Time Beats On (Full Version)

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Bustichia -> Time Beats On (5/17/2013 16:15:38)

Prologue




My cough was getting worse every day. By the time we made the decision, just breathing felt like sucking in through a straw. Even a single minor fit meant a trip to the emergency room, and neither of us could handle it more. We had different reasons, of course, but the decision itself was mutual.

For me, it was simply the pain. Each day, I lived in consistent agony. I couldn't go to school anymore, and what few friends I had rarely came to visit. I read what material I did receive, but with all the time on my hands, it was done quickly, and I found myself back in never-ending boredom. It was horrid, and I just wanted it to end.

As for my mother, I was only one child out of five. She did have my dad to help her out, but it wasn't easy. They all had their own issues which, though less dangerous than mine, were more immediate and important to each of them personally. I was sick for a long time, so I can't really blame any of them. After a while, the phrase "terminal illness" hardly means anything, and life just goes on around you.

That's when the doctor came. He said they had this thing they could do. Normally, it would be really expensive, he said, but he was willing to do it for me out of his own pocket. He never really explained why, but we didn't care. It was a chance. An extremely slim one, but a chance nonetheless. We jumped at it. He told us what to do to prepare, where to go and when, and then left. The doctor disappeared after that, and we didn't hear from him again until the day it was set to go down, three weeks later.

My mother and I, confined to a wheelchair as I was, showed up at the hospital counter fifteen minutes early. We signed in and she took a seat. Knowing this would be our last conversation, we tried to share a few last words.

"Mom, I-" I started, but she shushed me.

"I just want to say, Florence, that I-I really love you, you know? I d-don't think I've really told you that enough, or something. I don't want you to go in there scared or nervous, honey. Just... just get it done. I'll be right here when you come out. Or, I'll try to be. No, definitely."

I would've kissed her if I could get out of the chair, but as it was, the doctor came out and called my name. I rolled over to him, stealing one last glance at my mom. I don't think I'll ever forget that sight of her hunched over, hands in her face, shaking uncontrollably. Whether she was actually crying or not, I don't know, but she was certainly at the verge of tears if not. I looked away and continued through the doorway, the doctor pushing my chair now.

He led me to a pod-shaped machine, jutting out of a wall awkwardly. That was what could possibly save my life; or rather, extend it so someone could find a cure for my disease. For as important as what I was doing was, this whole event went by fairly quickly. The doctor helped me to climb into the machine and closed the lid of the pod. The last sensation I felt was the pod being lifted up into the wall, and a cold fog touching my skin, filling my lungs, weakening my eyes.

My name is Florence Middington, age 15 in the year 2013. I'm an average height brunette with average looks. I'm interested in geology. And this is my story, as much as it might seem it should end here.




Bustichia -> RE: Time Beats On (5/21/2013 23:48:40)

Chapter One: Awakening


My eyes opened swiftly and suddenly. I looked about wildly, wondering what was going on, but a thick fog clouded my vision. The last memory I had was... Oh right, I said goodbye to my mom. I was in the weird tank thing. I tried to move, but my entire body was numb. I inhaled the air around me and found it surprisingly easily. It flowed into my chest like drinking a glass of water; simple and refreshing. I took a few more deep breaths, enjoying the freedom.

The machine I was in began to lower to the ground shakily. Of course, I thought, it could be really old by now. Who knows how long I've been in here? It came to a halt and I found myself laying on my back once more, thinking I could see a figure through the fog. The lid started to open and the air was sucked out, replaced by cleaner, warmer air that made my chest feel tingly. There was a man standing above me, who I vaguely recognized as the doctor from before.

"Good morning, Florence. Haven't seen you in a while. How are you feeling?" he asked. I was still a bit confused, so I didn't even attempt to respond, unless a feeble cough counts as an answer.

"Here, you need to drink something," he said, lowering a cup with a straw into the pod. I tried to raise my arm to take the cup, but it wouldn't respond. He brought the straw to my lips and, with great effort, I managed to get my lips around it and suck. Water rushed into my mouth, alleviating the pain of a dry throat I hadn't realized existed.

"Your family is here. Do you want to go see them now, or wait a few minutes? Blink once to see them if you can't speak."

They were there? All of them? I couldn't even imagine meeting them all at once, but I desperately wanted to. Mostly, I wanted to see my mom. Before that, though, there was something I needed to ask the doctor. I exhaled heavily for several minutes until I could move my throat enough to where I thought I could speak, and then tried. I spoke, but in a thin, raspy whisper that pained me.

"How long?" I asked. The doctor looked me thoughtfully in the eyes, and I could see he was struggling between telling me now or later. It had definitely been a long time, but how long? I asked him again, this time a little louder. I started wheezing, and the doctor allowed me some more water.

"It's been... quite a while, Florence. About eight years. We had no choice, the cure for your disease was only just discovered. You were the first non-test patient to receive it."

Eight years. That truly was a very long time. Once I thought about it, I realized why I only sort of recognized the doctor, despite feeling like I'd just seen him. His hair was white and patchy, and his skin was wrinkly. The only things that remained the same were his hazel eyes and white labcoat, and even the coat was beginning to gray.

I allowed it to sink in for a little while as the doctor gave me periodic sips of water. My family would probably look completely different than I remembered them. Meanwhile, from what I felt like, I hadn't changed at all, and even if my body had aged, I hadn't had eight years for my personality to develop past a ninth-grader's. I blinked once to the doctor.

"I'm ready."




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