Word Bank – Prompt #51

Here is my response to prompt #51 for Writing Outside the Lines.

Phone, green, twig, storm, past, light

Follow the light, they always say. But what if you don’t want to follow the light? What if you don’t want to have your past played out before you one last time? Trust me. It wasn’t that spectacular the first time through. God only knows I made some horrendous mistakes I was still beating myself up paying for, so why go through it with him again? Or maybe I’m heading down and I will finally answer for my sins. There’s a thought that wasn’t comforting.

Yet the better question was, how did I get here in the first place?

Last thing I remember was walking through the wood and hearing a twig snap. Then it was a whirlwind of crashing, yelling – me – more crashing then…nothing. There wasn’t even any pain. If I was at heaven’s, or hell’s, gate, shouldn’t there have been pain of some sort? One would think so.

The light grew brighter but I refused to acknowledge it. Nope. Not going to look at it, follow it, and I’m sure as hell not going into it. Unfortunately, all I could move was my eyelids. Everything else seemed to be frozen.

“Don’t more, Mr. Green,” a female voice soothed. “It will all be over soon.”

What will be over soon? Where the hell was I? Opening my eyes I tried to get them to focus but the light proved too bright.

“Here,” the woman said kindly.

Suddenly the light was dimmed and I could see my surroundings. Or at least the ceiling, which was white and filled with lights you might see in an operating room. I wouldn’t know for sure because I had never been in an operating room, only had seen them on T.V.

I tried to ask where I was, but it only came out a croak. Swallowing in an attempt to put some moisture into my cotton filled mouth I tried again. “Where am I?” I rasped.

“That would be hard to explain,” the woman answered hesitantly from my right.

Blinking and trying swallowing again, I said with as much command as I could put in my voice, “Try.”

There was a few moments of silence before she finally said, “Maybe it would be better just to show you.”

Show me what? Now I was really beginning to worry. As I listened to her move around the room, I suddenly could hear the sounds around me. Beeping and whirring of machinery. Faint voices whispering somewhere above me in a language I did not understand. The sounds of footsteps as people moved around what seemed like a very large room, and still I could not move. What was more confusing was I should have understood them. I was walking in the Olympic Mountains in Washington State. If I was in a hospital nearby they should speak the same language as I did.

Suddenly my limbs felt lighter.

“There,” the woman said cheerfully. “You can now move, Mr. Green. Please be careful though. You still haven’t quite recovered from the procedure.”

Procedure? I started to sit up quickly and realized what she meant. The world took a spin around me and I almost fell off the table I was laying on. Strong hands caught me and held me in place until it stopped.

“I’m good,” I murmured, nodding my head I had it. Those hands slowly let go, probably afraid I would still fall. Swinging my legs around so they dangled over the edge, I slowly righted myself. Taking a few moments to make sure I would stay in place, my hands on either side of me gripping the table, my head bowed, I finally decided opening my eyes would be all right. When I did, I wish I hadn’t.

There could have been armed men ready to shoot me, a volcano exploding, my guts hanging out I would not have noticed, because what was in front of me took all my attention and held it fast. Before me was a smooth white wall with huge picture window. Outside was darkness streaked with white lights. There was only one explanation and I did not want to believe it until I had more proof. Gingerly slipping off the table, I stumbled to the window until my hand rested on the cold surface, my eyes never leaving what I was not coming to realize was true.

I was on some sort of ship.

In space.

Copyright 2016 Heidi Barnes

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