Michelle had just been told that she would be performing the surgery. She had been awake for a while now and was venturing over to the vending machine in search for a much needed source of caffeine. As she walked the hallway, she saw Dr.Francis using her incredibly calm bedside manner on an exhausted looking man and woman. They stood gripping each other’s hands so hard Michelle noticed a slight discoloration to their fingers.
As she got closer, Michelle turned her head and quickened her pace, not wanting the introduction that she expected might happen. Dr.Francis may have been excellent with patients and their families, but she had a really nasty habit of putting surgeons in an uncomfortable position: reassuring people that their loved one was in good hands and that they would do everything they could to make sure the procedure went smoothly. Michelle hated to put real lives behind her work, it made it that much harder to accept failure.
But Dr. Francis didn’t call her over. She was still deep in conversation with the couple. Michelle overheard only one sentence in its entirety as she snuck past.
“We are going to everything we can to help you son.”
She chose her drink, consumed it, scrubbed up and joined her team in the theatre.
A man carrying a box entered just as they were about to start.
Welcome to The Echo Room, the home of budding weird fiction
Monday, 25 April 2011
Sunday, 24 April 2011
PAUL AND MICHELLE PART 1
Paul didn’t like this aspect of his job. He knew he served a purpose in life, something he had always felt he needed to feel, but he could in way say he ever grew callous to the effects of seeing a child struggling for life and knowing damn well it was going to lose the fight.
He was an auto pilot, carrying out tasks he did so routinely that they had become second nature. His mind on the other hand was filled with frantic dissonance, choruses of words alerting him to the horrendous nature of the situation he chose to put himself in day in day out. He often battled these demons that tried to highlight only the negative in his life, but he never let them prevent him from doing his job. He didn’t care if they were telling him that underneath the façade he knew the kid was going to die, he was going to try and save it anyway if it was the last thing he did.
The body lying on the gurney had come from the orphanage, it was a body no one wanted. The demons were getting louder again.
“What’s his name?” Paul called out to his partner.
She dropped her eyes to the information that had been provided by the woman who had been on site when they arrived. She opened her mouth to tell him as the vehicle hit a pot hole and jolted violently, dislodging the mask that was providing the kid with oxygen. His partner rushed to attend to it.
In the hospital, less than a mile away, Michelle had already been informed of the possibility that she would be performing surgery within the next hour. She didn’t fret, she was confident in what she did. She paced out of anticipation, an odd excitement she always felt before it was time to pull on the gloves.
Paul and his partner hurried the gurney through the open doors of the emergency department where staff were ready to take over. They watched as a group of doctors and nurses burst through into the next hallway, the doors swung back and closed, the kid now out of sight and never to be seen again by either of them.
“It aint right.” He mumbled.
“What’s that?” his partner asked.
He could feel his eyes glazing over but knew they wouldn’t let a tear slip, he had had to learn to control this reaction over time, knowing that no one would want to be partnered with someone who couldn’t handle the harsh reality of the job.
His partner didn’t question the past tense he used, they both knew the little body wasn’t coming back out.
“That kid aint even a person yet” he said.
He was an auto pilot, carrying out tasks he did so routinely that they had become second nature. His mind on the other hand was filled with frantic dissonance, choruses of words alerting him to the horrendous nature of the situation he chose to put himself in day in day out. He often battled these demons that tried to highlight only the negative in his life, but he never let them prevent him from doing his job. He didn’t care if they were telling him that underneath the façade he knew the kid was going to die, he was going to try and save it anyway if it was the last thing he did.
The body lying on the gurney had come from the orphanage, it was a body no one wanted. The demons were getting louder again.
“What’s his name?” Paul called out to his partner.
She dropped her eyes to the information that had been provided by the woman who had been on site when they arrived. She opened her mouth to tell him as the vehicle hit a pot hole and jolted violently, dislodging the mask that was providing the kid with oxygen. His partner rushed to attend to it.
In the hospital, less than a mile away, Michelle had already been informed of the possibility that she would be performing surgery within the next hour. She didn’t fret, she was confident in what she did. She paced out of anticipation, an odd excitement she always felt before it was time to pull on the gloves.
Paul and his partner hurried the gurney through the open doors of the emergency department where staff were ready to take over. They watched as a group of doctors and nurses burst through into the next hallway, the doors swung back and closed, the kid now out of sight and never to be seen again by either of them.
“It aint right.” He mumbled.
“What’s that?” his partner asked.
He could feel his eyes glazing over but knew they wouldn’t let a tear slip, he had had to learn to control this reaction over time, knowing that no one would want to be partnered with someone who couldn’t handle the harsh reality of the job.
His partner didn’t question the past tense he used, they both knew the little body wasn’t coming back out.
“That kid aint even a person yet” he said.
Friday, 8 April 2011
LUCAS BROWN AND THE OTHER MAN PART 4
“I remember some of that” said the other man “not what happened, but I remember that place with all the other children”
“What else do you remember? You say you don’t know your own name, what about your own life?” Lucas asked of him
The other man was silent but not because his brain was scrambling or putting together pieces of a puzzle long ago scattered. No, all was blank aside from the recollection of that place, the place with all the other children.
“You were the child that fell out of the window, weren’t you?”
The other man silently agreed.
Then they were different men altogether.
That’s not it, they were seeing through other men’s eyes
“What else do you remember? You say you don’t know your own name, what about your own life?” Lucas asked of him
The other man was silent but not because his brain was scrambling or putting together pieces of a puzzle long ago scattered. No, all was blank aside from the recollection of that place, the place with all the other children.
“You were the child that fell out of the window, weren’t you?”
The other man silently agreed.
Then they were different men altogether.
That’s not it, they were seeing through other men’s eyes
Thursday, 16 December 2010
LUCAS BROWN AND THE OTHER MAN PART 3
Lucas and the other man watched as the children played.
They had seized the opportunity to conduct a little experiment while the minders were out of the room and had opened one of the large windows on the far wall. They had done this by piling up boxes of toys which they were now standing on.
They had tied tiny parachutes to several stuffed animals and we dropping out of the window. The lighter ones caused much delight as they slowly fell down toward the pavement. The children giggled madly. Aside from period bursts of this laughter, the children tried to keep silent.
The unmistakeable sound of one of the minders approaching ended their temporary enjoyment.
They gathered up the remaining toys and descended the boxes but did not dismantle the makeshift construction.
To their happiness, in was one of the more lenient minders that had arrived. They offered up little smiles to her kind face and she beamed back. They knew they would be allowed to continue playing for a while longer under her watch.
But as children do, they had already forgotten their last source of entertainment and began playing a simple game of catch.
They ran around in an ecstatic frenzy, seemingly forgetting the more hurtful aspects of their circumstance, if only for a while.
One child was tagged ‘it’ and he ran wildly after the others.
He set his sights on one boy in particular. There was no reason for this, he simply just did.
He chased him around the perimeter of the room, groping the air just behind his back as he failed again and again to snatch at his clothing.
The child he was chasing ran up to where the boxes were still piled up and climbed them. The chaser tried to reach up and tag his foot but the child kept lifting them as he did so, chuckling as he avoided each attempt.
The chaser began to slam his body into the boxes, they shook slightly but the child atop them still stood strong.
Another child joined him in the quest to get the boy down. They both began slamming into the boxes.
This time, the bottom box shifted slightly to the right and destabilised the pile.
The child atop them wobbled for a moment, trying to regain his balance.
Then he fell backwards through the open window down towards the pavement below.
The minder, who had looked up just in time to see the child disappear from sight. She began screaming uncontrollably.
A few miles away, another child lost consciousness.
They had seized the opportunity to conduct a little experiment while the minders were out of the room and had opened one of the large windows on the far wall. They had done this by piling up boxes of toys which they were now standing on.
They had tied tiny parachutes to several stuffed animals and we dropping out of the window. The lighter ones caused much delight as they slowly fell down toward the pavement. The children giggled madly. Aside from period bursts of this laughter, the children tried to keep silent.
The unmistakeable sound of one of the minders approaching ended their temporary enjoyment.
They gathered up the remaining toys and descended the boxes but did not dismantle the makeshift construction.
To their happiness, in was one of the more lenient minders that had arrived. They offered up little smiles to her kind face and she beamed back. They knew they would be allowed to continue playing for a while longer under her watch.
But as children do, they had already forgotten their last source of entertainment and began playing a simple game of catch.
They ran around in an ecstatic frenzy, seemingly forgetting the more hurtful aspects of their circumstance, if only for a while.
One child was tagged ‘it’ and he ran wildly after the others.
He set his sights on one boy in particular. There was no reason for this, he simply just did.
He chased him around the perimeter of the room, groping the air just behind his back as he failed again and again to snatch at his clothing.
The child he was chasing ran up to where the boxes were still piled up and climbed them. The chaser tried to reach up and tag his foot but the child kept lifting them as he did so, chuckling as he avoided each attempt.
The chaser began to slam his body into the boxes, they shook slightly but the child atop them still stood strong.
Another child joined him in the quest to get the boy down. They both began slamming into the boxes.
This time, the bottom box shifted slightly to the right and destabilised the pile.
The child atop them wobbled for a moment, trying to regain his balance.
Then he fell backwards through the open window down towards the pavement below.
The minder, who had looked up just in time to see the child disappear from sight. She began screaming uncontrollably.
A few miles away, another child lost consciousness.
Friday, 10 December 2010
LUCAS BROWN AND THE OTHER MAN PART 2
Then, Lucas and the other man were sat on the door step of a large house in the middle of the night. It was pouring with the rain, the fat droplets cascading down on to their heads but they did not feel a thing. They stayed unwaveringly dry and still.
An old, severely damaged car was creeping slowly up the road. It gently came to a stop directly in front of them. A man sat at the driving seat, a woman on the passenger side. They did not talk to each other. Their faces were wrinkled beyond their age and their pale complexions gave them a worrying look of ill health.
After a few minutes the woman turned to look at the man, he was lighting a cigarette.
“Are you doing it or am I?” she asked, the question clearly demonstrating her reluctance to be the one.
The man paused for a moment, exhaling. He didn’t face her and remained silent. He had made his decision and planned on keeping it. His silence told the woman he couldn’t do what was needed and therefore was asking her to. She was annoyed at his cowardice, it was as much if not more her burden than his.
She used this anger to force her out of the car.
As she opened the door and stepped out, the other man turned to Lucas.
“Do you recognise them?” he asked
Lucas thought long and hard and then shook his head.
“No, I have never seen them before.” He answered.
The woman lifted the hood of her jacket over her head and approached the boot of the vehicle. She opened it and dug something out: a bundle of blankets wrapped around
something small. She purposely did not look down at it.
She walked briskly through the heavy rain and up to the door of the building directly opposite Lucas and the other man. She paced the bundle down on the welcome mat and rang the bell. She didn’t wait for a reply. She turned and jogged back to the car to which the man had already re-started the engine. She got in and slammed the door. The
car sped away.
Then Lucas and the other man were inside the large building.
It was now morning, a pale light was shining in through the long row of windows on the far wall. They were standing in a large square room. On one side were shelves lined with toys and children’s books.
There was a door behind them, through it came the sound of many footsteps getting closer and closer.
Suddenly, the other man began to weep hysterically. He got down on his knees, pulling at his hair and crying out sounds that didn’t correspond to any language.
“What is it?” asked Lucas
The other man looked up at him, his face seemingly more wrinkled that it had been a moment ago, as if he had just suffered some severe trauma.
“Something really bad is about to happen here” he said.
An old, severely damaged car was creeping slowly up the road. It gently came to a stop directly in front of them. A man sat at the driving seat, a woman on the passenger side. They did not talk to each other. Their faces were wrinkled beyond their age and their pale complexions gave them a worrying look of ill health.
After a few minutes the woman turned to look at the man, he was lighting a cigarette.
“Are you doing it or am I?” she asked, the question clearly demonstrating her reluctance to be the one.
The man paused for a moment, exhaling. He didn’t face her and remained silent. He had made his decision and planned on keeping it. His silence told the woman he couldn’t do what was needed and therefore was asking her to. She was annoyed at his cowardice, it was as much if not more her burden than his.
She used this anger to force her out of the car.
As she opened the door and stepped out, the other man turned to Lucas.
“Do you recognise them?” he asked
Lucas thought long and hard and then shook his head.
“No, I have never seen them before.” He answered.
The woman lifted the hood of her jacket over her head and approached the boot of the vehicle. She opened it and dug something out: a bundle of blankets wrapped around
something small. She purposely did not look down at it.
She walked briskly through the heavy rain and up to the door of the building directly opposite Lucas and the other man. She paced the bundle down on the welcome mat and rang the bell. She didn’t wait for a reply. She turned and jogged back to the car to which the man had already re-started the engine. She got in and slammed the door. The
car sped away.
Then Lucas and the other man were inside the large building.
It was now morning, a pale light was shining in through the long row of windows on the far wall. They were standing in a large square room. On one side were shelves lined with toys and children’s books.
There was a door behind them, through it came the sound of many footsteps getting closer and closer.
Suddenly, the other man began to weep hysterically. He got down on his knees, pulling at his hair and crying out sounds that didn’t correspond to any language.
“What is it?” asked Lucas
The other man looked up at him, his face seemingly more wrinkled that it had been a moment ago, as if he had just suffered some severe trauma.
“Something really bad is about to happen here” he said.
Monday, 6 December 2010
LUCAS BROWN AND THE OTHER MAN
Lucas and the other man sat on the side of a swimming pool, their legs dipping into the cool water. Neither of them had yet looked down, but what was reflected on its surface was not two but one person. That person resembled Lucas more than it did the other man, but it was definitely not devoid of either of their presences.
They sat quietly, staring straight ahead, not thinking of anything. The moment was not yet right to break the much needed silence.
When it was eventually ruptured, it was done so by the sound of tiny toes tapping on ceramic tile. These sounds were being made by a large group of children who were running along the other side of the pools perimeter. A woman was following them, shouting for them to stop moving so quickly for fear they might hurt themselves.
She was their teacher; they were a class of 8 year old students.
The group marched on, barely able to contain themselves from sprinting towards the inviting water. Within minutes they were all in the shallow end.
But one boy stayed behind. He was standing alone still wearing his light blue t shirt. The teacher called for him to take it off and join them but he refused. The little boy ran off, quietly sobbing as the others chanted a mocking song in unison.
“I didn’t want to take off my t-shirt” Lucas said to the other man
He was feeling calmer, so was the other man. They didn’t know why, but for the time being they were happy to sit and watch.
Nothing of significance happened after that. The children carried on, the young boy did not return to join his classmates.
“My mother had to pick me up, she told me it was nothing to be ashamed of.” Lucas said to the other man
The other man suddenly felt uncomfortable again, his vision blurring, the events before him losing focus.
“We’re here to remember, aren’t we?” He asked Lucas
“Yes” replied Lucas
They sat quietly, staring straight ahead, not thinking of anything. The moment was not yet right to break the much needed silence.
When it was eventually ruptured, it was done so by the sound of tiny toes tapping on ceramic tile. These sounds were being made by a large group of children who were running along the other side of the pools perimeter. A woman was following them, shouting for them to stop moving so quickly for fear they might hurt themselves.
She was their teacher; they were a class of 8 year old students.
The group marched on, barely able to contain themselves from sprinting towards the inviting water. Within minutes they were all in the shallow end.
But one boy stayed behind. He was standing alone still wearing his light blue t shirt. The teacher called for him to take it off and join them but he refused. The little boy ran off, quietly sobbing as the others chanted a mocking song in unison.
“I didn’t want to take off my t-shirt” Lucas said to the other man
He was feeling calmer, so was the other man. They didn’t know why, but for the time being they were happy to sit and watch.
Nothing of significance happened after that. The children carried on, the young boy did not return to join his classmates.
“My mother had to pick me up, she told me it was nothing to be ashamed of.” Lucas said to the other man
The other man suddenly felt uncomfortable again, his vision blurring, the events before him losing focus.
“We’re here to remember, aren’t we?” He asked Lucas
“Yes” replied Lucas
Wednesday, 13 October 2010
THE JOURNAL OF LUCAS BROWN. PART 9
I don’t know how, as me even writing these words on this paper discredits what my eyes are telling me, but the book he is still sitting there reading is my journal.
And so, with these words ends the Journal of Lucas Brown.
I promised myself that I had read those words for the last time and threw the journal into the fire. I watched as the flames danced over its disintegrating corpse until it turned to dust, inconsequential ashes that would never mean anything again.
But then, just as I began to truly believe I was capable of forgetting my obsession, just when I was convincing myself that I no longer felt the itch that could not be scratched I found something.
A small black journal on my pillow in my new home, identical in every way to the one I had destroyed.
I had made copies of the original journal and sent them to everyone I could think of. Doctors, lecturers, psychologists and many more in the hope that someone could help me explain the bizarre world it described. Until then, until someone could resolve its meaning clearly, I had promised I would not give it another thought.
No word ever came from anyone.
But now, inexplicably it is back here, back in my room. I pick it up and sit at the end of my bed. I feel its familiar contours in my hands, the smooth leather of the cover grating against my skin in the same way it always did. I flick through its pages, take in the stale smell and noticing the scrawls that are as vivid in my mind as they are on the parchment.
I keep thinking I can hear something, but it sounds like it is inside my head rather than anywhere around me, like some kind of internal call, faint and muffled and audible in a way I can’t explain.
I have also started hearing a distant thudding. I thought it might be my heart pounding but it sounds so much more hollow than that. Could it be my heart? With all that has happened, I realise that I have somehow forgotten what a beating heart sounds like. I close my eyes and try to imagine it, to conjure the sound from within me, to focus on what must be pulsating within me but I can’t find it.
For some reason I’m compelled to look over at the far wall.
My vision fails me. Right in the middle of the white square is a foggy patch of what looks like black smog, preventing me from seeing what is behind it. I rub at my eyes with my knuckles hoping that this vision is some sort of temporary biological anomaly.
Nothing changes
I walk over and stare straight at it. It floats there with a dream like quality, at once appearing completely real and a complete fabrication of the mind.
I reach out and touch it.
It rushes into me like a current of electricity, fizzing up my arm and straight into my chest. I close my eyes. To my surprise it is not cold or uncomfortable, it fills me with a warmth that feels restorative, as if it is giving me something back, something taken from me a long time ago and never retrieved until now.
Then, just as I shed a tear at the joy of this feeling, the feeling of being complete again, it is gone.
I open my eyes and look down.
The black cloud has gone, showing the wall behind it. A cavity has been made, dust and pieces of brick litter the floor below it. I kneel down and peer into the hole.
Through it I see a man, his eyes and mouth are visible, his lips are moving frantically as if shouting but I hear no sound. I do not recognise him.
I hear a great fizzing in my ears followed by a sharp pop.
‘Hello’ the man screams
‘Yes, I can hear you, I can see you.’ I reply, putting my face as close to the wall as possible.
Oddly enough the man does not question my response.
‘You have to help me’ he continues, his voice cracking with desperation ‘I’m trapped in this room’
I then realise that the wall through which he is speaking has nothing beyond it. I am on the second floor and outside that wall should only be air, space.
‘I don’t understand’ I mumble
He doesn’t need to say it, I can hear it in his voice that he is as confused by the situation as I am.
‘Please help’ he pleads
‘Ok, were going to get you out of there’ I say, trying to sooth my voice down into a comforting decibel ‘What’s your name?’ I ask
‘Lucas’ he replies
My face sinks in disbelief, I feel sick.
‘Lucas Brown?’
‘How did you know that, who are you?’
I go to answer him, my name is on the tip of my tongue but it won’t go any further. I try to spit it out, to conjure what should be the simplest answer but it will not come. I am silent a moment while I contemplate my hesitation.
‘I have absolutely no idea what my name is’ I say.
Then everything is engulfed by a piercing white light.
And so, with these words ends the Journal of Lucas Brown.
I promised myself that I had read those words for the last time and threw the journal into the fire. I watched as the flames danced over its disintegrating corpse until it turned to dust, inconsequential ashes that would never mean anything again.
But then, just as I began to truly believe I was capable of forgetting my obsession, just when I was convincing myself that I no longer felt the itch that could not be scratched I found something.
A small black journal on my pillow in my new home, identical in every way to the one I had destroyed.
I had made copies of the original journal and sent them to everyone I could think of. Doctors, lecturers, psychologists and many more in the hope that someone could help me explain the bizarre world it described. Until then, until someone could resolve its meaning clearly, I had promised I would not give it another thought.
No word ever came from anyone.
But now, inexplicably it is back here, back in my room. I pick it up and sit at the end of my bed. I feel its familiar contours in my hands, the smooth leather of the cover grating against my skin in the same way it always did. I flick through its pages, take in the stale smell and noticing the scrawls that are as vivid in my mind as they are on the parchment.
I keep thinking I can hear something, but it sounds like it is inside my head rather than anywhere around me, like some kind of internal call, faint and muffled and audible in a way I can’t explain.
I have also started hearing a distant thudding. I thought it might be my heart pounding but it sounds so much more hollow than that. Could it be my heart? With all that has happened, I realise that I have somehow forgotten what a beating heart sounds like. I close my eyes and try to imagine it, to conjure the sound from within me, to focus on what must be pulsating within me but I can’t find it.
For some reason I’m compelled to look over at the far wall.
My vision fails me. Right in the middle of the white square is a foggy patch of what looks like black smog, preventing me from seeing what is behind it. I rub at my eyes with my knuckles hoping that this vision is some sort of temporary biological anomaly.
Nothing changes
I walk over and stare straight at it. It floats there with a dream like quality, at once appearing completely real and a complete fabrication of the mind.
I reach out and touch it.
It rushes into me like a current of electricity, fizzing up my arm and straight into my chest. I close my eyes. To my surprise it is not cold or uncomfortable, it fills me with a warmth that feels restorative, as if it is giving me something back, something taken from me a long time ago and never retrieved until now.
Then, just as I shed a tear at the joy of this feeling, the feeling of being complete again, it is gone.
I open my eyes and look down.
The black cloud has gone, showing the wall behind it. A cavity has been made, dust and pieces of brick litter the floor below it. I kneel down and peer into the hole.
Through it I see a man, his eyes and mouth are visible, his lips are moving frantically as if shouting but I hear no sound. I do not recognise him.
I hear a great fizzing in my ears followed by a sharp pop.
‘Hello’ the man screams
‘Yes, I can hear you, I can see you.’ I reply, putting my face as close to the wall as possible.
Oddly enough the man does not question my response.
‘You have to help me’ he continues, his voice cracking with desperation ‘I’m trapped in this room’
I then realise that the wall through which he is speaking has nothing beyond it. I am on the second floor and outside that wall should only be air, space.
‘I don’t understand’ I mumble
He doesn’t need to say it, I can hear it in his voice that he is as confused by the situation as I am.
‘Please help’ he pleads
‘Ok, were going to get you out of there’ I say, trying to sooth my voice down into a comforting decibel ‘What’s your name?’ I ask
‘Lucas’ he replies
My face sinks in disbelief, I feel sick.
‘Lucas Brown?’
‘How did you know that, who are you?’
I go to answer him, my name is on the tip of my tongue but it won’t go any further. I try to spit it out, to conjure what should be the simplest answer but it will not come. I am silent a moment while I contemplate my hesitation.
‘I have absolutely no idea what my name is’ I say.
Then everything is engulfed by a piercing white light.
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