Also first draft, this has been well-recieved by my hubby and the two other friends I read it aloud to.
SO
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I awoke to find that I was no longer alone in the room and that someone had turned on the television while I was sleeping. The set was tuned to a news show airing an interview of the head of some huge, international corporation that was presently being sued by a considerable percentage of current and former employees.
Contrary to the popular human misconceptions, a demon's horns are actually located more toward the crown of the head instead of the temples. Experience has taught his breed that, with careful aiming of the camera, tilting of the chin, and a fuller hair style, the horns can be completely concealed throughout a live video feed. I found myself laughing quietly as I recognised the tricks during the megacorp CEO's bland proclaimations regarding the company's public benevolence and community activism, carefully and well-salted with mentions of how they were abided by all applicable laws.
Having enough of such amusement, I turned away from the television to focus my attention on my roommate. She was older, her mostly white hair shot with a few obstinant strands of jet and the dark skin around her eyes deeply etched by years of hepassionate emotions that continued to roll over her face as she watched the television program - disgust, amusement, contempt. A faint smell of medication and cleaning chemicals wafted from her direction, along with an undertone of decay, but I was unsure how much of it was from her as an individual as opposed to the setting and furnishings. Her right hand held a mug of hospital-grade tea with lemon, and her left compulsively reached across the rough-woven blanket for the remote as another mention was made of corporate belevolence and the smell of rising bile errupted from her lips.
"I worked for that company for thirty years, you know," she said to me, catching my eyes in her direction. "Thirty years. Never once did I see a saint such as he describes walk through the door." Her eyes twinkled with merriment and she took a gulp of her tea.
Visions of her greeting customers as if they were family members, visiting co-workers in the hospital when they were sick, and her own determination to continue working even as her health failed flashed before me. Maybe they should have mounted a mirror by the entrance door. I smiled a little to encourage her to continue talking.
"They'd do well to treat their own employees to a little of the charity they shower upon the masses. Thirty years, and I'm not even sure this hospital stay will be covered by the insurance they so generously offer." The grumbling tone of her voice brought on wheezing which lead to a very wet-chested coughing fit, spilling drops of the tea on her hospital gown as she hastily set the mug asside to reach for a paper towel to mop up the phlem.
"Would you like some more tea? I have more hot water in my carafe here," I offered, but she brushed it off with a wave of her hand. Her breathing had become much more audible and painful. "At least let me call a nurse for you." To this she aquiesed with a nod of her head as another coughing fit took hold. I reached for my own tethered remote and hit the large red button, finding no need to respond when the nurse over the intercom asked if she could help me only to be drown out by the wracking coughs of my companion.
Moments later a mass of pastel-clothed people entered the room to attend to the corporate saint, bringing all kinds of acrutriments to make her breathing easier - inhaling devices, humidifying tools, oxygen, and lots of attention. They darted in and out of the room, issued commands, asked her questions that she couldn't possibly hope to answer through the hubub and paraphanalia, and generally made life more exicting and interesting than the now-ignored television. What good it was doing her, I could not tell. Finally, satisfied they had done everything medically possible, they left the room en masse with barely a look back.
I heard muffled vocalizations coming from her, unintelligible now that there was a tube in her throat but recognisable as prayers, and found myself hoping that He was listening. The dripping of her IV made a steady beat to her chanting, her lined and spotted hands clutched tight to the cross around her neck and her eyes squeezed shut in fervor speaking to the devote faith in her heart. I continued to watch as, almost imperceptibly, her hands and face relaxed and she fell into a dream. Her chest rose and fell in a spasmotic fashion, effort on the rise that took the appearance of one startled and so irregular that each time it rose again was a surprise. I'm not sure how many breaths she took as I lay watching her, or at what point I realized that the one before had been her last.
Posts
2 comments:
Wow. Okay, what can I say here, other than I loved this???
Glad you liked it - there is more that REALLY wants to be written just following this, and I was outlining today so I have a pretty clear idea of exactly how early in the novel this scene is (estimation is within the first 10 pages or so if reading from letter sized paper single spaced). One face-to-face comment I got was that the reader expected Artemis (knowing who the narrator is) to save the dying woman, but 1.) it wasn't one of "hers" to save (the woman was praying to Jesus, not Artemis, so she'd've been usurping someone else's "territory") and 2.) saving a life isn't always the most compassionate thing to do. And 3.) the next part of that scene will be the first appearance of Persephone, so having someone die explains her presense a bit more ;) Heartless, I know.
Post a Comment