Hi, here is a short short, give it a try and see what you think. Be well all.

 

Warp

He began to wake, his hearing focusing on the buzzing - sounding in his ears. He opened his eyes but all was dark, black like night in the centre of a dense wood. He tried to move as he blinked beneath the darkness that surrounded him but found, his limbs incapable of the task, no energy to lift his arms from his horizontal position. The buzzing began to subside or rather, the sound of laughter could be heard, gaining strength as he became more aware, most aware of the wetness of sweat. The laughter grew and with it; pain! The pain began to grow too, gaining strength doubling in intensity with every rapid blink of his eyes. Within seconds, he was cradling a scream that came from deep within. The laughter scalded his mind. He screamed, trying in earnest to thrash his limbs as the laughter contorted his confused state. In place of light, demons, monsters began their taunting of his psyche, visible beneath the darkness, shaping shadows of colours red with teeth hard bitten upon his flesh. The pain gave way to unconsciousness, and his head tilted to the side.

He gauged himself to have been under for some time. Something had changed, he felt different, dry maybe or in a better bed, a comfortable one but still his legs and arms could not be felt, the pain dull. His lips were dry and he could feel with his tongue their cracked surface. He began to perspire for just under his reverie he knew the pain begged once more a victory of his stark. He began to hear the sound of laughing again. Several voices both male and female and words drifting slow and soothingly. “You've had an accident,” a man said before the pain took his place, but just before, just before he gave once more his life to the darkness of his mind. The voice laughed at such a pitch, it invoked once again the buzzing in his ears. The buzzing, the laughter, the pain, sent once more the demons, his scream beckoned he sleep to escape. He bit down hard, and felt his teeth crumble and chip, adding to the pain from his torso and limbs. The unconscious took hold again.

“Mr Smith, Mr Smith you need to take your pills. Mr Smith, you need to take your medication. I dunno, all you bleeps wanna be Mr Smith.” The laughter began to grow once again as he laid upon the prison of his bed and he knew, the pain was there to greet him in seconds.

“I can't feel my fucking legs.” He screamed. The vomit began to spurt but just before once more he lost consciousness, he felt hands upon his face, scrabbling inside his mouth. All was dark and he sensed the liquid of his vomit on his cheeks. Pain once more igniting a thousand stars like dot to dot upon his body. He faded again.

“What can you see?” The man asked.

“Nothing. I can't see fucking anything.” He replied, fighting back the urge to scream with all his might.

“Pretty soon,” the man continued, “You won't even be able to see that!” His laughter came again his insanity. Ripping through the buzzing and what he could now hear was a clock.

“Who are you?” He screamed. The sweat causing irritation to skin that he felt for the first time in what seemed hours.

“Me! I'm Doctor Smith, we all wanna be Smiths don't forget. If not Smiths, there's always Jones, or Mcdonald. Here, let me introduce you to Nurse Smith. She'll be your angel while you die.” The Doctor began to laugh again, hysterically.

“I can't fucking see! I can't fucking see. Just let me see, let me see who you are.” The man screamed as he felt the movement of his bed. In the background he could hear the Doctor and several nurses laughing uncontrollably. “You've lost your penis too.” A woman whispered in his ears before he passed out once more.

“Death and taxes, that's all you can be sure of son.” His Dad said to him. They were riding a tandem through the streets of Manchester and although his father was seated behind him, it was his father who was in fact steering the tandem bicycle while he sat on the front. The pedals rotated up and down yet he could not see his legs.

“Where are my legs Dad?” He asked.

“Oh we're sorry about that son. Your Ma left them in the womb for safe keeping. Just in case you needed them one day. We'll pick them up after we have visited Doctor Smiths suit shop.” His father replied distractedly, the 163 bus from Piccadilly Gardens coming straight at them on the road ahead. Bury, it declared on the front. His father continued. “Oh, don't worry son, we will give you a fine send off. But we can't bury you till we get your suit from Doctor Jones suit shop.”

“I thought it was Doctor Smiths.”

“Oh it was, but that was before he changed his name to Mcdonald, speaking of which, would you like a burger. Perhaps a beefburger with some cheese for the delay?” His father enquired.

“What delay?” He asked.

“Well this is your bus. But it's running a little late. You know how it is when the French go on strike. Shouldn't have built the damned tunnel in the first place. So many people have lost a hand because of it. Anyway, it's here now. Forget about the strike son, we'll pick up the suit tomorrow.”

The bus ploughed straight into the bike and he found he couldn't do much to evade the accident. He went to reach for the microphone to announce to the passengers that all was okay, when he realised that he had no arms. The bus in fact driving itself past the wreckage of his father now dead on the road. He looked in the rear view mirror and noted the Police were there in an instant, taking his fathers body off the road. The bus travelled further before stopping at a designated stop. The doors opened and he found himself saying to the passenger now clamouring on board with a zimmer frame; “Where to?”

“Bury please.” The man said as he showed his free bus pass to the casualty now sat on the other side of the bullet proof screen. He read the name; Doctor Smith. “You'll be needing this soon if you want to get to your grave on time. It runs on batteries but I think yours have ran out.” The man said before leaving the zimmer frame at the front of the bus and claiming his seat in the disabled chair. The casualty now driving the bus, looked down at where the money was deposited and found that the notes and coinage where in fact Riyals. He checked the mirror to the passengers and could see they were all smiling insanely at him. Each one dressed as either a Doctor, a Nurse or a Soldier from the Middle East.

He checked his left hand mirror and could see the Doctor. “Hi, I'm Doctor Mcdonald.” The image in the mirror replied. No teeth to smarten a grin that begged a section for its absurdity. He checked right, “Hi, I'm Doctor Jones, his brother, do you have any brothers?” He asked.

The casualty, looked upon the mirror in the middle of the window at the front of the bus. He could see Doctor Smith sitting there watching him. He looked down at the wheel and saw the bus driving itself. The people on the bus began to sing; “We're all going on a, summer holiday, we're all going for a, week or two. The casualty, began to cry.

As the bus made it's journey through Heywood towards it's destination, people were lined on the streets, laughing and pointing at the bus. Sat there, in the drivers seat, no arms, no legs, no facial features, was Danny Brown, crying in his suit. A suit that had the legs pinned up, and its arms pinned to the sides. On the left hand jacket pocket, three medals decorated the black of the suit, shinning in the noonday sun. Once the bus had passed the people, they turned away and carried on their shopping. The bus, reached its destination and in the casket, he could hear an echo to his breathing, slow, and fading. All was dark.

` “What are you crying for?” Asked his wifes voice in the darkness of the tomb. “There's only so many times you can face the gun before it gets you Dan! Oh, I'm pregnant by the way. I'm going to call him Dan, after you. You're going home, wait for me there. Wait for Dan and I.”

Danny's breathing began to sound more shallow in the coffin of his tomb, until, there could be no sound of scream or breath, but with one last exhale upon his lips, the word; “Sorry!” was at last, removed from the love he'd neglected to give.

Michael J Waite 24^th May 2009