Losing My Marbles
John cried out towards the blue marble which teased him constantly, day in, day out, through the large window in his rotating tin-can suspended in space. His face was read and his cheeks damp from the frustrated tears cascading down them in floods. The constant buzzing of the life support machines and the computer droned on, accompanying John's thoughts which were screaming within his head.
Seven months. Seven months he had been suspended in space, trapped within the walls of his metal cell. It had been seven months since he last brushed his feet through sand or spent the early evening surfing in the crisp blue sea, on the coast of Tracy Island.
John forced the thoughts of home out of his head and made an attempt to dry his eyes on his sleeves. Holding his breath, he held back his emotions and tried to carry on observing the satellite weather forecast for the coming week. But try as he might, he could not stop more tears from streaming down his face from his eyes. They scattered themselves across the desk and the computer keyboard, reflecting the image of the earth from the large window, almost giving the illusion of a miniature universe created in water.
John slammed his fist down onto the desk, scattering the miniature universe far and wide. He pushed himself up from the chair and walked over to the large window. There he stood, for a good twenty minutes, just staring at the earth. Sure, it was beautiful, but he wasn't there. He was trapped, in his asylum in space, with no-body close enough to hear him cry out in emotional pain or neglect. He was alone and it was slowly sending him insane.
Jeff had contacted him a few months ago and had commented on John's paler-than-usual complexion and the dark circles around his eyes. But John soon falsely reassured him that he was merely feeling a little under the weather and would be okay in a few days. Lies. He was beginning to cut off the calls from his family; not answering them unless they were an emergency. Solitude was now his close friend and insanity was becoming like a new brother.
John was beginning to find himself drifting off into a world of daydream, where he would act as another personality. He would take on the role of someone else, a darker side, a hidden side and thrash about the space station. Many a time he had woken up on the floor with his fists covered in blood and found broken things scattered and thrown around.
He cried out again and slid his back down the reinforced glass window, ending up in a heap on the floor with his head buried in his knees. There was the faint beeping sound of an incoming call in the background, but John could find no strength to get up and answer it. Besides, if it was an emergency call, there would be lights flashing and a louder siren, therefore it wasn't important.
His head felt heavy on his shoulders as John crawled across the cold, metal flooring towards his bedroom. He couldn't stay where he could see the earth, he needed to be somewhere darker. Once in his bedroom he turned on a small yellow lamp in the corner, just enough to light the room in a dim glow. He then reached for a black marker pen and sat onto the floor, drawing his knees up into his chest, and began to write on the walls.
The writing on the walls was not of normal script. It was written in a harsh and pointed font with long dagger-like letters and a harsh atmosphere. All over each and every wall he wrote; insults. Each wall was covered in insults to himself; They hate me down there. That's why I'm always left up here; forgotten. I'm the outlaw... the black sheep. They hate me. I'm different. I'm like Mom. Maybe I should die too. Then they would be fine, if I died too. I'm unworthy. I'm not brave enough to be a Tracy. I can't cope in dangerous situations. Maybe I should just go. Maybe I should just die. No. That would be too easy. I need to suffer for being such a burden.
He carried on writing on the walls until early morning when his body gave up and fell asleep. On the floor he lay, cold and ill.
The morning came and John's alarm clock called out. His red eyes slowly opened and a blurred sight greeted them. After a few moments of adjusting, John stood up and made his way out towards the computer. Three emails had been received. All three were from Alan, the brother John treasured the most. All three were asking about why he would not take the call and why he hadn't been in contact. Delete.
A sudden insanity fuelled rage took ahold of John and he drove his fist through the computer screen; disabling it. The connection between Tracy Island and him had now been severed and the computer switched itself off for safety reasons. Blood ran down John's fist from where the glass had penetrated his skin and muscle. The months up in space, alone and feeling unwanted had driven John to insanity and now with the only connection to civilization lost, he was truly alone in space.
John continued smashing and breaking things in his frenzy. Desks, chairs and monitors were in pieces scattered across the space station; creating hazards and safety problems. Broken glass was deeply wedged into John's fist and arm, causing blood to cascade down them and stain his uniform. Small blotches of the crimson blood were on the floor, showing the route he had walked. There were also large smudges across the window looking out to the earth and around the door frames.
Dizziness began to take over from the loss of blood but still the mentally ill John carried on. I need to suffer for being such a burden. He pulled himself up to the window where the earth still teased him, and where there wasn't smudges of blood he began to write messages to himself, using the blood witch was still oozing from his wounds. You are unworthy. You are pathetic. You need to die. They don't need you. The earth taunts you. It has your family. They love it more than you. You are nobody.
With what little strength he had left, John crawled into the center of the room and using his penknife, which was always in his pocket, he made the cuts just a little deeper. Tossing the knife aside, he lay on the floor and cried out in pain, unable to move, unable to call for help, unable to remember who he truly was. He lay there, in pools of his own blood until darkness overtook his mind and he drifted into a deep sleep filled with pain and insults, black and grey.
Jeff impatiently waited for Thunderbird Three to lock itself to Thunderbird 5. The lack of calls and the sudden disconnection from John had reached its peak and Jeff wanted to ask what was wrong. He knew his son hated being up here for such a long period of time, but with all of the disasters happening recently, they just didn't have time time or resources to bring him down. And so the usual three-monthly shifts droned on and turned into seven. Jeff was concerned for his son's health and thought that perhaps the lack of connection with them was to show that he was giving them the cold shoulder for leaving him up there for so long. He probably just has a touch of flu.
Virgil opened the airlock and radioed down to Alan to say they had arrived. Virgil and Scott had come with Jeff, leaving Gordon and Alan on the ground with the others, incase there was another emergency call.
"He probably just has flu, Virge." Jeff said, putting his arm around his son as they awaited the airlock to open. A few moments had passed and still it hadn't budged.
"Come-on, John..." Scott laughed.
"He's always slow when he's ill." Jeff smiled. But when the minutes stretched on, Virgil grew more concerned.
"Are you sure he's alright in there?" Virgil questioned. He received a frown in response from both his father and his brother. Virgil always managed to think of the most drastic and awful situations, and they were almost never true. Almost.
It had been ten minutes since Jeff had put in the request for the airlock to be opened.
"Dad I think something's wrong..." Virgil said, looking at the controls on the airlock.
"Maybe the system is down, he'll be here in a minute."
"I don't think so, dad. The controls haven't been touched in hours." Jeff's face turned to one of concern after Virgil's last statement.
"Right." Jeff moved towards the controls and ushered Virgil and Scott out of his way. There was a 21 digit emergency code that was incorporated into every system on every one of the Machines in which they use. Jeff merely put this into the control panel, and all powers were overridden. The airlock opened.
"Why didn't you just do that in the first place?" Scott laughed, walking in first. His walking soon turned into a sudden stop when he saw the blood smudged up the walls and the door frame in the entrance area.
"Dad...I don't think you should come in here..." Virgil exclaimed, after seeing the blood too. He tried to hold his father back, but Jeff brushed passed and carried on in.
"I don't know what has gotten into you boys since-" He stopped, mid sentence. His eyes scanned the immediate area, taking in the sight of the blood and the glass, the broken objects and the sheer state of the place.
"John..." He laughed. "Halloween was last month, you could have cleaned up a bit since then." Jeff took another few steps forward, but stopped when the a crunching sound came from under his feet. He lifted his foot up and looked down. Broken glass. "Alright John, where are you? What's gone on?" There was no reply. "John?" Jeff's tone turned from playful to serious.
"It' alright Dad, maybe there's been a blow-out or something. Perhaps something went wrong. He might be in the bath or asleep..." Scott suggested.
"I don't think so. Doesn't explain the blood." Virgil said, running his fingers down the still dripping blood. "It's pretty fresh. I'd say... within the last few hours this has happened."
Each of them slowly walked out into the wrecked space station. More glass and smashed items greeted them, followed by more blood and now the insults.
"What has he been up to? Its like an asylum in here..." Scott commented, running his fingers over a statement written on the wall.
"What does it say, Scott?" Jeff asked, picking up the back of a book, which had been ripped off without care.
"I need to suffer for being such a burden." A lump appeared in Scott's throat. "John?" He called out, his voice faltering as he did so. "John? Where are you? Dad, he's gone insane!"
"Don't say such things. I'm sure there is a perfectly reasonable explanation for this. Besides, it's probably some joke an he's probably used animal blood."
"And where is he going to get animal blood from up here?" Virgil questioned. The conversation died down and the three of them continued to trudge through the masses of glass and broken object debris towards the main room, where the main computer resides.
"Hang on, Dad." Scott said, "He might be in his room." The three Tracy's were just down the corridor of where John was lying, but instead chose to search his room.
"Bloody hell..." Virgil exclaimed, "He's gone nuts!"
"Don't say such things!" Jeff snapped. His mind changed when he began to read the insults scrawled across all of the walls, in every last inch of space. "We need to find him."
"John!" Scott called out, running down the corridor, leaving his father and brother reading the insults in John's room.
Scott walked and searched through all the rooms leading up to the main one. When his eyes met the scene in there, his knees weakened. The bloody scrawling's across the window, the smashed up computer, the glass over the floor... his brother lay motionless.
"John!" He cried out, running towards his brother's body. He could find no words to say. Scott fell to the floor next to his brother and pulled him up onto his lap, where he held him in his arms and checked for a pulse. There was masses of blood on the floor and it had stained John's otherwise sleek platinum blonde hair. There was a pulse, but it was faint. "DAD!" Virgil and Scott dashed in and the scene hit them like a ton of bricks. Virgil collapsed into the floor in shock and Jeff ran over to the aid of his son.
"John..." He muttered, also falling to his knees. He stroked his son's hair and a tear escaped the corner of his eye.
"He's alive, dad." Scott muttered, moving his fathers hand so he could feel the light pulse in John's neck.
"We need to get him home."