vaguely in his head as abstract concepts. Then there was a brief explosion of sensation somewhere in him and they went away.
The next time he woke, he blinked into the face of a woman, hair knotted into a wild cloud around her. After staring searchingly into his eyes for some time, she asked, "Can you speak?"
He opened his mouth in response, and felt his jaw stretch with an oily smoothness until something cracked. The woman gave a sharp, furious cry and the world went away again.
He woke again with her sitting next to him, so that all he could see was the edge of her chin and her harsh profile against candlelight. The gray shawl over her shoulders made her disappear, almost, into the dim light, until she turned to him and lifted the candle. "Can you speak?" she asked again, then, "Repeat what I say."
She listed a few words, watched him intently as he repeated them, and then made him repeat them backwards to her. When he did her eyes narrowed in satisfaction and she scrambled to her feet, rushing around the rooms to light candles and pushing books and glass decanters around a roughly made wooden table. In the greater light he could see her better; she was a pale thing, draped in heavy clothes in drab browns and grays, with dark hair knotted and coiling at her shoulders.
It occurred to him as he watched her sort though the items on the table that all of her movements had a certain urgency and desperation to them; he could just hear her harsh breathing when she finally grasped a slim vial and held it to herself for a moment. When she brought it to him, he noticed her face; oval and chapped by wind, with dark shadows under red-rimmed eyes. Her mouth was wide and twisted with stress, until, before him, it suddenly curled into an unfamiliar smile.
"Drink this," she said, uncorking the vial hastily and lifting up his head with rough-skinned hands. He obeyed mutely, and then coughed when he tasted it. "It's foul, I know, but it's all I could find." She helped him to sit up as he coughed furiously. When he stopped, his breathing still heavy, she cupped his face between her hands. "You're back."
He looked at her blankly, uncomprehending. The unfamiliar smile on her face wavered; her brow furrowed. Abruptly she leaned forward, her eyes narrowing. For a moment he thought she meant to kiss him; then she pushed him away from her and staggered backwards.
He struggled, mired in confusion, "You-"
"It didn't work," she cried, anguished, "it didn't work."
--- ---
hunh. Writing. Needs some work but I'm out of practice :)
The first time he woke, the sound of hissing steam and glass being moved abruptly greeted him. The words presented themselves vaguely in his head as abstract concepts. Then there was a brief explosion of sensation somewhere in him and they went away.
The next time he woke, he blinked into the face of a woman, hair knotted into a wild cloud around her. After staring searchingly into his eyes for some time, she asked, "Can you speak?"
He opened his mouth in response, and felt his jaw stretch with an oily smoothness until something cracked. The woman gave a sharp, furious cry and the world went away again.
He woke again with her sitting next to him, so that all he could see was the edge of her chin and her harsh profile against candlelight. The gray shawl over her shoulders made her disappear, almost, into the dim light, until she turned to him and lifted the candle. "Can you speak?" she asked again, then, "Repeat what I say."
She listed a few words, watched him intently as he repeated them, and then made him repeat them backwards to her. When he did her eyes narrowed in satisfaction and she scrambled to her feet, rushing around the rooms to light candles and pushing books and glass decanters around a roughly made wooden table. In the greater light he could see her better; she was a pale thing, draped in heavy clothes in drab browns and grays, with dark hair knotted and coiling at her shoulders.
It occurred to him as he watched her sort though the items on the table that all of her movements had a certain urgency and desperation to them; he could just hear her harsh breathing when she finally grasped a slim vial and held it to herself for a moment. When she brought it to him, he noticed her face; oval and chapped by wind, with dark shadows under red-rimmed eyes. Her mouth was wide and twisted with stress, until, before him, it suddenly curled into an unfamiliar smile.
"Drink this," she said, uncorking the vial hastily and lifting up his head with rough-skinned hands. He obeyed mutely, and then coughed when he tasted it. "It's foul, I know, but it's all I could find." She helped him to sit up as he coughed furiously. When he stopped, his breathing still heavy, she cupped his face between her hands. "You're back."
He looked at her blankly, uncomprehending. The unfamiliar smile on her face wavered; her brow furrowed. Abruptly she leaned forward, her eyes narrowing. For a moment he thought she meant to kiss him; then she pushed him away from her and staggered backwards.
He struggled, mired in confusion, "You-"
"It didn't work," she cried, anguished, "it didn't work."
--- ---
hunh. Writing. Needs some work but I'm out of practice :)