[Original Fiction] Untitled Project;
Untitled Project.
Original. Cyberpunk.
Notes: I need to give this baby a title.
Character Sketch: Caty, Part 1.
Caty has been coming to the Center for almost five years straight. That’s pretty long for a candidate, since most only manage two or three before they take a break and go back to their normal lives.
The doctors know her here, the nurses too. They call her “Sunshine” and give her smiles and sometimes candy. Even if they don’t (give her smiles or candy), Caty smiles anyway because its the right thing to do, because it helps, and what else is she in the Center for but to help.
The routine she keeps is the same one she’s kept for the last couple of years. She has school in the morning, from seven to three, where she does her best in each of the units assigned to her. By three thirty, she’s halfway across the city via the metro rail, and by roughly four in the afternoon she is jogging up the steps to the Center, smiling and calling out greetings as she takes the elevator to the 14th floor.
While in the elevator, she has a habit of rocking back and forth on her heels, stopping only when it stops to let other people in. Sometimes, she’ll encounter a med student or two going the same way she is and they ask questions on what it’s like to be candidate and how she feels about what she does. Most of the time they’re surprised when she tells them “Yeah, I’ve been here since I was eleven”, that yes, she likes coming to the center, and no, it doesn’t tire her out at all.
But today there’s no one in the elevator but her, so she smiles at her transparent reflection, and taps her fingers gently against her thigh.
She’s brought books today. They make the sides of her backpack bulge in a way that her mother tells her it shouldn’t. In the front pouch of her sweater, she can feel the weight of the videogame console she borrowed from her neighbor and she presses her lips together in anticipation.
Unlike most candidates that are burned out by the end of their first year in any of the Centers located all over the city, Caty likes what she does and looks forward to the hours she spends with her patient as if it were a field trip to the zero-grav planetarium, or the theme parks in the other zones. There’s something about being useful here that makes her happy, something about knowing that what she does makes a difference to another person that gives her a sense of fulfillment.
When the elevator stops at her designated floor, Caty beams up brightly to the nurse at the reception desk and after a brief moment of small talk recounting her exploits at school, she makes the quickest beeline over to the recovery ward to start the real part of her day.
Original. Cyberpunk.
Notes: I need to give this baby a title.
Character Sketch: Caty, Part 1.
Caty has been coming to the Center for almost five years straight. That’s pretty long for a candidate, since most only manage two or three before they take a break and go back to their normal lives.
The doctors know her here, the nurses too. They call her “Sunshine” and give her smiles and sometimes candy. Even if they don’t (give her smiles or candy), Caty smiles anyway because its the right thing to do, because it helps, and what else is she in the Center for but to help.
The routine she keeps is the same one she’s kept for the last couple of years. She has school in the morning, from seven to three, where she does her best in each of the units assigned to her. By three thirty, she’s halfway across the city via the metro rail, and by roughly four in the afternoon she is jogging up the steps to the Center, smiling and calling out greetings as she takes the elevator to the 14th floor.
While in the elevator, she has a habit of rocking back and forth on her heels, stopping only when it stops to let other people in. Sometimes, she’ll encounter a med student or two going the same way she is and they ask questions on what it’s like to be candidate and how she feels about what she does. Most of the time they’re surprised when she tells them “Yeah, I’ve been here since I was eleven”, that yes, she likes coming to the center, and no, it doesn’t tire her out at all.
But today there’s no one in the elevator but her, so she smiles at her transparent reflection, and taps her fingers gently against her thigh.
She’s brought books today. They make the sides of her backpack bulge in a way that her mother tells her it shouldn’t. In the front pouch of her sweater, she can feel the weight of the videogame console she borrowed from her neighbor and she presses her lips together in anticipation.
Unlike most candidates that are burned out by the end of their first year in any of the Centers located all over the city, Caty likes what she does and looks forward to the hours she spends with her patient as if it were a field trip to the zero-grav planetarium, or the theme parks in the other zones. There’s something about being useful here that makes her happy, something about knowing that what she does makes a difference to another person that gives her a sense of fulfillment.
When the elevator stops at her designated floor, Caty beams up brightly to the nurse at the reception desk and after a brief moment of small talk recounting her exploits at school, she makes the quickest beeline over to the recovery ward to start the real part of her day.