A tale to be told begins thus. Part 1 - Recollections.
Posted: Tue May 19, 2015 6:39 pm
Hello niners!
A bit of a disclaimer first.
This is my first attempt in quite a while to write something in english. What a challenge that is i must say! Could not resist a creative urge...
Still i feel that i must apologize in advance for my lack of proper language skills and subtlety (i probably suck at editing too). Still i do it both for the sake of telling the story and sharpening my skills, so it just might work out. Of course i will appreciate any comments and/or suggestions.
Which means if you've been so kind as to read this and you think it's shite - please tell me about it, ok?
End of the disclaimer.
Part 1. Recollections.
At night i sit by your side, waiting for you to give me a sign...
When he finally woke up he felt dizzy and strangely numb. Something was obscuring his vision like a thin veil, allowing just enough light to pass through to form shapes and outlines in the white haze. Instinctively he tried to wipe it off only to realize that he cannot fully control his arms.
After a while he managed to turn his head a bit, looked around through the white mesh. Everything he could distinguish was either white or washed-out pastel beige, like a cheap watercolour, sterile-looking. Some kind of machinery was whirring and wheezing quietly somewhere at his left side.
Take one look at yourself and realize...
His body was mostly covered with a sheet but what was visible was wrapped in clean bandages and the same stuff which obscured his vision, a lot of it, applied gently but apparently in great quantities all around his body. He had a strange feeling that he should not try to remember how it is called. The mind worked its usual trick and he still fumbled for a word until...
The modern tanks are slow burning things. That, of course, is unless the fire gets to the ammunition compartment. Even in the older T72s the driver is protected by a thickest plate of armor and has an emergency evac hatch, but the other crew, well…
They escorted several tanks at the outskirts of Grozny. Bad place for a tank even with infantry support, that city. They already lost some men and machines to the militants.
When one of the tanks caught a rocket and, after what seemed like eternity, belched smoke and fire from each crevice - they ran like hell, away from it. They always did, it was the safest course of action. Still they weren’t too far when the crew appeared from the flaming top of the dead machine and the gunner was the last of them. He was engulfed in flames. He barely managed to climb out and listlessly plunged to the ground. The escort began shooting and the gun of another tank opened with a blaze, tearing off a part of the building from where the rebel rocket was fired.
They ran back and threw stuff on him, made him roll until the fires subsided. The smell of burning flesh was nauseating.They dragged him far enough when the unspent shells finally exploded with a deafening roar, lifting the 55-ton machine off the ground for a moment and throwing its turret several metres away into the air in a shower of debris. The shell-shocked tank commander who helped to drag the body kept mumbling something, some incoherent nonsense. They had to hit him to make him stop gibbering.
Next time they met was in the hospital - he suffered from a concussion and the gunner, whose name he never knew, was being treated from the severe 3d degree burns. At the field hospital they had no proper treatment capabilities and for a long time he could not get rid of the sight of poor fellow’s body wrapped in lots and lots of white medical gauze, lying limp on the stretcher.
He blinked several times. Somewhat to his surprise he was not in pain but he remembered that it might be because his nerve endings were damaged or because of the medication he received through the tubes running to his arm. He felt very tired, exhausted by the sudden vision. He thought about staying awake while drifting back into the darkness. There were no dreams this time.
When he came back to reality, he had a feeling that something happened. Something in the world and also something around and inside of him. There was somebody in the room, he knew that even before he opened his eyes. He also felt something else, some kind of presence he could not quite describe. Something like a gust in the air, the dry paper-like rustle of the sheets, the impossible movement inside of the walls and inside of his head. The gauze on his eyes was gone.
It’s getting closer…
The man sitting on a chair opposite his bed was in his forties, tall and powerful. He wore a nondescript dark suit with a hint of purple. There was some kind of symbol on his lapel, too smudgy to distinguish. His hair was receding, his haircut severe. There was an air of authority about him, the way he clasped his hands and his level gaze. After few moments their eyes met and the man spoke, his voice calm and gentle, with a subtle and pleasant british accent.
“My name is Anderson…” - the man made a pause, as if considering something. “Doctor Howard Anderson. So, you’re mister Miller, right? How are you feeling?”
Life’s been treating you nice...
“I’m not… Not sure…” His voice trailed off as he realized that he felt perfectly fine. He was still covered in bandages, yes, but now he felt the rough fabric on his skin and a peculiar taste in his mouth, his tensed muscles, his blood being pumped through his body and a rush of adrenalin coursing through his veins. He shrugged, tried to lick his dry lips. There were questions buzzing in his head by the dozens. Finally he managed “Why am i… What happened? Where...?”
“You are in the hospital, of course. You were... badly burned several days ago.” - said Howard. “But everything’s all right now. I am here to provide you help and counselling. And by the looks of you - you might need it. You see, my colleagues tell me that your treatment ain’t over. And it would be wise to listen to them, of course. Besides, we all need to keep… appearances.” - Howard stood up from the chair and paced the room. “Still… Tell you what,” - he said, after a brief moment of studying some sort of plaque on the wall. “Your case is one of the few which can be described as... Miraculous. Of course i’m here to help but if you please do me a little favour then i will do one for you” - the doctor smiled at some reminiscence. “‘Course you’ll get out of here soon enough but i can speed up the process. The bureaucracy, the works, y’know.”
“Honestly, I am not here to feed you ideas. But it is important that you try to remember what happened at the digging site. Vitally important, for you, for me and for… Others. I know it can be tricky, but you just have to relax and it will all come back, naturally. After all, we’re here to help you recover so that you will be able to help… Us”
Something was not right. Something about his condition, this room, this doctor. He took a deep breath and muttered: “Ok. Ok, I don’t fully understand what the hell has happened… Is happening. I’ve tried to recall that already. When i woke up, and… But i just can’t remember!”
Better be wise and enjoy your moments...
“Well then, as i’ve said - we’re here to help. Close your eyes and relax. Try not to make an effort. It works best if you don’t concentrate on it too much.” - said Howard looking away from him.
The chestnut trees were blazing with white. Students liked to walk the alleyways and inhale the sweet aroma of their “candles” The Botanical garden was a favourite spot for many in the spring, especially for young couples - lots of shade and places where they could…
He gasped for air as if he got out of the deep. The air in the room was filled with the smell of chestnut flowers blooming.
“Now, my friend, there is no need to go that deep.“ - the doctor winced, “I believe, some days ago you got the meeting invitation from the board. An email. Try starting from that. Here, let my assistant help you...”
He felt a touch, somebody’s gentle fingers caressing his shoulders, his chin, ruffling his hair. He could swear that there was nobody beside him and the doctor in the room. “What assistant?” - he wanted to ask but the question died on his lips as he fell asleep fast. If was not long until he was violently dreaming his past, reliving it again and again and again.
It all began two weeks ago.
A bit of a disclaimer first.
This is my first attempt in quite a while to write something in english. What a challenge that is i must say! Could not resist a creative urge...
Still i feel that i must apologize in advance for my lack of proper language skills and subtlety (i probably suck at editing too). Still i do it both for the sake of telling the story and sharpening my skills, so it just might work out. Of course i will appreciate any comments and/or suggestions.
Which means if you've been so kind as to read this and you think it's shite - please tell me about it, ok?
End of the disclaimer.
Part 1. Recollections.
At night i sit by your side, waiting for you to give me a sign...
When he finally woke up he felt dizzy and strangely numb. Something was obscuring his vision like a thin veil, allowing just enough light to pass through to form shapes and outlines in the white haze. Instinctively he tried to wipe it off only to realize that he cannot fully control his arms.
After a while he managed to turn his head a bit, looked around through the white mesh. Everything he could distinguish was either white or washed-out pastel beige, like a cheap watercolour, sterile-looking. Some kind of machinery was whirring and wheezing quietly somewhere at his left side.
Take one look at yourself and realize...
His body was mostly covered with a sheet but what was visible was wrapped in clean bandages and the same stuff which obscured his vision, a lot of it, applied gently but apparently in great quantities all around his body. He had a strange feeling that he should not try to remember how it is called. The mind worked its usual trick and he still fumbled for a word until...
The modern tanks are slow burning things. That, of course, is unless the fire gets to the ammunition compartment. Even in the older T72s the driver is protected by a thickest plate of armor and has an emergency evac hatch, but the other crew, well…
They escorted several tanks at the outskirts of Grozny. Bad place for a tank even with infantry support, that city. They already lost some men and machines to the militants.
When one of the tanks caught a rocket and, after what seemed like eternity, belched smoke and fire from each crevice - they ran like hell, away from it. They always did, it was the safest course of action. Still they weren’t too far when the crew appeared from the flaming top of the dead machine and the gunner was the last of them. He was engulfed in flames. He barely managed to climb out and listlessly plunged to the ground. The escort began shooting and the gun of another tank opened with a blaze, tearing off a part of the building from where the rebel rocket was fired.
They ran back and threw stuff on him, made him roll until the fires subsided. The smell of burning flesh was nauseating.They dragged him far enough when the unspent shells finally exploded with a deafening roar, lifting the 55-ton machine off the ground for a moment and throwing its turret several metres away into the air in a shower of debris. The shell-shocked tank commander who helped to drag the body kept mumbling something, some incoherent nonsense. They had to hit him to make him stop gibbering.
Next time they met was in the hospital - he suffered from a concussion and the gunner, whose name he never knew, was being treated from the severe 3d degree burns. At the field hospital they had no proper treatment capabilities and for a long time he could not get rid of the sight of poor fellow’s body wrapped in lots and lots of white medical gauze, lying limp on the stretcher.
He blinked several times. Somewhat to his surprise he was not in pain but he remembered that it might be because his nerve endings were damaged or because of the medication he received through the tubes running to his arm. He felt very tired, exhausted by the sudden vision. He thought about staying awake while drifting back into the darkness. There were no dreams this time.
When he came back to reality, he had a feeling that something happened. Something in the world and also something around and inside of him. There was somebody in the room, he knew that even before he opened his eyes. He also felt something else, some kind of presence he could not quite describe. Something like a gust in the air, the dry paper-like rustle of the sheets, the impossible movement inside of the walls and inside of his head. The gauze on his eyes was gone.
It’s getting closer…
The man sitting on a chair opposite his bed was in his forties, tall and powerful. He wore a nondescript dark suit with a hint of purple. There was some kind of symbol on his lapel, too smudgy to distinguish. His hair was receding, his haircut severe. There was an air of authority about him, the way he clasped his hands and his level gaze. After few moments their eyes met and the man spoke, his voice calm and gentle, with a subtle and pleasant british accent.
“My name is Anderson…” - the man made a pause, as if considering something. “Doctor Howard Anderson. So, you’re mister Miller, right? How are you feeling?”
Life’s been treating you nice...
“I’m not… Not sure…” His voice trailed off as he realized that he felt perfectly fine. He was still covered in bandages, yes, but now he felt the rough fabric on his skin and a peculiar taste in his mouth, his tensed muscles, his blood being pumped through his body and a rush of adrenalin coursing through his veins. He shrugged, tried to lick his dry lips. There were questions buzzing in his head by the dozens. Finally he managed “Why am i… What happened? Where...?”
“You are in the hospital, of course. You were... badly burned several days ago.” - said Howard. “But everything’s all right now. I am here to provide you help and counselling. And by the looks of you - you might need it. You see, my colleagues tell me that your treatment ain’t over. And it would be wise to listen to them, of course. Besides, we all need to keep… appearances.” - Howard stood up from the chair and paced the room. “Still… Tell you what,” - he said, after a brief moment of studying some sort of plaque on the wall. “Your case is one of the few which can be described as... Miraculous. Of course i’m here to help but if you please do me a little favour then i will do one for you” - the doctor smiled at some reminiscence. “‘Course you’ll get out of here soon enough but i can speed up the process. The bureaucracy, the works, y’know.”
“Honestly, I am not here to feed you ideas. But it is important that you try to remember what happened at the digging site. Vitally important, for you, for me and for… Others. I know it can be tricky, but you just have to relax and it will all come back, naturally. After all, we’re here to help you recover so that you will be able to help… Us”
Something was not right. Something about his condition, this room, this doctor. He took a deep breath and muttered: “Ok. Ok, I don’t fully understand what the hell has happened… Is happening. I’ve tried to recall that already. When i woke up, and… But i just can’t remember!”
Better be wise and enjoy your moments...
“Well then, as i’ve said - we’re here to help. Close your eyes and relax. Try not to make an effort. It works best if you don’t concentrate on it too much.” - said Howard looking away from him.
The chestnut trees were blazing with white. Students liked to walk the alleyways and inhale the sweet aroma of their “candles” The Botanical garden was a favourite spot for many in the spring, especially for young couples - lots of shade and places where they could…
He gasped for air as if he got out of the deep. The air in the room was filled with the smell of chestnut flowers blooming.
“Now, my friend, there is no need to go that deep.“ - the doctor winced, “I believe, some days ago you got the meeting invitation from the board. An email. Try starting from that. Here, let my assistant help you...”
He felt a touch, somebody’s gentle fingers caressing his shoulders, his chin, ruffling his hair. He could swear that there was nobody beside him and the doctor in the room. “What assistant?” - he wanted to ask but the question died on his lips as he fell asleep fast. If was not long until he was violently dreaming his past, reliving it again and again and again.
It all began two weeks ago.