When Jacob awoke to the sound of thunder he didn’t feel quite right. A haze, like the clouds outside his window, dark and advancing, had taken over his current mental state. The smell of liquor overtook his nostrils and the sudden urge to vomit uncontrollably crashed its way into his mind. “I need to get up,” he thought, but that was much harder to do than he had expected. It took a few minutes before Jacob could even make a solid attempt, but a weight was holding him down that he couldn’t quite understand. As he was finally starting to rise a faint whimper surprised him and caused him to fall back. “There is someone else in bed with me,” he realized. In the bed with him was a woman that he didn’t quite recognize, other than a vague familiarity. When he realized he didn’t know the woman, he also realized he didn’t know what bed, or even what room he was in.
This came as a massive shock to Jacob because first of all, he couldn’t remember a thing about the night before, but also because this was not the type of thing he would do. Vague memories from the day before came creeping back: He had gotten out of work early and met some friends after work for drinks. “Had I really drank that much? Would they really have let me stay out all night?”
“Jake what’s wrong?” The woman beside him asked, snapping him back to reality.
No body calls me Jake, he thought.
“Uhm, I think I have to get to work,” he said, not really sure of what day it was, or if he even had to work.
“It’s Friday honey, you never work Fridays.”
She knows my schedule? Honey?
“Oh, uh, right.”
Jake knew he had to get out of there quickly as possible, if only for some time to be alone and figure out what was going on.
“How much did I drink?” he asked.
“Huh? Honey you were in by 9 last night.”
Jacob scanned the room for any clues as to where he was, or who he was with. The room itself had a vague familiarity about it also, but not enough for him to realize what it was. He scanned the bed, the woman next to him, and finally himself. It came as a shock when Jacob realized not only were these not his clothes, but also, this was not his body. Jacob sprang out of bed, ignoring the sickness that was overtaking him, and ran out of the room. He, for reasons unknown to him, knew exactly where the bathroom was. The door was shut and he nearly broke it off the hinges slamming through. One quick look into the mirror nearly dropped Jacob on his back. He knew who he was. He knew this face. He was his father.
May 23rd, 2008
This is a story about a man who was stuck in a sewer. He fell in this sewer because of an unmarked manhole, a common problem in the town he lives in, and a ringing cell phone. This problem has expanded exponentially because of the simple fact that upon landing in the sewer the man broke both of his legs. The impact, about a 20-foot fall, also knocked him unconscious for according to the clock on his watch, roughly 3 hours. The man is even lucky to be alive. Unfortunately, the man is unlucky because in that time that he was out, the good hard working boys in the sewer division noticed the ever common unmarked man hole, and promptly covered it up, rendering any shouts or screams for help useless.
Two days later the man was still in the sewer. His cell phone was gone, along with a lot of his energy that was spent crawling along the sewer floor in search of it. It must have fallen in the water, he thought. The pain in his legs had gone from a screaming blinding pain to a dull ache to now a numbness that was slowly spreading throughout his lower body. He knew if he didn’t act soon this sewer would soon become his grave, with the filth on the floor being his coffin. This was not a fate worthy of a man of his stature.
Three days before his fall had been one of the greatest days of his life. The contracts had finally come through at the office, and because of this, he was receiving the biggest promotion of his life. This meant he could finally afford to build the house that him and his wife had always wanted. Nothing extravagant. No. Just a nice 3-bedroom ranch out in the outskirts of town where they could raise their children when they decided it was time. Yes, everything was coming together finally. But now he was lost in a sea of darkness and the waste of everything in the world above him.
But now was the time for action. He knew that there was a small steel ladder embedded in the wall beneath the hole he fell through. If he could manage to pull himself up the ladder, using only his hands, maybe he could push off the lid and at least shout for help.
Finding the ladder was not as easy as he thought. The fall, and the extreme amount of time spent in one position, had not only disoriented him but also locked his body into one tight muscle cramp. It took nearly 2 hours for the man to locate the bottom rung of the ladder. Another two hours was needed to rest and gain strength for what would be an extremely excruciatingly painful climb. The man was, when fully rested, a decently strong person. But now, here in this sewer, the sheer thought of supporting his entire weight up a 20 foot ladder was almost mind numbingly painful. What other options do I have, he thought. And so the climb began.
The first few rungs were pretty simple. In fact, he was able to pull himself all the way to where he was essentially standing with his feet flat on the ground and his arms crossed leaning on the fifth rung. This was only the beginning. Unable to move his legs he had to pull his whole body up each rung, supporting himself on his arms at each run to regain his strength. With each pull the pain in his legs would return, sending a shockwave of shock throughout his whole body. Coupled with the increasing decay of strength in his arms the man was afraid he would never make it out.
The man was about halfway up the ladder when it happened. Water dripping from the street above had dripped down onto a few rungs of the ladder. When the man pulled himself with all his energy to this rung, his hand slipped off and he fell backwards. When his body smashed into the concrete below he practically bounced into the rushing sewer water alongside the platform he had been lying on. With his broken legs and what appeared to be a broken spine from the fall the man lasted nearly 3 minutes before he took in to much water.
May 24th, 2008
Tim McThompson rode the bus to school everyday. Every morning he would be at his personal bus stop (his mother had argued with the school board that the other stops were too far away) at promptly 7:45, and every day he would be dropped off at exactly 3:14. It was like this every day, and he liked it. Fourth grade was tough, let alone worrying about busses. They were but a simple standard in his every day life. The yellow bus with the rows of windows and the number 15 on the side was a bit of a safe haven for Tim. His front seat was always there, his bus driver, Pat, was always there.
Pat was a simple lady who drove the bus for some spare cash, she had worked all her life as a school teacher, only to now retire and drive the bus in order to still spend some time with the kids.
Unfortunately for Tim, today Pat was sick. She was going to miss her very first day driving the bus, ever.
As soon as the bus pulled up, 5 minutes late, Tim knew something was wrong. Perhaps it was the way the bus was driving much faster than usual, or maybe just the fact that it came to a screeching halt in front of him. When he stepped inside instead of being greeted with Pat’s standard “Good Morning Tim!” he was greeted with what sounded like a grunt mixed with a snort blended with a hint of a snarl.
“Who are you?” questioned poor little Tim.
“Names Jackson, now take your seat.”
“You’re late.”
“Sit down kid.”
“Where’s Pat? I like Pat.”
“Pat’s sick”
“Pat’s never late.”
With this Jackson pulled extra hard on the lever that shuts the door; slamming it behind Tim. Tim stepped cautiously up the rest of the stairs and wouldn’t you know it but his seat was taken. Not by anybody, but by a large duffel bag of which appeared to be owned by Jackson.
“Today is going to be a bad day,” thought Tim, as he took another seat.
May 25th, 2008
Everybody loves a good thunder storm. The sound of the thunder, the rush of seeing a lightning bolt scream across the sky, the soft breeze that fights its way through the rain or the gust of wind that nearly knocks you off your feet, and even the sense of refreshment as you are soaked in the downpour. Everyone loves a good thunderstorm. That is, everyone loves a good thunderstorm when they are in a safe place to take the storm. There are several occasions when a thunderstorm is one of the last things you want, such as in a small raft out at sea, a wedding celebration scheduled at the local park, or in my situation: driving my car late at night on the highway.
I have this condition in my eyes that hinders both my ability to pick up light and my peripherals. In other words, I’m essentially night blind. Now typical night driving is not to bad, I may not be the best, but I can manage. Unfortunately, when it rains it can really cause a problem.
I have had a job that works me Thursday-Sunday all night for roughly 9 months now. In these nine months I have somehow never gotten off while a major storm is happening. They certainly have happened while I’m at work, but it has always blown over by time I left.
Today was different though.
A massive storm cell had blown in from the west, and me, anxious to get home after a very long shift, decided that I could make it. It’s really only 7 miles. Unfortunately, I was completely wrong.
The highway wasn’t that bad at first. I was able to make it about halfway, going slow in the right lane, before everything went down the drain. The rainstorm quickly converted itself into a violent lightning and thunder storm with lightning striking nearly every two seconds. Later on the news I would see a map showing every place in the area that had cloud to ground lightning strikes and confirm my belief that I really was right in the middle of a pure lightning explosion.
Roughly 2 miles from my exit something happened that would force me to pull off the highway and spend 20 minutes overcoming what was pretty much a panic attack. I was still going out about 40 miles in the right lane when naturally, a semi truck pulling a very large trailer decided to fly right beside me. The sheer force of the semi pulled my car over until I was roughly 2 inches from scrapping the left side of my car across the under belly of the trailer. With this I swerved to the right, nearly hitting the right wall, and took the very first exit I could find.
I then proceeded to pretty much drive blindly into a neighborhood, park my car, and call a friend, who graciously was able to pick me up.
My car now sits stranded in some neighborhood, while I sit, not able to calm myself, writing this story.
May 26th, 2008
Today a small Indian boy stared at me through the window I was washing. He was amused by the spray from my cleaner bottle dripping down the window and would try to touch it. The confusion in his eyes when he couldn’t, not understanding that it was on the other side, was easy to see. I drew in a deep breath and let it out on the window in front of him; making a large circle on the window. I then drew two eyes and a smile. He laughed and smiled back at me. His face matching almost directly with the face I had drawn on the window. I heard my boss yell my name so I smiled back at the boy, washed off the smile, and went back to work.
No comments:
Post a Comment