Post by Absinthe on Feb 8, 2006 22:44:40 GMT -6
[glow=black,2,300]- Well, this is yet another Creative Writing assignment. We have to write a story using flashbacks. This is the beginning of mine about a young woman who wakes up in a mental hospital with no recollection of the events leading up to that point from the moment she discovered her daughter was murdered. It's in stream of consciousness, so parts are extremely choppy, but they are supposed to be like that. Let me know what you think so far. -
“Flashback”
Screaming. Somebody is screaming in the distance. It is an unearthly sound. Where is it coming from? My throat is parched. Am I screaming? I feel like I am swimming through a cloud of smoke or fog. An unseen force is pushing me back into darkness. No! The darkness is suffocating. I have to get out. Run! My legs. I can’t feel my legs! Do I have any legs? Light up ahead. Reach for it. Fading. No, don’t fade. Come back. Pull harder. You can do it, Charlie. Blinding. The darkness is leaving. Eyelids fluttering. White everywhere. Where am I?
What is that smell? Its like urine mixed with cleaning supplies. Why do they use an ammonia product to clean something that has ammonia in it? It’s the way hospitals smell. Am I in a hospital? What am I doing in a hospital? I can’t see. Everything is white. What’s going on? Someone’s coming. A nurse. Uniform looks dirty, wrinkled – not at all professional.
What is she saying? Loss of blood? What is she talking about? They pumped my stomach? What? Sleeping pills? What is going on? Lucy. My baby. Where’s Lucy? Gone? Gone where? Lucy? She’s crying. Lucy, I’m here! Where are you, baby?
What is she talking about? Wait. Something is there – I can’t, what is it? The police. Lucy hurt. Gone. He hurt her, my little girl. Gone. Took her away. Gone. Police, body, morgue. . . . . .
“M’am? Follow me right this way, please.” He looked too old to be working. Almost as if he belonged in a morgue, instead of employed by one. He had a scruffy beard – like a hippie Santa Claus in a stained lab coat. “Right through here.” He had fat fingers and what I hoped was dirt under his nails.
So many dissecting tables. It looked like Frankenstein’s lab, minus the monster. Frozen. I didn’t want to go in. Couldn’t pass the threshold. Things were different on the other side. Just go home – that’s what I wanted. If I could just go home and forget, everything would be in place, not shattered to pieces. “M’am?” I wished he wouldn’t call me that. Made me feel old. He was at least sixty years my senior. Breathless. That white sheet. I’d seen too many in the movies. The outline was small – too small to be in such a place. Didn’t want him to lift it. Didn’t want to see. Didn’t need to see to know. Call it mother’s intuition. My baby, Lucy. She looked so pale, purple marking her tiny porcelain throat. Couldn’t stand the sight. Threw up. Santa-Hippie said everything was going to be okay. Tried to comfort me. Couldn’t stop looking at her. My baby. Poor baby. . . . . .
Oh God. Lucy. I remember, kind of. She looked so small. Is that me crying? Eyes are blurry. I can’t breathe. “Lucy!” Ouch. Throat is raw. Did I say that out loud? Nurses and doctors everywhere. White blends with white. They look like ghosts – pale faces floating on air. Except for her. Big blue eyes, strawberry blonde hair. She looks like . . . no. She’s not Lucy. Too old. Lucy is only five. . . .Was. . . .Oh, God.
“She’s hysterical. Sodium pentothal, stat.” Sodium what? What’s that needle? No! Get it away from me. No! Ouch, what was, oh . . . . . tingling, quiet. Everything is fuzzy, brighter. What are they saying? Faces blending. Numb. Darkness. Nothing. . .
-I'm working on the rest. This is just a very rough beginning. What do you think?[/glow]
“Flashback”
Screaming. Somebody is screaming in the distance. It is an unearthly sound. Where is it coming from? My throat is parched. Am I screaming? I feel like I am swimming through a cloud of smoke or fog. An unseen force is pushing me back into darkness. No! The darkness is suffocating. I have to get out. Run! My legs. I can’t feel my legs! Do I have any legs? Light up ahead. Reach for it. Fading. No, don’t fade. Come back. Pull harder. You can do it, Charlie. Blinding. The darkness is leaving. Eyelids fluttering. White everywhere. Where am I?
What is that smell? Its like urine mixed with cleaning supplies. Why do they use an ammonia product to clean something that has ammonia in it? It’s the way hospitals smell. Am I in a hospital? What am I doing in a hospital? I can’t see. Everything is white. What’s going on? Someone’s coming. A nurse. Uniform looks dirty, wrinkled – not at all professional.
What is she saying? Loss of blood? What is she talking about? They pumped my stomach? What? Sleeping pills? What is going on? Lucy. My baby. Where’s Lucy? Gone? Gone where? Lucy? She’s crying. Lucy, I’m here! Where are you, baby?
What is she talking about? Wait. Something is there – I can’t, what is it? The police. Lucy hurt. Gone. He hurt her, my little girl. Gone. Took her away. Gone. Police, body, morgue. . . . . .
“M’am? Follow me right this way, please.” He looked too old to be working. Almost as if he belonged in a morgue, instead of employed by one. He had a scruffy beard – like a hippie Santa Claus in a stained lab coat. “Right through here.” He had fat fingers and what I hoped was dirt under his nails.
So many dissecting tables. It looked like Frankenstein’s lab, minus the monster. Frozen. I didn’t want to go in. Couldn’t pass the threshold. Things were different on the other side. Just go home – that’s what I wanted. If I could just go home and forget, everything would be in place, not shattered to pieces. “M’am?” I wished he wouldn’t call me that. Made me feel old. He was at least sixty years my senior. Breathless. That white sheet. I’d seen too many in the movies. The outline was small – too small to be in such a place. Didn’t want him to lift it. Didn’t want to see. Didn’t need to see to know. Call it mother’s intuition. My baby, Lucy. She looked so pale, purple marking her tiny porcelain throat. Couldn’t stand the sight. Threw up. Santa-Hippie said everything was going to be okay. Tried to comfort me. Couldn’t stop looking at her. My baby. Poor baby. . . . . .
Oh God. Lucy. I remember, kind of. She looked so small. Is that me crying? Eyes are blurry. I can’t breathe. “Lucy!” Ouch. Throat is raw. Did I say that out loud? Nurses and doctors everywhere. White blends with white. They look like ghosts – pale faces floating on air. Except for her. Big blue eyes, strawberry blonde hair. She looks like . . . no. She’s not Lucy. Too old. Lucy is only five. . . .Was. . . .Oh, God.
“She’s hysterical. Sodium pentothal, stat.” Sodium what? What’s that needle? No! Get it away from me. No! Ouch, what was, oh . . . . . tingling, quiet. Everything is fuzzy, brighter. What are they saying? Faces blending. Numb. Darkness. Nothing. . .
-I'm working on the rest. This is just a very rough beginning. What do you think?[/glow]