Retribution

RETRIBUTION

BREATH

Michael surged from the bed as if his very soul were being torn away from him. A constant bright white light blocked his vision, like when you leave the movie theater walking out to the bright glare of the sun. Only you don’t sneeze. “Hello.” Michael called out in a soft voice. “Is anybody there?” there was no answer to his question. His heart started to beat more and more rapidly. The rapid beating of your heart is only the beginning, soon your breathing increases getting heavier and heavier with ever breath. Your lungs can’t handle the amount of oxygen you’re sucking in. Then your stomach starts. In… Out… In… Out, faster and faster cramping with ever breath. The Next to go is your hands. They begin to tremble and now you know that fear is taking hold, your panicking. Talk to your self. Create the illusion that someone else is with you. You always feel safer when someone is there talking to you. Fear is the mind killer; there is nothing to fear except fear itself. Fear is the mind killer. Repeat the words again. Fear is the mind killer; there is nothing to fear except fear itself. Fear is the mind killer. Again. Fear is the mind killer; there is nothing to fear except fear itself. Fear is the mind killer. Now breathe. Breathe slowly. The light begins to fade and you are aware of your surroundings. Look around. Every one knows this place. The dull white walls with that monotonous Ken Duncan panograph. You smell it now, that distinct odor. “Bleach.” And the white robe you’re wearing. Its easy, look at your hand. Two crossed pieces of tape holding a needle. Put them all together and what do you get. “I’m in a hospital.” You’re in a hospital.

THE DOCTOR

1.

Next to Michaels bed was a sign that read ‘For assistance press red button.’ Indeed there was a little red button. He pushed it. A clock was above the door. 11:09. His clothes were placed on the only non-white object in the room. A plastic blue chair in the far corner. They looked washed and were folded neatly. He pushed the button a second time. Like before no one answered his call. In the movies the instant you pressed that little red button a nurse came running, but then, this wasn’t the movies. The room appeared to be the standard hospital accommodation, with the exception of sound. There was no sound anywhere. Any normal hospital would have nurses and doctors running up and down the corridors tending to patients. In this hospital there seemed to be none. No answer to the red button. Michael pushed the button for a third time.
To Michael minutes even hours passed before a solitary dark skinned doctor walked into the room. Stethoscope hung around the neck, a long white coat and tidy, short hair cut. Something about a man with a stethoscope around his neck screamed ‘I’m a doctor,’ No matter the rest of his appearance. The doctor slowly approached the bed, contemplating the clip board with numerous pages he held in his hand.
Michael watched the man cross the room and stand by his bed. Solely by the confidence in the way the doctor walked and the fact he carried a stethoscope, Michael knew the doctor was in charge. He would not speak until the doctor spoke to him. Michael watched intently as the doctor flipped through the pages on his clip board, ‘uming’ and ‘aring’ as he went. Eventually the doctor spoke.
“How do we feel today, Michael?”
Michael was hesitant with his response. He knew not why he was hesitant. This was a hospital and there was a doctor asking him a question, yet something inside him was hesitant. Ultimately he had to answer. Michael answered with a question more than an answer. “How did I get here?”
The doctor flipped the pages on the clip board back to there original position and took a seat on the end of Michael’s bed. It was the doctors’ tern to be hesitant. Only when he spoke it was as if a general were commanding an army. “Michael, I know how hard this is going to be for you to understand, but this is going to be the seventh time I’ve told you this.” The doctor paused a moment. Michael hung on every word he spoke. “You were in an accident and so far you have been unable to retain your memories for more than a day.”
This could not be true. Michael only woke up in this room on this day. He had not been here for seven days. But the man with the stethoscope told him differently. Was it possible that the doctor was right? Of course it was. He was a doctor.
“You’ve had the same reaction every time.” The doctor was caring and sympathetic, as all doctors should be. His voice was soothing. This doctor could have told him he was going to die and Michael would have had little worries.
“What’s happened to me?”
“You’ve lost you’re ability to retain you’re memories beyond a day. At the moment, were unsure why, but every time you go to sleep the last thing you remember is driving home from the movie theatre. And the answer to you’re next question is Star Trek Nemesis.”
The doctor was right. The last event Michael remembered was leaving the movie theatre after seeing Star Trek Nemesis. The doctor must be telling the truth. Had he really been told the same story seven times? Only the doctor knew.
The doctor stood up and took his vitals for the machine Michael was connected too and wrote them on his clip board. “Rest is the best for you at the moment. Go back to sleep and I’ll see you in the morning.” The doctor finished Michael’s vitals and hurried out the door.
Why would the doctor say a thing like that if he knew he would only have to explain himself again? Perhaps he was being optimistic that Michael would remember him in the morning. But there was something not quite right about this doctor. He had a stethoscope but he was hiding something. Deep inside Michael knew he was hiding something.

2.

You don’t actually believe that shit do you? That fucker is full of shit. I don’t trust him. And neither should you. That so called doctor is hiding something. I don’t know what it is but he’s defiantly not telling you everything. I say you pull that needle out of you’re hand and we get the fuck outa here. Come on, that fucker aint right. He obviously wants you to stay in this bed for some reason. I say we find out what that reason is. Pull the needle out of you’re hand. Of course it will hurt. But only for a moment. It’s better than staying here and waiting for you’re so called doctor to return. Pull it out


3.

Michael pealed the two crossed pieces of tape off his hand and pulled the needle. He could fell the needle inside his hand moving. His fingers clenched. The muscles in his arm turned numb. A blood chilling shiver raced through his body. Stomach contort, the urge to vomit grew ever present. The imaginary taste of his blood filled his mouth. He could smell the thick blood smell of iron. The Needle twisted and slipped through his vain. It was almost out. An instantaneous cold freeze froze him to the bone, his face changed as a chameleon changes to the same dull white of his robe. In the same instant the needle left his hand a thick spurt of blood sprayed across his face and robe. The burning sensation of bile charged up his throat and joined the blood spray on his face and robe. The intense smells of bile and blood clouded the room. Michael grabbed a corner of his stained night gown and held it tightly over his bleeding hand.

DOOR LESS CORRIDOORS

1.
Michael changed into his own clothes and tore a piece of cloth from his previous stained garment and wound it round his hand. His shoes made a squeaking noise as he walked on the polished bleach floor. The door creaked softly as Michael eased the handle down. The bright white hallway stretched to what looked one hundred meters. Michael couldn’t see any doors or corridors. The single passageway looked to be the solitary corridor. As Michael walked slowly down the squeaky floored passageway a shadow appeared on the far wall. A dark shadow. A shadow that stretched into a further passageway. Michael came closer and found a corridor that stretched as far as his current way.

2.
Choose. It doesn’t feel right. That passage doesn’t feel right. Can’t you feel it? It feels warm yet the hair on your arms stands staight like goose bumps in the cold. You know it’s wrong. Do you feel that churning sensation in your stomach? It makes you feel sick, doesn’t it? Don’t let the fear take hold again. You know how to control it. Fear is the mind killer. Keep walking. Stay in this corridor. The right passageway will present it self soon enough, but it is not this passage. You can feel it know. I know you can feel it now. Don’t let the fear take hold. Keep moving. The right passage will present itself soon.

3.
Every step Michael took made an unsettling squeak on the always polished floor. There was no secret Michael made his way slowly down the corridor, his squeaking echoed down the passageway. A stranger sensation than the adjacent passageway overcame Michael. Not fear but the awareness of something more. Michael's surroundings became apparent. At what first seemed a corridor now appeared endless. No matter the distance he walked the corridor was like a rainbow. The white walls and checked floor stretched now in both directions. The door to his room lost. Michaels only choice was to keep walking towards to end of the endless white corridor. Michael passed three corridors that didn’t feel right. The hairs on his arm rose at the thought of the passage. At the fourth passage a middle aged man mopped the floor.

A SOLITARY JANITOR

1.
The man intently mopped the checked floor with concentrated bleach. He was as all janitors appear in the movies. Dirty, Hispanic and had a large ring of keys at his side. The Hispanic janitor didn’t see Michael as he approached. “Hello there.” Michael questioned.
The Janitor hardly seemed interest in him. He returned a soft grunt and continued his mopping. Michael approached the Janitor and placed a hand on his shoulder. He needed answers. The Janitors shoulder was cold to the touch. The cold of an inanimate object. There was no warmth or feeling in the Janitor. Michael pulled his hand away in a startled fashion. The Janitor had no reaction and continued to mop the floor.

2.
He’s cold to the touch. No warmth or feeling yet you should trust him. You can talk to this spick if you ask the right question. He knows something. That much is certain. What he knows is the question. So start asking questions.

3.
Michael was hesitant. A cold man the he could trust as long as he asked the right question. What was the question? The Janitor continued to the mop the floor. He followed the Janitor down the door less passageway until he couldn’t see the corridor he entered from. Michael couldn’t see the way back only the question ahead. Something about this cold Janitor sparked fear in him. There is nothing to fear except fear itself. Fear is the mind killer. Courage built inside him for only a moment but long enough to ask a question. “What hospital is this?”
The Janitor was uninterested but abruptly answered the question, “James of Jerusalem Hospital.”
As far as Michael knew there was no ‘James of Jerusalem hospital’ in Canberra, or anywhere in Australia. Could the possibility exist that he was transferred to the United States? The doctor did say that his memory lasted only a single day.

4.
I told you not to believe that lyre. Everything he told you was fucking word vomit and you know it. You can remember. Look beyond you’re fear and remember.

5.
“Remember what?
The Janitor ceased to mop the floors with a questionable stare fixed on Michael, “You talk ‘in to me es’a?”

6.
Fuck dude I’m right here! Don’t talk so loud. You want every mother fucker in this place to here you? So shut the hell the up. The dirty spicks staring right at you, you’ve got his attention, now talk to him. Ask and you will remember.

7.
“You goin loco of something boy.” The ever perspiring spick circled his ear with his finger; making the gesture to Michael he was crazy.
Michael stood hesitant on his words. Could the wrong question make this angry spick stab him with a rusty knife? Maybe he was packing some heat and he would get blown away.
The Janitor stepped threateningly towards Michael, “Chupa me mi verga.”
Michael could feel the fear take hold. The now intimidating spick could possible kill him at any time. His arse opened and felt as if a hot nugget dropped into his pants. The power of fear overwhelmed him.

8.
What the fuck are you doing you poosie? Stand up to him. He knows the answer. FUCK ME! Just ask this fucking over bearing spick to take you to the powers that be. Get a grip. I can’t believe you just shit your pants. You fucking sad sack of shit. Pull you’re self together.

9.
The words stuttered there way out of Michael’s mouth. The Janitor understood and backed down. He appeared to be calm.
“You keep walking down this corridor and then take the sixth passage on the right.” The spick said no more and returned to his mopping.

THE POWERS THAT BE

1.
The Janitors directions led Michael to an open room. On the far wall was a dark window and in the middle were two men. The first would catch the eye of both male and female. To say this man was beautiful would be to say a sunrise was mundane. The stunning man, dressed from head to toe in a lavish white suit, rose with a great elegance and approached him. A blood chilling freeze raced through Michael’s body in the presence of the man.
“Welcome my child.” His voice carried like an angel, or what Michael imagined an angel would sound like. “Fear not, for you are safe here with me.” This Celestial beings reassurance brought unconditional relief. Michael found no breath to talk in this beautiful beings presence.
The other man in the room spoke up in a drunken manner, “That’s funny mate.” His speech was slightly slurred. “You almost had me that time.” He slumped in his chair, singlet, stubbies and thongs with a beer resting on his enormous stomach. Michael ignored his drunken ramblings. All his attention was focused on the Beautiful male.
“Ignore him my son, for he will lead you astray.” Michael clung to the beautiful mans words. “There is something you must know. It will be hard for you, yet I am the one that must tell you.” The beautiful man led Michael to the dark window.

2.
The blackness resided and revealed Michaels lifeless body lying on a hospital operating table. Doctors and nurses alike franticly talking and handing each other medical instruments.

3.
Michael staggered backwards. What kind of illusion was this?
“I know this is hard for you. I’ve seen it time and time again.” The beautiful mans words instantly took his mind of the horrific image beyond the window. “All you have to do is find the door to salvation and carry your sins up the stairs.”
“You won’t make it.” Stated the drunken man.
“Don’t listen to him. If you do what is asked of you, you’re soul may yet be saved.”

4.
Don’t listen to him. He sounds like a used car salesman. I’m not entirely sure what he is but he’s defiantly not the Supreme Being to lead you’re soul to salvation. He’s to perfect, his clothes, the way he’s talking, I don’t like him.

5.
The beautiful man in white gently placed a hand on Michaels shoulder, “You MUST repent. Admit you’re sins and hold them high. Find the door numbered three and you’re sins will be forgiven. Only YOU can save yourself.”
The fat drunkard took a swig of his beer and rose to his feet. He began staggering towards the corridor, “It’s true that the door numbered three is the door you want but you can’t find it. You’re but a mortal man and only I can take you there.” He took another swig of his delicious beer.
“He’s trying to tri…..” The beautiful man was interrupted by the drunkard.
“It’s the way it is. Mortal man is not strong enough to take this journey alone. But I can take it for you, just say the word and ill take you to the door numbered three.”
“That’s complete garbage. I’m telling you that the only way you can save you’re self is to find the door on your own. The road to salvation isn’t as easy as letting a drunk do it for you. Now find the door and be saved.”

6.
Follow the drunken fella. We know it to be true, follow the drunken…

7.
The beautiful man looked over Michaels shoulder, “Who are you any way?”
Neither Michael answered. What was this beautiful man? Goosebumps charged up his arms. He may be the most beautiful man but he was not god.
“You linger like a bad smell, whispering crap in his ear. FUCK OFF!”
Michael noticed the clock on the wall. Eighteen Zero Zero Could it be as easy as the drunkard said? If he followed the drunk would he end up in the bowls of the soul, living an eternal life of despair or would he carry him up the stairs to the fantasized Eden of salvation? Two men, one choice, the eternity of his soul the prize. The man in white perfect, but who, even a celestial being could be perfect. Or the only man that could be real. An overweight drunk. If god made man in his image and man is imperfect then god himself must be imperfect.

8.
Michael took the beautiful mans hand off his shoulder and ran to the drunkard. “Can you take me to the door numbered three?”

9.
The lifeless body of Michael Parish lay on the operating table. The doctor announcing his death at eighteen zero three.
“Damn junkies.” The doctor pulled his latecs gloves off and through them at Michael’s lifeless body. “Why is it that they can only get there retribution in death…. What a waste of life.”