~ Welcome to Quills ~

Apart from the fact that there are a lot of Is in the last paragraph, I have nothing bad to say. And I's are hard to avoid when you're in first person and alone, so I sympathize

*bump*

Chapter 2

The next day I wake up late. It’s 10.30 AM as I sit by the kitchen table eating yoghurt and rye bread with margarine and cheese. I shower myself quickly and get dressed. Since my everyday life of boredom and lying around the house tends not to fascinate me, I decide to go out.

My walk of no particular destination ends in the nearby record store. I say hello to the owner, who I’ve seen rather less since I moved – I remember buying all the records I needed at the time as soon as possible, and since then I haven’t given any new music a chance. I instantly walk up to the hard rock/metal section, and start looking for something new and innovative. Everything still seems old and familiar though. No fresh bands like Rage Against the Machine, P.O.D. and Killswitch Engage were at their time. I feel frustrated and decide to go towards the heavier stuff in the heavy metal section, but as I turn, I hit someone.
- Oh, excuse me...
- No problem, I reply. I take a few steps forth before I stop. I realize that the voice sounded familiar.
- Sam, is it you?
The man I just hit turns back.
- Christian? Man, it’s been a while! We shake hands and greet each other in a way that makes the owner of the record store laugh out loud. As we both set an evil look towards him, he seems embarrassed.
- What are you doing in here? I heard you won over a million dollars in the lottery and that you moved far away from your home, I wonder. Sam’s look tells everything I need to know before he even opens his mouth.
- Well, things didn’t really work out the way I wanted them to… I invested money on some stocks and they all went down. I nod trying to look interested. Economy has never been my thing.
- Thank God I didn’t invest all that I had. I still got my house and my recording studio, but I lost the car… And all the girls, obviously, he continues. We both laugh and leave the store imperceptibly.
- Why don’t we go somewhere to eat and catch up on each other’s lives? Sam suggests.
- Cool idea. Is McDonald’s alright?
- Oh Christian, you haven’t changed a bit! You still eat trash food in places with bad service instead of a good meal in a high class restaurant…


As we arrive to the nearest McDonald’s and get our table, Sam starts asking about my life.
- So, what’s up? You still studying?
- Well, not really… I’m actually sort of looking for a journalist’s spot on one of the local papers.
- Oh really? That sounds…
- Ridiculous? I assume by the look on his face.
- No, no, not at all… I mean it sounds like a decent job that could make your life more balanced after all you’ve been through before moving here. I can’t help but to agree, but I decide to change the subject quickly before the discussion leads into what happened or what was happening a few years back.
- How about your studio? Have you been pushing any hit albums out lately? Sam bursts into a loud laugh before answering:
- Ha-ha, nice one. I barely got any artists that even bring money to the studio. Most of the people are just there to hang out and have fun, and it’s really getting hard for me to control it. If only I would’ve known…
- I see. I stare outside and feel how jealously is going through my body. Here we are, two kids from the same neighborhood and the same school, yet one is a successful record studio owner and one is a pathetic, unemployed dreamer. Sam was always more ambitious than I was. I always blamed it on his good luck, but eventually I couldn’t do that to myself anymore. Jealously was what was destroying our friendship inside right from the start and I know that it’s doing the same thing to our meeting right now.

After talking some more about music and life, we are leaving. I’m thinking of maybe inviting Sam to one of my parties, but then I remember the beer bottles again and decide to shut up. Before we go separate ways, Sam receives a phone call. Even though I don’t intend to, I hear every word of the conversation.
- What?! Next week?! Yeah, of course, I know that… This is just so sudden… Of course. I will. OK Bye.
- What was that about?
- Um, nothing really… It was Elias, you remember him right? No? Well he is my partner over at the studio, he does all the paper stuff and so on. Anyhow, there’s this new Christian metal band he is so hyped about and now he wants me to get my ass over to California so I can invite them to record in our studio. He says it’s like a matter of life and death concerning our money situation. I don’t know if he just wants to get rid of me though.
- Sounds like you got nothing to lose, I decide to comment.
- I guess so. It’s just that I hate travelling, you know?
- Yeah, I know that. I still happen to remember how Sam never went to school trips and how I never did either because of that.
- Wait a sec. What if… you come with me?
- What? No…
- Oh come on, for old time’s sake! It’ll be fun. We’ll meet the band, invite them to come over and then relax and do whatever we want to for the rest of our stay. You can write, I can sleep. No one loses.
While I know that Sam is right, I feel forced to say no.
- How about money? It isn’t a free trip now is it?
- Well, that’s true. What if I borrow you some money?
- Nah, I won’t take that to my conscience, I say as Sam glimpses towards his clock.
- Well I got to go now, but promise me you will at least think about it?
- Alright, alright, I promise. Sam has a twisted smile as he runs to the street shouting for a taxi. I start walking back home, thinking what I have just promised. And guess what - the first thing I notice when I get back home is the blood donation ticket on the kitchen table.

-- Edited by Jon2 on Friday 8th of May 2009 12:16:23 AM

Thank you a lot for your opinion. :) First of all, the dialogue wasn't intended to be like that - in the Microsoft Word file I got the rest of the text is normal while the dialogue is italic, so when I posted it here it kind of came the wrong way... But yeah, it's nice if you got something out of it that I had not even thought of.

Those references aren't really signicant. My biggest problem in writing is that I take too much things from my own life and my own experiences and don't hide them well, but then again, all my recent stories have more or less focused on characters that don't differ that much from my personality. I already got some negative feedback about those references from a person who knows those bands and that "sports team" (sorry I just had to do that ), so I will work on fading those out a bit in the future.

The thing with my writing is that it's very unregular because of my other projects. I was thinking of writing a chapter 3 this weekend, but I have some exams coming next week (I actually should be reading right now, but meh, I'm in the mood for random chatting here instead) so I decided to drop it aside. I have a plot for this whole story and it will include more than 4 chapters at least. I know it's not really a short story anymore then, but I really like the concept I have in mind.

And oh yes, he's going to go with Sam. But I won't ruin the story with exposures.

-- Edited by Jon2 on Sunday 24th of May 2009 04:40:20 AM

Sadly, I've been pretty lazy what comes to this story... I've been working on a third chapter for like 2 months now lol. I can post what I have for it so far...

For a minute or two, I just stand there staring at the ticket. I have never donated blood before. Do they even reward you with much? Is it healthy? Does it hurt? All these different questions wonder around my body before arriving to my brain, causing my skin to shiver. My eyes hit the photograph on the edge of the coffee table. Why did you have to leave, Jasmine?

After blocking the memory flash my mind was already prepared to play I walked slowly to the kitchen. I opened the fridge in thirst and hunger, only to find that it was as empty as my stomach. I sighed and grabbed an orange juice can that probably had been there for more than a week. Not that I cared.

I sat down by the table and reached out to read the mail that was lying on the other side of the table. In between 2 bills – one for electricity, one for water – and a catalog, I stumbled upon an envelope. Judging by the handwriting, I already knew who it was from, but nevertheless, I decided to open that white, sheer-looking thing.

While the couple upstairs started fighting very loudly, I revealed to myself what was inside the envelope. Like I had predicted, it was from my father, who once again had sent me 500 dollars for my bills and whatnot. He had also bothered himself to write me a letter by hand. I raised my eyebrows feeling biased, and after reading the first 2 rows of the familiar explaining written with scrappy handwriting, I threw the white piece of paper in the trash can that was beneath the right corner of the kitchen table. I took a deep gulp of juice and if I wasn’t feeling so beaten down and depressed all of a sudden, I would’ve spitted it out the second my lips tasted its bitterness. I swallowed and stared at the wall like a zombie. Despite feeling the opposite just seconds away from that moment, I suddenly realized something about my life. I was sitting by a worn-out, wooden dinner table, holding a glass of stale juice in my right hand and my father, who I had no connection to (nor did I want to have any, not anymore), was paying my bills and offering me a job at a place he had been complaining me about for years and years during the time I had still been a troubled teenager living at the corners of my mum and dad’s house. Who was I? What was my purpose? Did I even deserve a life? I was a leech to the society, nothing more, and the worst thing was, that I didn’t even enjoy myself. I hated myself and the fact that all those hours, days, even weeks I had spent doing nothing but things I shouldn’t have been doing, had turned to years and now I was just a lonely, lazy and pathetic 23-year old man. A grown man on the outside, yet a shy and scared boy on the inside.

I smashed the glass to the wall abruptly, causing the couple upstairs to end their fight. I didn’t even bother feeling sorry - I simply walked back to the coat rack to get dressed again and go out.

It was time for a change.

Actually, now that I think of it, that's a pretty good end of a chapter. I have more than that but it's very scrappy-ish, so I'll work a bit on it first. Could be that with my music and other stories this one might never be finished though

Thanks. And believe me, if I do complete anything major for this, you'll be the first to know.

I'm not sure it's possible to have too much iron in your blood. Well, I'm sure it's possible, but it'd have to be incredibly high to count as too high. Also, I can't think of a reason they'd check your eyes and ears before you give blood - though I've never given blood myself so I don't really know. Guess this is what you meant when you said it might not be too realistic :p

Ignoring those nitpicks, though, I'd say this section's equal with the others in quality. You're consistent, gotta give ya that

Okay, so this thing is finally done! I eventually decided to go with the name Just Another Numbered Day, seemed to fit perfectly (or at least, better than the other names). Since I've done a few changes here and there and it's for the best to read the thing in its entirety at once anyway, I'll just copy/paste the whole story instead of just the last chapter here. Hopefully at least Jess will take a read.

------------CHAPTER 1------------
Sweat. Fear. A feeling of being strangled. An ache in the bottom of my stomach and on the top of my tongue that just won’t go away. Darkness. Dirt all around. I squint and finally start making some sense of all the figures and shapes in front of my eyes.

I stand up, away from the cold and wet sheets I’ve slept in. Another nightmare - fourth one this week. I feel frustrated and try to remember what it was about this time as I walk through the hall towards the kitchen. There’s a light burning from the roof as I grab a glass of water and light up a cigarette. With the flame I also fire up a candle. Unpaid electricity bills are still lying on the table, and I acknowledge that getting into huge debts is the last thing I need right now. As long as the situation stays as what it is currently, I don’t care.

After finishing with my cigarette I start collecting the beer bottles of the night. Someone has “accidentally” puked into one of them. I sigh and remind myself of how I hate parties. Only reason I organize any is to keep up with my friends – only problem with that is that my friends tend to bring their friends and they bring their friends and they bring their friends… And that’s just the beginning of the endless cycle.

After putting the bottles into a plastic bag I decide to take them to the garbage canopy outside. I’m too tired to change any decent clothes on so I just grab and put on some of my worst jeans and a blue winter jacket that’s hanging from a hanger in the hall. I unlock the door with my bundle of keys and instantly feel how cold it is outside. I run to the canopy and attend to come back as fast as I can at 3 AM in the morning, and lock the door behind me tight. There’s something that stalls me though. On the notice board of the housing cooperative - which no one ever really looks at - I see a poster of some sort that catches my eye. First it’s simply because of the bright colors, but then it turns out to be interesting. Someone has been a little careless, and instead of the normal, monthly statics, an advertisement for blood donation is taped onto the middle of the board. Lucky for me, since I’m in need of money and the ad promises a fee for donation. I look around briefly, tear the poster off the board just in case and go back inside.

After washing my hands with sticky soap and tepid water, I take a pen and some paper, thinking it’s for the best to try and reconstruct the dream I had by writing it down.

After a rough 15 minutes or so, I let my hand finally rest and take a glimpse at the clock. 3.26 AM. I doubt that I’m able to sleep anymore, so I open the TV. Some Formula 1 compilation is coming on. As Jarno Trulli passes Fernando Alonso and I fall asleep on the armchair I’ve been sitting on, the paper with my dream in it is left lying on the kitchen table.


“It was on a field. A long field. There was a mixture of grass and sand under my feet and the sky was grey and white. I carefully walked down a path which led me across the field. After walking a bit, I saw something red in the ground near me. It was blood, or at least I automatically assumed so. First time I decided to just ignore it, but it continued to appear every now and then near the path. Finally, after I had bowed down to see one of the red marks a little bit closer, I noticed that it was indeed blood, and that it was bleeding from my wrists. I sat down, took some grass and tried to cut off the bleeding, but it only started to increase. As something bright rose up to the sky, I felt like I was having way too much blood loss to survive. The worst was yet to come though. For some reason, I was able to get up again and start running, which I did. Everything went well for a while, but then I tripped on a piece of root or something and fell to the ground. I fainted. Next, I woke up from a bed. It was a very uncomfortable one and the walls around it were filled with violent images and people who were pointing at me with their fingers. Soon enough, though, I realized that those weren’t images, they were real people. Jen was there. Joseph was there. Even Shawn was there. I tried to ask what was going on, but when I opened my mouth, I was spitting daggers instead of words. The daggers hit each and every one of the three into the heart and they died on the floor. I tried to scream but I was only able to produce more daggers. This time they hit the roof, turned over and were ready to burst into the middle of my chest. I closed my eyes and thought ‘this is it’, but the way it ended wasn’t the way I would’ve imagined it to end…”


------------CHAPTER 2------------
The next day I wake up late. It’s 10.30 AM as I sit by the kitchen table eating yoghurt and rye bread with margarine and cheese. I shower myself quickly and get dressed. Since my everyday life of boredom and lying around the house tends not to fascinate me, I decide to go out.

My walk of no particular destination ends in the nearby record store. I say hello to the owner, who I’ve seen rather seldom since I moved – I remember buying all the records I needed at the time as soon as possible, and afterwards I haven’t given any new music a chance. I instantly walk up to the hard rock/metal section, and start looking for something new and innovative. Everything still seems old and familiar though. No fresh bands like Rage Against the Machine, Hatebreed and P.O.D. were at their time. I feel frustrated and decide to go towards the heavier stuff in the heavy metal section, but as I turn, I hit someone.
- Oh, excuse me...
- No problem, I reply. I take a few steps forth before I stop. I realize that the voice sounded familiar.
- Sam, is it you?

The man I just hit turns back.
- Christian? Man, it’s been a while! We shake hands and greet each other in a way that makes the owner of the record store laugh out loud. As we both set a look towards him that’s half evil and half confused, he walks away pretending that he has something important to do.
- What are you doing in here? I heard you won over a million dollars in the lottery and that you moved far away from your home, I wonder. Sam’s look tells everything I need to know before he even opens his mouth.
- Well, things didn’t really work out the way I wanted them to… I invested money on some stocks and they all went down. I nod trying to look interested. Economy has never been my thing.
- Thank God I didn’t invest all that I had. I still got my house and my recording studio, but I lost the car… And all the girls, obviously, he continues.  We both laugh and leave the store imperceptibly.
- Why don’t we go somewhere to eat and catch up on each other’s lives? Sam suggests.
- Cool idea. Is McDonald’s alright?
- Oh Christian, you haven’t changed a bit! You still eat trash food in places that have a bad service instead of a good meal in a high class restaurant…


As we arrive to the nearest McDonald’s and get our table, Sam starts asking about my life.
- So, what’s up? You still studying?
- Well, not really… I’m actually sort of looking for a journalist’s spot on one of the local papers.
- Oh really? That sounds…
- Ridiculous? I assume by the look on his face.
- No, no, not at all… I mean it sounds like a decent job that could make your life more balanced after all you’ve been through before moving here. While I have to agree, I think it’s for the best to change the subject quickly before the discussion leads into what happened or what was happening a few years back.
- How about your studio? Have you been pushing any hit albums out lately? Sam bursts into a loud laugh before answering:
- Ha-ha, nice one. I barely got any artists that even bring money to the studio nowadays. Most of the people are just there to hang out and have fun, and it’s really getting hard for me to control it. If only I would’ve known…
- I see. I stare outside and feel how jealously is going through my body. Here we are, two kids from the same neighborhood and school, yet one is a successful record studio owner and one is a pathetic, unemployed dreamer. Sam was always more ambitious than I was. I always blamed it on his good luck, but eventually I couldn’t do that to myself anymore. Jealously was what was destroying our friendship inside right from the start and I know that it’s doing the same thing to our meeting right now.

After talking some more about music and life, we are about to leave. I’m thinking of maybe inviting Sam to one of my parties, but then I remember the beer bottles again and decide to shut up. Before we go separate ways, Sam receives a phone call. Even though I don’t intend to, I hear every word of the conversation.
- What?! Next week?! Yeah, of course, I know that… This is just so sudden… Of course. I will. OK Bye.
- What was that all about?
- Um, nothing really… It was Elias, you remember him right? No? Well he is my partner over at the studio; he does all the paper stuff and so on. Anyhow, there’s this new Christian metal band he is so hyped about and now he wants me to get my ass over to California so I can invite them to record in our studio. He says it’s like a matter of life and death concerning our money situation. I don’t know if he just wants to get rid of me though.
- Sounds like you got nothing to lose, I decide to comment.
- I guess so. It’s just that I hate travelling, you know?
- Yeah, I know that. I still happen to remember how Sam never went to school trips and how I never did either because of that.
- Wait a sec. What if… you come with me?
- What? No…
- Oh come on, for old time’s sake! It’ll be fun. We’ll meet the band, invite them to come over and then just relax and do whatever we want to for the rest of our stay. You can write, I can sleep. No one loses.

While I know that Sam is right, I feel forced to say no.
- How about money? It isn’t a free trip now is it?
- Well, that’s true. What if I borrow you some money?
- Nah, I won’t take that to my conscience, I say as Sam takes a glimpse towards his clock.
- Well I got to go now, but promise me you will at least think about it, alright?
- Alright, alright, I promise. Sam has a twisted smile as he runs across the street shouting for a taxi. I start walking back home, thinking what I have just promised. And guess what - the first thing I notice when I get back home is the blood donation ad on the kitchen table.


------------CHAPTER 3------------
For a minute or two, I just stand there staring at the ad. I have never donated blood before. Do they even reward you with much? Does it hurt? Are there any side effects? All these different questions wonder around my body before arriving back into my brain, causing my skin to shiver. My eyes hit the photograph on the edge of the coffee table. Why did you have to leave, Jasmine?

After blocking the memory flash my mind was already prepared to play, I walk slowly to the kitchen. I open the fridge in thirst and hunger, only to find that it's as empty as my stomach. I sigh and grab an orange juice can that probably has been there for more than a week. Not that I care.

I sit down by the table and reach out to read the mail that is lying on the other side of the same table. In between yet another 2 bills – one for rent, one for water – and a catalog, I stumble upon an envelope. Judging by the handwriting, I already know who it is from, but nevertheless, I decide to open the white, sheer-looking thing.

While the couple upstairs starts fighting very loudly, I reveal to myself what's inside the envelope. Like I predicted, it's from my father, who once again has sent me 500 dollars for my bills and whatnot. He has also bothered himself to write me a letter by hand. I raise my eyebrows feeling biased, and after reading the first 2 rows of the familiar explaining - written with scrappy handwriting - I throw the white piece of paper in the trash can that's beneath the right corner of the kitchen table. I take a deep gulp of juice and if I wasn't feeling so beaten down and depressed all of a sudden, I would spit it out the second my lips taste its bitterness. I swallow and stare at the wall like a zombie. Despite feeling the opposite just seconds away from that moment, I suddenly realize something about my life. I'm sitting by a worn-out, wooden dinner table, holding a glass of stale juice in my right hand and my father, who I have no connection to (nor do I want to have any, not anymore), is paying my bills and offering me a job at a place he complained me about for years and years during the time I was still a troubled teenager, living in the corners of my mum and dad’s house. Who am I? What is my purpose? Do I even deserve a life? I am a leech to the society, nothing more, and the worst thing is, that I don't even enjoy myself. I hate myself and the fact that all those hours, days, even weeks I have spent doing nothing but things I shouldn’t have done, have turned to years and now I'm just a lonely, lazy and pathetic 21-year old man. A grown man on the outside, yet a shy and scared boy on the inside.

I smash the glass to the wall abruptly, causing the couple upstairs to end their fight. I don't even bother feeling sorry - I simply walk back to the coat rack to get dressed again and go out.

It's time for a change. 


------------CHAPTER 4------------
- Your name, sir?
- Christian Joshua Aart. And yes, that’s with two A’s. I’m partly Dutch.
- Really? My friend is partly Dutch as well! That’s so awesome!

I stand by the reception of the blood donation clinic. An older, brunette woman is asking and writing down info about me as a younger blonde - by the looks of it, the older woman’s daughter – has sneaked in next to me and is playing with her hair while clearly not doing her job. I nod to her friendly, but decide not to try to hit on her. What I’m here for is more important, not to mention that my skills have probably gone old.
- When was the last time you had a health inspection? The receptionist continues. I think for a while and reply;
- Mmm, about 3 years ago. The receptionist now raises her eyebrows as the blonde walks away.
- I’m afraid, sir, that you cannot donate blood unless you’ve been inspected during the last year.
- Oh. Well, can I be inspected in here or…
- Hold on, I’ll ask if the on-duty doctor in the left wing is having anyone in right now. I sigh loudly and stare at the empty, yellow walls as the receptionist finishes her short phone call.
- He seemingly isn’t having a patient in as we speak, so you can go there immediately. Do you want me to advise you to his room?
- No thank you, I think I’ll do just fine myself, I lie kindly and start walking and looking for signs of where to go after turning left from the reception.

Lucky enough, I’m able to find my way to the left wing after a series of reading signs and asking sick people where they’re coming from. In the left wing, I walk reluctantly to yet another reception.
- Excuse me…
- Yes?
- I was sent here from the right wing for a health inspection.
- Oh yes. Doctor Michaelson’s room is the last one on the left. He’s waiting for you.
- Thanks, I say while trying to smile a bit, only resulting in a confusing grin that by no doubt looks more scary than polite. I walk to the left and after arriving to doctor Michaelson’s room I press the white button by the door. The light turns green and I go in feeling intense.
- Good afternoon. Christian Aart? The doctor asks while looking at the computer screen insecurely. I nod silently and sit down on a brand new, brown chair by the wall, just a meter or two away from the doctor. The doctor himself is wearing eye glasses and judging by his face, he is having a middle age crisis a rough ten years too early.
- So, you’re here for a health inspection? Well, that won’t take long. I first got to ask you some questions and then we’ll test your blood pressure and iron levels, eye sight, your ears and your breathing.
- Alright.
- First I’d like to know if you’re aware of any diseases or disorders that run in your family.

I reply as shortly as possible – the only major disease I’m aware of is my mother’s leukemia. The doctor asks another question, this time about any medically significant allergies or diseases that I might have. I say that I’ve been healthy all my life, wondering whether the doctor is unaware of how to use his computer or just trying to reach a better connection with his patients by talking as much as possible. After a few more questions he takes the blood pressuring meter from the utmost corner of his table and prepares to use it – whereas I try to be as calm and relaxed as possible.
- Everything seems to be fine. Upper pressure is 134; lower pressure 86, the doctor says after the measurement and pushes the blood pressure device aside. He prepares to test my hearing as I disappear inside my head for a while. I can’t help it - I need a comfort zone to survive this type of things. I’m careful not to close my eyes or shut myself from any questions that the person bustling next to me might ask, but within a blink of an eye, I leave the room. I’m not here. I’m at home listening to post-rock records while lying on my bed, just like I was exactly 5 years before now, with my life still being full of dreams, goals and hope.  My feet start moving to the rhythm of beautiful melodies and atmospheric soundscapes that sooth my ears and tempt me to almost, almost close all my other senses, but I manage to resist. For some reason, I can’t keep up this vision long enough for the whole inspection to finish, yet enough so that when I return to the room, the doctor is done with everything else except for one thing.
- Alright, so let me just take a blood test and then you’re free to go since everything seems to be looking fine so far. I nod and receive a smile from the doctor who, if it’s even possible, looks even more irritating while trying to pretend than he did before my little visit into the past. Anyway, happy of the whole inspection being over soon, I place my hand onto the table as doctor Michaelson does what he has to do. I blink more rapidly as blood slightly spills on three of my fingers. Then it is my job to take and unwrap the bandage on the table as the doctor investigates my blood. I’m almost ready to stand up but then I see that the doctor isn’t looking good – and this time, intentionally.
- Hmm, this might just be a little thing, but you should be worried of your iron levels. They’re really high.

I look confused as doctor Michaelson turns and shows me the numbers on the tiny screen, as if I know what they’re supposed to mean.
- You sure there aren’t any iron-related disorders in your family? Is the question I hear and a silent “no” is the only answer I am able to produce.
- Just in case, I’ll send you to another doctor. My dear friend doctor Lawrens is specialized on this area…


------------CHAPTER 5-----------
I walk by an empty street. I’m so far away from downtown that I’m already beginning to reach the area where the street lights have all burned out and there are no traffic lights in use anymore. Luckily I have a flash light with me, so I switch it on. I look around me, only to see that there is no one else on the same path. No one to share these problems, this state or even just a few words with.

I arrive to a turnout. I can either turn slightly onto the right to continue walking on yet another empty road, or turn onto the left, where there doesn’t seem to be anything but a few bushes and some rocks here and there. I think for a moment, blink my eyes rapidly and turn to the latter direction.

As I walk on the path I’ve chosen, I begin to perceive a breathtaking view behind the cruel cover. As a light plays across the air and a semi-cold wind sweeps through my lungs, I can only think that I could have never even pictured anything like this if I had chosen to turn right. But, obviously, just then I see a dead bird in the ground and it reminds me. I sit down on a big stone feeling the tears soaring, and then growing bigger and bigger as they reach my cheeks.

I can loop the words coming from the examiner’s mouth all over and over again.
- You have Hemochromatosis, Christian. I’m afraid it has gotten to the point where treatment can help, but it won’t guarantee a healthy and long life.

Hah. Even if the disease was so common that a half of Americans had it, I couldn’t afford to pay the costs of the treatment. As I move my glance up from the sky to the ground below and vice versa, I don’t know who or what I should blame – my alcohol usage and constant partying, my parents or the Whoever I believed in over a half of my life, but somehow lost the path and touch to not too long ago. Doesn’t really matter, though, now does it - I’m going to die before I even have the chance to screw my life so badly that it needs serious fixing.

For a moment, my eyes accidentally get stuck between the sky and the ground, and I’m once again introduced to the simply amazing, unrefined view. A few birds seem to be having some late night fun until I point the flash light at them. As they fly away, I suddenly get inspired.

I get up and walk towards the edge of the cliff. Almost a 20 meter fall opens up ahead of me. Hah. Could there be a more cliché ending than this? I have to admit that the thought is, however, very tempting. This is the exact kind of a place I would like to die in – a place so beautiful and outlying that only I can find appreciation towards it. But no - I think while stepping back – I need more. The second most important thing is missing, as well as the third; the right state of mind and my dignity. The first is wallowing in the height of a millimeter and the latter doesn’t even exist.

I slowly take a look at my cheap digital wris****ch, which surprisingly has lasted for nearly 2 years in a row now. 11.49 PM – it’s almost midnight. It’s almost 24 hours since I went to bed and saw the nightmare that basically started a crucial change in my life. As much as the thought of staying where I am feels comfortable and safe, I recognize that it’s for the best to leave until I get any other self-destructive ideas. So, I briefly take a glimpse at the scene trying to memorize it deeply in my heart and start walking back, only to stop a few meters later. Home - if the place I’m going to can even be called one - is full of ways to harm myself. I need something to keep me going until the end will come - naturally. I need a mental insurance.

I grab my cell phone and select Sam’s old number through the speed dial, hoping it still works. A tiny spark of happiness meets my heart as Sam picks up.
- Hey! Look, I’ve been thinking about that trip we discussed about… Yeah, you heard me. Anyhow, I’ve decided to go, that is if it’s still okay with you. Oh? Rock on! I’ll meet you then. Alright, sure, bye man.


As I close my phone and start walking back home, step by step the tiny spark within me starts growing and growing.
------------THE END------------

-- Edited by Jon2 on Sunday 20th of September 2009 04:08:48 AM


-- Edited by Jon2 on Sunday 27th of September 2009 02:39:39 AM

Thanks. Hemochromatosis actually isn't that fatal - it only is if it's not treated right, and in the protagonist's case here, it was simply diagnosed too late (or that's how I tried to make it seem like). That was, actually, one of the things I struggled with the most - finding a fatal blood disease that necessarily doesn't show any symptomps was surprisingly hard to find and stalled me a bit in the summer. But I'm glad it's all out now.

You can probably tell a few tiny mistakes here and there in the story, as in both, grammar and veracity, but I'm personally pretty proud of the whole and I feel like this is the best I can do at the moment. Oh, and it certainly feels good to hear that you found it inspiring. That makes the feedback worth a wait as well