The Corner of Kodak and Thesis.
By. Vanya
Today I found myself on the corner of Kodak and Thesis street, stareing blankly at the people who went by. An everyday scene, one might say? Alas, it probably is, and I probably walked this very street, or stood on this very corner and waited for the bus that drives past. I probably have riden that bus, felt it's jerky, smelly, sweaty ride. But I can't remember.
My head throbes with every heartbeat within my chest. My brain bangs with a merciless , rythmic agony that I've never felt before. I don't think I have, anyway, I'm not sure of anything anymore. With the cars whizing past, the people walking past me with the speed that suggests purpose. I wish that I had a reason to go anywhere, but I don't, so I'll continue to stand here.
My problem is not them, it's me, I think. My mind is clouded to the point of no return, it hurts to think, to work on my puzzlement, but I must. The time that passes doesn't matter to me in the least. My problems don't adhear to time restrictions; it's been two days. Two days since I had a concious thought. Two days since I actually had logical control over my body and mind, but now I'm on the corner of Kodak and Thesis.
My problems began four streets back when I "woke up". There is no better way to explain the event; I woke up. Yet this wasn't waking from a sleep, oh no, I wasn't alseep. I was awake, but not concious, not in control of what I did. I moved with the strides of a dead man, staggering and stumbing to my destination, wherever that may be. It was a black out, a fainting spell. I fell asleep walked around and woke up on a sidewalk.
The sinking disorentated feeling that I carried only got worse as I approached the news vender. I bought a paper, trying not to notice the strange look he gave me as I walked past, as I most likely don't look to good, and this is where my troubles began.
The first of these troubles was the date. It read Thursday, February 26. That couldn't be right, could it? I wasn't sure then and I'm still not sure right now, but it would have to be. This paper told me that I had been out-of-it for two days. I remember Tuesday, but I honestly can't recall Wensday. The bank clock across the street told me that it was almost noon, and this made the second day away from work. As if I really cared at this point.
I sat down on a bench, it was cold and hard but it would do, and stared at the paper. The headline read:
Girl Found Slain in Grisly Chain.
It was an idotic line, I knew, but it chilled me. I, of course, had heard about this "chain" it was a string of killings through the city. I skimmed the paper quickly, not really caring for detail, just getting an idea. A girl (I didn't bother with the name) was found strangled in the park.
I got up and walked away, my mind moving with the speed it tried so desperately for. While I moved down the crowed sidewalk, the most chilling fact that I have ever faced in my life: every black out I've ever had ended when I woke up to the Chain.
When I got home, my roommate greeted me, obviously releived. He asked where I was, I said I didn't remember. He asked what I had done, I said I didn't remember. He shook his head, pointed to the rolled up paper in my fist and asked if I had read what happened. I said that I had. He shrugged and said that I should be more carful, that the girl might have ended up being me, and that he hoped I was no where near the park last night.
But something very disturbing had already hit me:
I hope I wasn't at the park lastnight too.
By. Vanya
Today I found myself on the corner of Kodak and Thesis street, stareing blankly at the people who went by. An everyday scene, one might say? Alas, it probably is, and I probably walked this very street, or stood on this very corner and waited for the bus that drives past. I probably have riden that bus, felt it's jerky, smelly, sweaty ride. But I can't remember.
My head throbes with every heartbeat within my chest. My brain bangs with a merciless , rythmic agony that I've never felt before. I don't think I have, anyway, I'm not sure of anything anymore. With the cars whizing past, the people walking past me with the speed that suggests purpose. I wish that I had a reason to go anywhere, but I don't, so I'll continue to stand here.
My problem is not them, it's me, I think. My mind is clouded to the point of no return, it hurts to think, to work on my puzzlement, but I must. The time that passes doesn't matter to me in the least. My problems don't adhear to time restrictions; it's been two days. Two days since I had a concious thought. Two days since I actually had logical control over my body and mind, but now I'm on the corner of Kodak and Thesis.
My problems began four streets back when I "woke up". There is no better way to explain the event; I woke up. Yet this wasn't waking from a sleep, oh no, I wasn't alseep. I was awake, but not concious, not in control of what I did. I moved with the strides of a dead man, staggering and stumbing to my destination, wherever that may be. It was a black out, a fainting spell. I fell asleep walked around and woke up on a sidewalk.
The sinking disorentated feeling that I carried only got worse as I approached the news vender. I bought a paper, trying not to notice the strange look he gave me as I walked past, as I most likely don't look to good, and this is where my troubles began.
The first of these troubles was the date. It read Thursday, February 26. That couldn't be right, could it? I wasn't sure then and I'm still not sure right now, but it would have to be. This paper told me that I had been out-of-it for two days. I remember Tuesday, but I honestly can't recall Wensday. The bank clock across the street told me that it was almost noon, and this made the second day away from work. As if I really cared at this point.
I sat down on a bench, it was cold and hard but it would do, and stared at the paper. The headline read:
Girl Found Slain in Grisly Chain.
It was an idotic line, I knew, but it chilled me. I, of course, had heard about this "chain" it was a string of killings through the city. I skimmed the paper quickly, not really caring for detail, just getting an idea. A girl (I didn't bother with the name) was found strangled in the park.
I got up and walked away, my mind moving with the speed it tried so desperately for. While I moved down the crowed sidewalk, the most chilling fact that I have ever faced in my life: every black out I've ever had ended when I woke up to the Chain.
When I got home, my roommate greeted me, obviously releived. He asked where I was, I said I didn't remember. He asked what I had done, I said I didn't remember. He shook his head, pointed to the rolled up paper in my fist and asked if I had read what happened. I said that I had. He shrugged and said that I should be more carful, that the girl might have ended up being me, and that he hoped I was no where near the park last night.
But something very disturbing had already hit me:
I hope I wasn't at the park lastnight too.