Wednesday, 2 November 2011

Tick Tock.

The book is still opened. My day has began.
Heels are clacking and scraping on the floor. Whispered voices talk of an evening spent with family and friends. Asking if I slept well.
Water running, packages being opened, breakfast is here. My nutritional needs administered.
And the clock  tick, tocks.

I hear a familiar and beloved voice telling  me stories of dreams long forgotten and promising a future of rainbows.
The sweet smell of roses in full bloom permeates my nostrils. Children's voices, high pitched but welcome. Kisses are rained on my face and a tear trickles as if by osmosis down my cheek.  I reach out to touch these darling people who are part of me, but nothing happens. I tell them how much they are loved,  they don't hear.
And the clock tick, tocks.

Silence? There is no silence here. Rain drip dropping, falls noisily upon the window pane and the wind whisles through cracks
I hear the fluttering and buzzing of insect wings, a bluebottle I imagine looking for a means of escape.
He thought this was his sanctuary from the storm, it is now his prison.
There is a noisy fan somewhere, it purrs and clicks all through the night.
 And the clock tick tocks.

Telephones ring, answered by quiet voices that try not to disturb.
Thoughts, Thoughts of yesterdays, of love, of laughter. I yearn for what I may never have again.
And the clock tick tocks.

The whirring and clicking of life giving machines never stop, like me, they go on and on.
A  squeaking door, soft footsteps, water running, the opening of packages, breakfast is here.
And as the clock tick tocks I think of the book, the book of me, not finished yet,
not until the clock stops.

                                             ANNE X

7 comments:

  1. What a wonderfully atmospheric snapshot in time.

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  2. This reflection of a morning is beautifully written but it makes me feel sad for you. I hope you're keeping well.

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  3. Talli,thank you once again for your kind comments.

    Rosalind, thanks for reading and for your comments.I am well, the story is not about me it's about someone in hospital who in a coma.I took all the sounds from my stays in hospital and I had experience of my aunt being in a coma for a number of weeks. My hubby said he "didn't get" the story so he might be right.I've not tried to write in the third person yet maybe I should try.So don't feel sad for me I'm fine x

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  4. That's a relief. As an interesting exercise and just for my own interest I sometimes take a piece of writing and turn it from 1st person into 3rd person. It's fascinating how the emphases change.

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  5. Anne - Very nicely captured for that moment in time! I can picture the room and hear the sounds.

    btw - I Memed you on my blog! Stop by and check it out when you have a chance. Hugs, Maeve

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  6. Anne this is a great piece.

    I, personally, understood it to be fiction immediately and I found it really poignant. I also understood your narrator to be in hospital requiring 24 hour care. Just so you know. :o)

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  7. Thanks Rebecca it was so nice of you to tell me that, I'm so glad you "got it" you've made me smile! I'm just trying some new things. Never written fiction before.

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