InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "XOXO, Gossip Girl."

Samuel Jessop (newprometheus) wrote in bellumlogs,
@ 2010-01-15 22:58:00

Entry tags:

plot: memories

Who: Sam
What: Memory post
Where: P5
When: Just after the Landlord's post.
Warnings: N/A

Sam was sitting at the kitchen table with a ripped open digital camera in front of him. Tinkering with electronics often took his mind off of the piece of machinery he generally wished he was still tinkering with, and was a welcome distraction. He had a pair of goggles on for safety and magnification, and had a tiny screwdriver buried in the camera's workings, delicately pulling out a screw that was holding a microchip in place. His mind was totally in his work, absorbed to the point of forgetting everything else, which was good. That was the point, after all.

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stringthetrail
2010-01-16 05:49 am UTC (link)

You're nine years old. Everything is white, metallic and bland. If you didn't know any better, you'd say it was heaven but your mom told you it wasn't real. Maybe you're in hell. But then your head and sides start throbbing something fierce and then you remember.

You're in a hospital. There's wires and tubes and already you don't want to be here. You just want to go home. If it was still there. Through the viewing window, you can see a man in a white coat and a man in a blue uniform discussing things, occasionally glancing over at you, which you don't like. You hear big words you don't understand, like "concussion" and "fracture" and "custody."

The man in the blue uniform knocks before entering. He's an officer. "Hey kid," he starts, apparently trying to be friendly, "How are you feeling?"

You don't look at him and you don't answer, because you don't know how you feel. It's and odd vacuous space threatening to fill you up until it carries you away to somewhere else. It's what you had to become in order to just live. Thriving wasn't an option. He likens it to the feeling his arm gets when he falls asleep on it, just before the prickly sensation rushes in. There's never the latter, only the former. To the officer's question, you shrug.

You hear a sigh and look at him. "It's gonna be okay Robert, I can promise you that. Everything is going to be okay," and with that he tried to carefully pat your head. You flinch. He stops and retracts his hand. Leaving, you're alone once again. Sliding further onto your back, you opt to sleep and wait for you mom and step-dad to pick you up. Inside the empty space, you remember a song that was played so many times on the stereo that your dad liked so much. You fall asleep with Georgia on My Mind.

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newprometheus
2010-01-17 07:04 am UTC (link)

Sam had just made it into the living room when another memory hit. When he came to he was on the floor, head propped awkwardly against the edge of a discarded bottle.

He'd been young, and in the hospital. Robert? Where had he heard that name before? ...That guy from the forums, who'd been talking about music.

It was like a memory. Exactly like one, in fact. He'd been there, empty of emotion and stuck in the hospital bed, and it was immediately apparent that this was not the same person from the memory he'd seen before.

What the hell was going on?

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