Fic: Sprites
Title: Sprites - Chapter One
Fandom: None
Ship: N/A
Genre: Fantasy
Rating: G
Prompt: None
Word Count: 4141
Author's Notes: This is a very rough first draft, it's exactly as it came out of my head with no alterations, amendments or beta'ing at all. There are some names missing and such like so please bear that in mind. Feedback on the main plot idea is welcome though. The bit marked with ** was added later to the original post.
Summary: Al is the only person without a sprite. In a world where sprites are a part of everyday life and a major component of relationships, his difference sets him apart from the rest of society. Along with his two friends, Affie and Anwen who are excluded for other reasons, he embarks upon a journey to find his sprite. He is given four challenges and upon completion he finds his final reward isn't quite what he expected.
It was a dark and stormy night... No, wait, that's not right.
...
Greetings, noble reader! This is the harrowing but heartening tale of our hero, Albion Merriweather... gah, I can't keep that up at all.
....
Okay, let's try this again. Hi there. My name actually is Albion Merriweather, but you can call me Al. I am the only person in the world who doesn't have a sprite. This is my story.
- x -
It came completely out of the blue. I was lying there on my bed reading the newest book in the Perry Tratchett series when I suddenly had a coughing fit. I didn't think much of it, thought I'd possibly swallowed my saliva wrong or that it was one of those freakish things that your body does from time to time. I carried on reading - I'd just got up to a really exciting bit - when I had another coughing fit. And another. And another. My throat was starting to get sore and I realised that my chest felt as if there was a band round it that was slowly getting increasingly tighter, making it hard to get a proper deep breath. The coughing hadn't caused me to be concerned but the weird tight feeling in my chest did.
I clambered off my bed and went into the bathroom to get a drink of water. I'd barely taken hold of the tooth mug when I was set upon by another bout of coughing, this one hard enough to make me double over and cling onto the sink in an attempt to stay upright. I felt like I was trying to forcibly eject my lungs through my mouth with the sheer force of coughs. When it finally finished, I was left hanging on to the cold wet ceramic, panting hard.
The sound of a gentle tap at the bathroom door made me turn my head slightly to see my mother standing there. Her blue eyes looked at me with concern.
"Gods, Al, are you all right?"
I bit back a sarcastic retort, I didn't have the breath for it for one thing, and wearily shook my head. I slowly attempted to stand upright and eased my tight grip on the sides of the sink. I must have looked terrible. I was still gasping for breath, my mouth gaping open to try and get in as much of that sweet sweet air as possible. I had dribbled down my chin and onto my t-shirt, leaving dark spots on the fabric. My hair had fallen into my eyes, so I roughly shoved it back, leaving it sticking up at various angles. I turned slightly to face the door and sagged onto the wash hand basin with one hip. Mum came in and picked the mug up from off the floor where I must have dropped it. She quickly filled it with cold water and handed it to me. I nodded my thanks and took a hearty gulp.
After a short choking fit, I took a small sip of water instead and managed not to spray it all over the floor this time.
"Better?" Mum asked.
I nodded. "Bit better."
"So what happened?"
"I'm not entirely sure," I said, taking another slight mouthful of water. "I just got jumped on by a cough from nowhere. My chest feels all odd though."
"Odd how?"
"I dunno, like there's a belt fastened round it and someone keeps making it smaller."
"Hmm." Mum brushed my hair back and placed the back of her hand on my forehead. "You do feel rather warm."
"I'm not surprised, I just had a major workout!"
"I hope you're not coming down with something. Do you want a proper drink? I'll go and make you one."
I went back into my room, returned to my previous position on my bed and before long, I was doubled up again, trying to eject those lungs once more. I felt more than saw my mother's approach and my waste paper basket was suddenly thrust under my nose. "Just in case." she said. I frowned, not thinking I was likely to be sick, but I felt something tickle at the back of my throat and spat it into the bin. "Just phlegm, I think," Mum said, wrinkling her nose. I sat back, again gasping for breath. Mum looked me over carefully and let out a sigh. "Looks like I'm going to have to call someone."
"It's after 7 o'clock on a Saturday night," I pointed out. "The doctor's is closed and I'm not sick enough for A&E."
"I'll ring the out of hours number," she said, and hurried off downstairs.
I collapsed back on my bed and tried to concentrate on breathing. The tightness in my chest had got worse and I kept feeling like I wasn't getting enough air in my lungs which was incredibly disconcerting. At the same time, I really didn't want to make a fuss. I was quiet and shy enough at the best of times, the idea of having people fuss over me when I was ill did not appeal in the slightest. I didn't like the attention and I always tried to play down any vague under the weather feelings I had. This time, however, my mother had noticed them right at the start. I suppose when you're coughing that loudly and that much, it's rather hard not to have it be noticed. I could hear my mother's voice in the hallway talking to the out of hours person. I imagined they'd tell her that it was just a cough and to take some paracetamol or something. "Drink plenty of liquids!" like you could drink anything else. I was pondering the futility of the phrase when I heard my mother's tread on the stairs.
"Hang on," she was saying to the person on the other end of the phone, "He's here now."
She held out the receiver to me and I took it warily. "Hello?"
A woman's voice responded and asked me to confirm my name and date of birth. "Al, Albion Merriweather, my birthday is November 1."
"All right, Al, I just need to ask you some questions, is that okay?" I replied that it was and the woman went on to ask me seemingly random questions about whether I'd hit my head or if I'd had anything unusual to eat. I answered to the best of my ability, although to be honest, mostly I just kept repeating the word no. When she finally started to ask about my breathing difficulties, I ended up having another coughing bout which I hoped would answer all the questions remaining but apparently not. Finally she exhausted her stock of unrelated queries and I waited for the diagnosis. "It sounds like you'd be better speaking to the out of hours doctor so I'll pass your name and details on to him and he'll give you a call back. I can't give you an exact time scale but it'll be somewhere within 1-2 hours, okay? Thanks for calling the out of hours line and have a good night!"
"Thanks, bye," I responded in a bit of a daze. My mother looked at me expectantly so I updated her on what the conversation had entailed.
"One to two hours?" she repeated in disbelief. She glanced at my bedside clock and let out a sigh. "Well, looks like it's going to be a late night for you, little man."
"I'm almost eleven!" I protested, but I knew the term of endearment was an indication of how worried she was. "Besides, it's still the summer holidays for another week yet. And it's a Saturday."
"It's not too early for you to start getting back into a decent sleeping routine ready for school. Especially considering how you'll be at the high school now." We'd already had this discussion on more than one occasion and I knew I wasn't going to win it in my current state so I let it go.
It was almost bang on two hours later when the doctor finally phoned. I'd finished my book, being both disappointed by the fact it was completed but excited for the next one. I'd also had several more coughing fits and that belt round my chest was growing steadily tighter. My throat was dry and irritated, resulting in a scratchy hoarse voice. I even had a sore stomach from all the attempts at removing my internal organs by the sheer force of coughing. I'd also drunk more cups of tea in that brief period than I had all day. The shrill sound of the phone ringing made me jump a mile from where I was lying mid-doze. I stretched out an arm and picked the receiver off my bedside table.
"Hello?" I croaked into it.
The doctor, a brusque male, replied in short clipped sentences. "Albion Merriweather? Got a bit of a cough? Shortness of breath?" I answered as best I could in between the rapid fire questions. The phone call was very short. I was already hanging up by the time my mother came back into my room from the kitchen where she'd been making yet another cup of tea.
"Got to go to the medical centre," I told her. She glanced at the brew in her hands and gave a huff of irritation. "No, not now, he gave me an appointment for midnight."
"Midnight!" she said incredulous, "At your age? That's ridiculous."
"Guess they're really busy."
"I suppose so. She handed me the cup of tea. "Well, drink that and see if you can get some sleep for the next hour at least, hopefully that'll be better than nothing, and then we'll set off." She leaned over and brushed the hair off my forehead, poked me on the nose which made me grin and left me to my tea and dozing.
I found it really hard to doze off. As soon as I felt sleep approaching, I'd get a familiar tickle in my throat and I'd have another bout of coughing. Each time it seemed to drain more energy from me, leaving me limp and exhausted. Although some of that could have been that it really was seriously past my bedtime by this point. My breathing had been reduced to shallow breaths that didn't seem to get me any air at all. And I just couldn't get comfortable. One minute I felt cold, pulling my fleecy blanket tightly over me, only to throw it off a few minutes later when my face felt like it was on fire.
It seemed only a short time later that Mum came to wake me ready for the trip to the medical centre. I must have finally fallen asleep because at the slightest sound of her voice, I jerked awake. I started to sit up but the room suddenly tilted before my eyes and span crazily around me. I groaned, collapsing back on the bed and risking more coughing. "Dizzy, so dizzy!" I managed to gasp out. Mum gave me a helping hand and slowly got me up off the bed. The floor wouldn't stay still under my feet, it seemed to move up and down like the ocean and I couldn't rely on it to be there when I put my foot down. I had to cling to Mum's side to get across my bedroom, down the stairs and to the front door. I shivered violently as the cool night air hit my skin, wishing I'd brought my blanket down with me. Observant as ever, Mum left me clinging to the newel post at the foot of the stairs while she hurried back up them. Wrapping the blanket firmly round me once more, Mum bundled me bodily into the passenger seat of the car and placed a plastic bowl on my lap. She locked up the house, started the car and backed out of the drive.
I don't remember much of the trip to the medical centre. I have vague recollections of being overly warm and opening the window to let the air wash over my face. The coughing fit I had at the traffic lights which unnerved Mum so much that she stayed put for two whole rotations of signals. Luckily there was no other traffic on that little back road at such a late time of night. And the medical centre, with all lights blazing, looking like a beacon of hope in the dark night. I remember getting out of the car, staggering my way to the door, feeling my legs getting weak and not being sure they would hold me up much longer.
As I entered the reception area, I looked towards the intake desk over the other side of the room. It wasn't far but it seemed like a million miles away. My vision started to dim and stretch as if I was looking down the cardboard tube from a toilet roll. Sparkles danced on the edges like dust motes in the sun. I think I tried to call for my mum, I'm pretty sure I shaped the word with my lips but whether the sound actually came out or not, I couldn't tell you. And then... black.
The next thing I knew I was staring at a rather dirty white ceiling covered with those tiles you only seem to get in schools and hospitals. I was pretty sure I wasn't at school but the other option didn't seem to make any sense either. I tried lifting my head, giving out a slight moan as the room span around me and closed my eyes quickly to see if that helped. It didn't really. When I felt like I wasn't going to throw up, I slowly eased my eyes open and looked around carefully. Yep, I was in hospital all right. My bed was in the centre of a small private room, with a window to my right and the doorway to the left. I propped myself up on one elbow and winced as a sharp pain pierced my hand. Following the tube sticking into the back of it, I noticed the IV stand next to the bed. What had happened to me? The room was empty, devoid of both staff and family. I was an eleven year old boy alone in a strange room, I did what came naturally: I yelled for my mum. Well, yelled is a bit of an overstatement. My mouth was so dry, I had to peel my tongue from the roof of my mouth and swallowing felt like my throat was lined with sandpaper.
"Mum?" I croaked, sounding for all the world like a 90 year old man. My voice was a mere whisper, I doubt anyone outside of the room would have heard it so it was lucky that my mother returned to the room just then.
"Al!" she cried in surprise! "Oh baby, you're sitting up, how are you feeling? Do you need anything? How about a drink? Oh, let me get the nurse." She rummaged under the blankets by the side of the bed and pulled out a call button. Once that was pressed, she poured me a small glass of water from a jug on the table next to the bed. "Small sips," she warned.
A nurse bustled in and upon seeing me awake, beamed widely. She took my vitals, asked me various questions and generally assessed me. Between her and my mother, I managed to get an idea of what had happened. Apparently that weird experience I'd had at the medical centre was from when I'd blacked out. I'd been out for mere seconds but had struggled to keep conscious after that and had ended up being rushed to A&E at the hospital. The diagnosis was a serious viral infection which was playing havoc with my lungs and general breathing ability. There had been added complications with a build-up of fluid in the lungs that had had to be drained and the whole thing had been pretty nasty. Although the fluid issue seemed to have eased off, there was the chance it could return, especially as I was still coughing and having slight difficulty in breathing. I'd got a lovely oxygen tube in my nose which I'd not noticed at first, although once I knew it was there, it was kind of tickly. I was incredibly surprised to find that I'd been in the hospital for a week so far but a combination of the drugs and the whole lack of oxygen thing had rather knocked me out so it had passed in a haze. Now that I was awake and more with it, I was told I would be able to go home in a day or two.
Sure enough, I was on my way home a couple of days later but my recovery was still slow. It took a good month for the incision sites to heal, although it took slightly longer recover from the surgery overall and I still had the remainder of the viral infection to contend with as well. Even after the cough and breathing issues had cleared up, I had problems with residual vertigo which could send the room spinning at the slightest wrong movement. I spent a lot of time lying on the settee in the living room, trying to move as little as possible for the first few weeks. I barely had the energy to watch daytime tv and lifting a book was seriously out of the question. Mum said it was one of the few times she was glad that I wasn't an active sort of person, always running about doing sports and that sort of thing, because it would have been horrendous for us both having me confined to the sofa. I would have been going out of my mind with boredom and she would have been incredibly frustrated seeing me like that. Thankfully, it wasn't an issue. Once I'd recovered enough to be able to pick up a book and follow the storyline, there was no stopping me and I worked my way through quite a stack of books. Mum ended up going to the library at least every other day to either return books for me or to pick up new ones that I'd ordered.
Unfortunately such good times weren't to last. Although I was not well enough to attend school by any means, I still needed to get my education. I'd barely been home from hospital for a fortnight when there was a visit from a tutor supplied by the Education Service. He would call once a week initially but more frequently as I got better, and would take me through some of the work that I was missing out on. He left me with workbooks to do at home and text books to read through. It was agony. I wasn't even at school and I was still getting homework! And there was no way my mother was letting me get away without doing it. I knew that I had to do it really, I certainly didn't want to go to school and be a laughing stock because of what I was missing. So I got my head down as best I could in between the dizzy spells and the bouts of coughing, and learned about simultaneous equations, the periodic table and the intricacies of the Oxford comma in between working my way through the stack of library books that was kept permanently by the side of the sofa. Gradually the viral infection and vertigo cleared up, and one day my doctor prescribed me well enough to return to school.
Seeing as I'd been on my way to starting at the local high school, it was hardly a return as such. If anything, it was worse. I'd missed a good six months of the first year, that important time when friends are made, cliques are formed and enemy lines are drawn. I would be going into an established system, an outsider from the start. Obviously there would be a period of adjustment and acclimatisation for both me and the other students but I hoped it wouldn't be too bad.
**I had lost quite a bit of weight while I was sick but at least that meant that my school uniform, which had been bought just two weeks before I fell ill, still fitted. Mum insisted I tried it all on just to be sure so one afternoon I took the hangers out of my wardrobe and started to get changed. I'd not grown in height either so the trousers were still just a little on the long side and the shirt tails reached almost to my knees. At least the extra fabric there helped take up some of the gap round my waist although I still needed a belt as well. The shirt sleeves were fairly long as well, hanging almost over my fingers and the shirt collar was nicely roomy. I didn't appreciate the size of the collar until much later when collars grew to be slightly tight and restrictive, especially when buttoned all the way and a tie on top. I spent a good hour or so practising knotting the school tie properly although when it actually came down to it, I tended to tie it on Sunday night and leave it that way until school finished on Friday afternoon when it would be swiftly pulled undone as an indicator of my freedom.
The school colours were royal blue, silver and black so the tie contained stripes of all three colours, wider bands of the blue and black with a thin line of silver between them. For a school tie, it wasn't a bad one. Although the trousers and shirt were pretty standard being grey and white respectively, the colours were repeated in both the jumper and blazer. The jumper was royal blue with bands of silver round the neck, wrists and waist, and the blazer was similarly blue with the school crest of rook and castle on the chest pocket. Older students who had reached the lofty heights of head boy or gift, prefect or even monitor were presented with an enamel badge to indicate their superior status and this was worn on the left lapel. The blazer swiftly became a bane of my life; it didn't matter how old I was or what size it was, it never fit properly and always seemed to swamp me. In winter, it wasn't too bad as it meant I had plenty of room underneath for a jumper but the added weight in summer was most unwelcome. The jumper itself was about the only item that wasn't too bad, although it was still new so hadn't yet been washed and worn to a comfortable looseness. In the warmer months, it could be replaced by a sleeveless jumper but most people tended to go without as it was just too hot for both jumper and blazer. Of course the jumper's most useful function was to be a goalpost during lunch break.**
On that first day, Mum dropped me off a short distance from the main school gates. I fended off her attentions as best I could and scrambled out of the car. I had been instructed to make my way to the main office where the secretary would be expecting me.
"Hello, I'm Albion Merriweather," I announced to the dumpy brown haired woman who was stationed at the desk. "I was told to report here because I'm starting at this school today."
"Oh, you're Albion! Hello there, I'm Ms MacSecretary. Let me just grab your file and I'll take you off to your form room." She rummaged around the papers on her desk and pulled out a manilla folder from the bottom. "Okay, you're in 1LS, so if you'll follow me, I'll take you over there." She led me through various corridors and buildings, chattering all the while about which part of the school it was and what took place there, most of which went completely over my head. Finally she stopped at a nondescript wooden door and rapped firmly on it, before opening it and ushering me inside.
"Mr Tutor, I've got your last student here, this is Albion Merriweather." She beckoned me forward and I stepped forward to greet the form tutor.
"Hello, Albion. Right, let's find you a seat." Ms MacSecretary left the room while Mr Tutor came out from behind his desk and surveyed the rows of students before him.
As I stood there at the front of the room, looking out at all those new faces of students gazing back at me strangers, I became aware of nudges, giggles and mutterings. Then a loud voice came from the back, crying out in disbelief and amazement. "He doesn't have a sprite!"
*****
© The Pendragon
Fandom: None
Ship: N/A
Genre: Fantasy
Rating: G
Prompt: None
Word Count: 4141
Author's Notes: This is a very rough first draft, it's exactly as it came out of my head with no alterations, amendments or beta'ing at all. There are some names missing and such like so please bear that in mind. Feedback on the main plot idea is welcome though. The bit marked with ** was added later to the original post.
Summary: Al is the only person without a sprite. In a world where sprites are a part of everyday life and a major component of relationships, his difference sets him apart from the rest of society. Along with his two friends, Affie and Anwen who are excluded for other reasons, he embarks upon a journey to find his sprite. He is given four challenges and upon completion he finds his final reward isn't quite what he expected.
It was a dark and stormy night... No, wait, that's not right.
...
Greetings, noble reader! This is the harrowing but heartening tale of our hero, Albion Merriweather... gah, I can't keep that up at all.
....
Okay, let's try this again. Hi there. My name actually is Albion Merriweather, but you can call me Al. I am the only person in the world who doesn't have a sprite. This is my story.
- x -
It came completely out of the blue. I was lying there on my bed reading the newest book in the Perry Tratchett series when I suddenly had a coughing fit. I didn't think much of it, thought I'd possibly swallowed my saliva wrong or that it was one of those freakish things that your body does from time to time. I carried on reading - I'd just got up to a really exciting bit - when I had another coughing fit. And another. And another. My throat was starting to get sore and I realised that my chest felt as if there was a band round it that was slowly getting increasingly tighter, making it hard to get a proper deep breath. The coughing hadn't caused me to be concerned but the weird tight feeling in my chest did.
I clambered off my bed and went into the bathroom to get a drink of water. I'd barely taken hold of the tooth mug when I was set upon by another bout of coughing, this one hard enough to make me double over and cling onto the sink in an attempt to stay upright. I felt like I was trying to forcibly eject my lungs through my mouth with the sheer force of coughs. When it finally finished, I was left hanging on to the cold wet ceramic, panting hard.
The sound of a gentle tap at the bathroom door made me turn my head slightly to see my mother standing there. Her blue eyes looked at me with concern.
"Gods, Al, are you all right?"
I bit back a sarcastic retort, I didn't have the breath for it for one thing, and wearily shook my head. I slowly attempted to stand upright and eased my tight grip on the sides of the sink. I must have looked terrible. I was still gasping for breath, my mouth gaping open to try and get in as much of that sweet sweet air as possible. I had dribbled down my chin and onto my t-shirt, leaving dark spots on the fabric. My hair had fallen into my eyes, so I roughly shoved it back, leaving it sticking up at various angles. I turned slightly to face the door and sagged onto the wash hand basin with one hip. Mum came in and picked the mug up from off the floor where I must have dropped it. She quickly filled it with cold water and handed it to me. I nodded my thanks and took a hearty gulp.
After a short choking fit, I took a small sip of water instead and managed not to spray it all over the floor this time.
"Better?" Mum asked.
I nodded. "Bit better."
"So what happened?"
"I'm not entirely sure," I said, taking another slight mouthful of water. "I just got jumped on by a cough from nowhere. My chest feels all odd though."
"Odd how?"
"I dunno, like there's a belt fastened round it and someone keeps making it smaller."
"Hmm." Mum brushed my hair back and placed the back of her hand on my forehead. "You do feel rather warm."
"I'm not surprised, I just had a major workout!"
"I hope you're not coming down with something. Do you want a proper drink? I'll go and make you one."
I went back into my room, returned to my previous position on my bed and before long, I was doubled up again, trying to eject those lungs once more. I felt more than saw my mother's approach and my waste paper basket was suddenly thrust under my nose. "Just in case." she said. I frowned, not thinking I was likely to be sick, but I felt something tickle at the back of my throat and spat it into the bin. "Just phlegm, I think," Mum said, wrinkling her nose. I sat back, again gasping for breath. Mum looked me over carefully and let out a sigh. "Looks like I'm going to have to call someone."
"It's after 7 o'clock on a Saturday night," I pointed out. "The doctor's is closed and I'm not sick enough for A&E."
"I'll ring the out of hours number," she said, and hurried off downstairs.
I collapsed back on my bed and tried to concentrate on breathing. The tightness in my chest had got worse and I kept feeling like I wasn't getting enough air in my lungs which was incredibly disconcerting. At the same time, I really didn't want to make a fuss. I was quiet and shy enough at the best of times, the idea of having people fuss over me when I was ill did not appeal in the slightest. I didn't like the attention and I always tried to play down any vague under the weather feelings I had. This time, however, my mother had noticed them right at the start. I suppose when you're coughing that loudly and that much, it's rather hard not to have it be noticed. I could hear my mother's voice in the hallway talking to the out of hours person. I imagined they'd tell her that it was just a cough and to take some paracetamol or something. "Drink plenty of liquids!" like you could drink anything else. I was pondering the futility of the phrase when I heard my mother's tread on the stairs.
"Hang on," she was saying to the person on the other end of the phone, "He's here now."
She held out the receiver to me and I took it warily. "Hello?"
A woman's voice responded and asked me to confirm my name and date of birth. "Al, Albion Merriweather, my birthday is November 1."
"All right, Al, I just need to ask you some questions, is that okay?" I replied that it was and the woman went on to ask me seemingly random questions about whether I'd hit my head or if I'd had anything unusual to eat. I answered to the best of my ability, although to be honest, mostly I just kept repeating the word no. When she finally started to ask about my breathing difficulties, I ended up having another coughing bout which I hoped would answer all the questions remaining but apparently not. Finally she exhausted her stock of unrelated queries and I waited for the diagnosis. "It sounds like you'd be better speaking to the out of hours doctor so I'll pass your name and details on to him and he'll give you a call back. I can't give you an exact time scale but it'll be somewhere within 1-2 hours, okay? Thanks for calling the out of hours line and have a good night!"
"Thanks, bye," I responded in a bit of a daze. My mother looked at me expectantly so I updated her on what the conversation had entailed.
"One to two hours?" she repeated in disbelief. She glanced at my bedside clock and let out a sigh. "Well, looks like it's going to be a late night for you, little man."
"I'm almost eleven!" I protested, but I knew the term of endearment was an indication of how worried she was. "Besides, it's still the summer holidays for another week yet. And it's a Saturday."
"It's not too early for you to start getting back into a decent sleeping routine ready for school. Especially considering how you'll be at the high school now." We'd already had this discussion on more than one occasion and I knew I wasn't going to win it in my current state so I let it go.
It was almost bang on two hours later when the doctor finally phoned. I'd finished my book, being both disappointed by the fact it was completed but excited for the next one. I'd also had several more coughing fits and that belt round my chest was growing steadily tighter. My throat was dry and irritated, resulting in a scratchy hoarse voice. I even had a sore stomach from all the attempts at removing my internal organs by the sheer force of coughing. I'd also drunk more cups of tea in that brief period than I had all day. The shrill sound of the phone ringing made me jump a mile from where I was lying mid-doze. I stretched out an arm and picked the receiver off my bedside table.
"Hello?" I croaked into it.
The doctor, a brusque male, replied in short clipped sentences. "Albion Merriweather? Got a bit of a cough? Shortness of breath?" I answered as best I could in between the rapid fire questions. The phone call was very short. I was already hanging up by the time my mother came back into my room from the kitchen where she'd been making yet another cup of tea.
"Got to go to the medical centre," I told her. She glanced at the brew in her hands and gave a huff of irritation. "No, not now, he gave me an appointment for midnight."
"Midnight!" she said incredulous, "At your age? That's ridiculous."
"Guess they're really busy."
"I suppose so. She handed me the cup of tea. "Well, drink that and see if you can get some sleep for the next hour at least, hopefully that'll be better than nothing, and then we'll set off." She leaned over and brushed the hair off my forehead, poked me on the nose which made me grin and left me to my tea and dozing.
I found it really hard to doze off. As soon as I felt sleep approaching, I'd get a familiar tickle in my throat and I'd have another bout of coughing. Each time it seemed to drain more energy from me, leaving me limp and exhausted. Although some of that could have been that it really was seriously past my bedtime by this point. My breathing had been reduced to shallow breaths that didn't seem to get me any air at all. And I just couldn't get comfortable. One minute I felt cold, pulling my fleecy blanket tightly over me, only to throw it off a few minutes later when my face felt like it was on fire.
It seemed only a short time later that Mum came to wake me ready for the trip to the medical centre. I must have finally fallen asleep because at the slightest sound of her voice, I jerked awake. I started to sit up but the room suddenly tilted before my eyes and span crazily around me. I groaned, collapsing back on the bed and risking more coughing. "Dizzy, so dizzy!" I managed to gasp out. Mum gave me a helping hand and slowly got me up off the bed. The floor wouldn't stay still under my feet, it seemed to move up and down like the ocean and I couldn't rely on it to be there when I put my foot down. I had to cling to Mum's side to get across my bedroom, down the stairs and to the front door. I shivered violently as the cool night air hit my skin, wishing I'd brought my blanket down with me. Observant as ever, Mum left me clinging to the newel post at the foot of the stairs while she hurried back up them. Wrapping the blanket firmly round me once more, Mum bundled me bodily into the passenger seat of the car and placed a plastic bowl on my lap. She locked up the house, started the car and backed out of the drive.
I don't remember much of the trip to the medical centre. I have vague recollections of being overly warm and opening the window to let the air wash over my face. The coughing fit I had at the traffic lights which unnerved Mum so much that she stayed put for two whole rotations of signals. Luckily there was no other traffic on that little back road at such a late time of night. And the medical centre, with all lights blazing, looking like a beacon of hope in the dark night. I remember getting out of the car, staggering my way to the door, feeling my legs getting weak and not being sure they would hold me up much longer.
As I entered the reception area, I looked towards the intake desk over the other side of the room. It wasn't far but it seemed like a million miles away. My vision started to dim and stretch as if I was looking down the cardboard tube from a toilet roll. Sparkles danced on the edges like dust motes in the sun. I think I tried to call for my mum, I'm pretty sure I shaped the word with my lips but whether the sound actually came out or not, I couldn't tell you. And then... black.
The next thing I knew I was staring at a rather dirty white ceiling covered with those tiles you only seem to get in schools and hospitals. I was pretty sure I wasn't at school but the other option didn't seem to make any sense either. I tried lifting my head, giving out a slight moan as the room span around me and closed my eyes quickly to see if that helped. It didn't really. When I felt like I wasn't going to throw up, I slowly eased my eyes open and looked around carefully. Yep, I was in hospital all right. My bed was in the centre of a small private room, with a window to my right and the doorway to the left. I propped myself up on one elbow and winced as a sharp pain pierced my hand. Following the tube sticking into the back of it, I noticed the IV stand next to the bed. What had happened to me? The room was empty, devoid of both staff and family. I was an eleven year old boy alone in a strange room, I did what came naturally: I yelled for my mum. Well, yelled is a bit of an overstatement. My mouth was so dry, I had to peel my tongue from the roof of my mouth and swallowing felt like my throat was lined with sandpaper.
"Mum?" I croaked, sounding for all the world like a 90 year old man. My voice was a mere whisper, I doubt anyone outside of the room would have heard it so it was lucky that my mother returned to the room just then.
"Al!" she cried in surprise! "Oh baby, you're sitting up, how are you feeling? Do you need anything? How about a drink? Oh, let me get the nurse." She rummaged under the blankets by the side of the bed and pulled out a call button. Once that was pressed, she poured me a small glass of water from a jug on the table next to the bed. "Small sips," she warned.
A nurse bustled in and upon seeing me awake, beamed widely. She took my vitals, asked me various questions and generally assessed me. Between her and my mother, I managed to get an idea of what had happened. Apparently that weird experience I'd had at the medical centre was from when I'd blacked out. I'd been out for mere seconds but had struggled to keep conscious after that and had ended up being rushed to A&E at the hospital. The diagnosis was a serious viral infection which was playing havoc with my lungs and general breathing ability. There had been added complications with a build-up of fluid in the lungs that had had to be drained and the whole thing had been pretty nasty. Although the fluid issue seemed to have eased off, there was the chance it could return, especially as I was still coughing and having slight difficulty in breathing. I'd got a lovely oxygen tube in my nose which I'd not noticed at first, although once I knew it was there, it was kind of tickly. I was incredibly surprised to find that I'd been in the hospital for a week so far but a combination of the drugs and the whole lack of oxygen thing had rather knocked me out so it had passed in a haze. Now that I was awake and more with it, I was told I would be able to go home in a day or two.
Sure enough, I was on my way home a couple of days later but my recovery was still slow. It took a good month for the incision sites to heal, although it took slightly longer recover from the surgery overall and I still had the remainder of the viral infection to contend with as well. Even after the cough and breathing issues had cleared up, I had problems with residual vertigo which could send the room spinning at the slightest wrong movement. I spent a lot of time lying on the settee in the living room, trying to move as little as possible for the first few weeks. I barely had the energy to watch daytime tv and lifting a book was seriously out of the question. Mum said it was one of the few times she was glad that I wasn't an active sort of person, always running about doing sports and that sort of thing, because it would have been horrendous for us both having me confined to the sofa. I would have been going out of my mind with boredom and she would have been incredibly frustrated seeing me like that. Thankfully, it wasn't an issue. Once I'd recovered enough to be able to pick up a book and follow the storyline, there was no stopping me and I worked my way through quite a stack of books. Mum ended up going to the library at least every other day to either return books for me or to pick up new ones that I'd ordered.
Unfortunately such good times weren't to last. Although I was not well enough to attend school by any means, I still needed to get my education. I'd barely been home from hospital for a fortnight when there was a visit from a tutor supplied by the Education Service. He would call once a week initially but more frequently as I got better, and would take me through some of the work that I was missing out on. He left me with workbooks to do at home and text books to read through. It was agony. I wasn't even at school and I was still getting homework! And there was no way my mother was letting me get away without doing it. I knew that I had to do it really, I certainly didn't want to go to school and be a laughing stock because of what I was missing. So I got my head down as best I could in between the dizzy spells and the bouts of coughing, and learned about simultaneous equations, the periodic table and the intricacies of the Oxford comma in between working my way through the stack of library books that was kept permanently by the side of the sofa. Gradually the viral infection and vertigo cleared up, and one day my doctor prescribed me well enough to return to school.
Seeing as I'd been on my way to starting at the local high school, it was hardly a return as such. If anything, it was worse. I'd missed a good six months of the first year, that important time when friends are made, cliques are formed and enemy lines are drawn. I would be going into an established system, an outsider from the start. Obviously there would be a period of adjustment and acclimatisation for both me and the other students but I hoped it wouldn't be too bad.
**I had lost quite a bit of weight while I was sick but at least that meant that my school uniform, which had been bought just two weeks before I fell ill, still fitted. Mum insisted I tried it all on just to be sure so one afternoon I took the hangers out of my wardrobe and started to get changed. I'd not grown in height either so the trousers were still just a little on the long side and the shirt tails reached almost to my knees. At least the extra fabric there helped take up some of the gap round my waist although I still needed a belt as well. The shirt sleeves were fairly long as well, hanging almost over my fingers and the shirt collar was nicely roomy. I didn't appreciate the size of the collar until much later when collars grew to be slightly tight and restrictive, especially when buttoned all the way and a tie on top. I spent a good hour or so practising knotting the school tie properly although when it actually came down to it, I tended to tie it on Sunday night and leave it that way until school finished on Friday afternoon when it would be swiftly pulled undone as an indicator of my freedom.
The school colours were royal blue, silver and black so the tie contained stripes of all three colours, wider bands of the blue and black with a thin line of silver between them. For a school tie, it wasn't a bad one. Although the trousers and shirt were pretty standard being grey and white respectively, the colours were repeated in both the jumper and blazer. The jumper was royal blue with bands of silver round the neck, wrists and waist, and the blazer was similarly blue with the school crest of rook and castle on the chest pocket. Older students who had reached the lofty heights of head boy or gift, prefect or even monitor were presented with an enamel badge to indicate their superior status and this was worn on the left lapel. The blazer swiftly became a bane of my life; it didn't matter how old I was or what size it was, it never fit properly and always seemed to swamp me. In winter, it wasn't too bad as it meant I had plenty of room underneath for a jumper but the added weight in summer was most unwelcome. The jumper itself was about the only item that wasn't too bad, although it was still new so hadn't yet been washed and worn to a comfortable looseness. In the warmer months, it could be replaced by a sleeveless jumper but most people tended to go without as it was just too hot for both jumper and blazer. Of course the jumper's most useful function was to be a goalpost during lunch break.**
On that first day, Mum dropped me off a short distance from the main school gates. I fended off her attentions as best I could and scrambled out of the car. I had been instructed to make my way to the main office where the secretary would be expecting me.
"Hello, I'm Albion Merriweather," I announced to the dumpy brown haired woman who was stationed at the desk. "I was told to report here because I'm starting at this school today."
"Oh, you're Albion! Hello there, I'm Ms MacSecretary. Let me just grab your file and I'll take you off to your form room." She rummaged around the papers on her desk and pulled out a manilla folder from the bottom. "Okay, you're in 1LS, so if you'll follow me, I'll take you over there." She led me through various corridors and buildings, chattering all the while about which part of the school it was and what took place there, most of which went completely over my head. Finally she stopped at a nondescript wooden door and rapped firmly on it, before opening it and ushering me inside.
"Mr Tutor, I've got your last student here, this is Albion Merriweather." She beckoned me forward and I stepped forward to greet the form tutor.
"Hello, Albion. Right, let's find you a seat." Ms MacSecretary left the room while Mr Tutor came out from behind his desk and surveyed the rows of students before him.
As I stood there at the front of the room, looking out at all those new faces of students gazing back at me strangers, I became aware of nudges, giggles and mutterings. Then a loud voice came from the back, crying out in disbelief and amazement. "He doesn't have a sprite!"
*****
© The Pendragon