Ali v Reffy

[James]

Topic: Tragedy - Third Person Limited
Deadline: 11:59pm - 22/01/2011

[Jenny (Reffy)]

Soft morning light filtered into the small, and clinically clean, hospital room; clustered around the bed stood a woman, with a small boy grasping her hand, and the doctor. The woman sobbed as the doctor’s monotonous voice droned on without any feeling, while the little boy watched with a confused expression plastered across his face. The doctor was trying to sound like he cared and had sympathy for the family but he was not succeeding.

“We were lucky to save him, really,” Doctor Schwitz’s hands fidgeted on the clipboard containing notes, flipping pages back and forth like he was actually reading from them. Nobody moved and the lady did not ask any questions, so he continued in the same way. “He lost both arms and legs and most of his face. We believe he has some sort of control left. His hearing is still one-hundred percent and, although his mouth is not able to produce any sound or chew, he can still drink liquids. There’s no traceable brain damage either.” His voice trailed off. Mr Turner might as well have been a vegetable. He would never be able to communicate again or physically look after himself.

Underneath the crisp white sheets Henry Turner’s chest rose and fell quickly with frustration at listening to the doctor’s report again. He’d heard it all before but each time it some how got worse. Each word was a sharp needle that pushed its way through another cell. The list of afflictions seemed to get longer every time he’d heard it, which was plenty of times. The students at the hospital had taken particular interest in the slab of meat that used to be his body. He couldn’t even protest to the intrusions. The morphine helped a lot, which was currently on a timed drip. His pale blue eyes stared out between the bandaging on his face and towards the ceiling, unable to pick out much more than a few shapes and changes between light and dark. His thoughts, however, were sharper than ever and he wished they weren’t!

The day the disaster happened had been like any other ordinary day ... or as ordinary as life could be in a combat zone. He was with Lucky Timmy, surveying a stopping location for the troops. They’d been in Iraq together for ages and were talking shit, as usual. The topic was about his wife, who he’d had to leave behind, and how Timmy always fancied a broad like that; which Henry had taken as a compliment. Victoria had been a good catch, especially with that tight and fit body and curvaceous hips. They’d been dating since high-school and eventually got married, after many hints from both sets of parents. What made the union even better was their friendship and the many nights they could stay awake for hours talking about anything or philosophising about the world’s current dilemmas.

Henry had taken his attention off the present to think about her when he’d tripped the landmine. It was an old one, left there from years of conflict, waiting to take somebody’s life. It just happened to be Henry who stepped on it and not the civilians who’d passed through here countless times before. That fact alone had left such cold hatred in Henry and one he could not douse. The pin flew out of the ground, kicking up the dust from the sand, as everything became a blistering white pain. He’d been conscious long enough to feel the pieces of shrapnel tearing into his thigh, as his hands moved to try and shield himself. His voice had sounded alien when he screamed out in terror. He could only liken it to something crossed between a stuck pig and a puppy that just got run over. The pain was something he would never forget either. It was like metallic fish that could only swim inside human flesh, to curl around the bones, and severe the tendons and veins. Then the hungry fire bellowed forth and the immense and blistering heat. By now the pain had become part of the background image to Henry. It was unusual how he remembered the feeling of his hair burning up and twisting as the heat licked it.

“Will he ever be allowed out of hospital?” Victoria, his wife. He knew her voice anywhere, although the pain of hearing it cracking was heartbreaking. Henry knew he never should have left to fight the war but it had seemed like a good idea at the time. Some of his friends done it and had preached about doing so. They’d spouted on about his duty to his country...

The doctor replied with the same dull tone. Henry would have snarled at it or forced it out of his attention and ears but he couldn’t, as much as he tried. “Yes, but he’ll need full time care. You’ll need to find some help. I’ll give you a few contact numbers.”

“I- I’m sorry. I can’t,” Victoria coughed against any tears as the situation and the dire reality began to overwhelm her. Henry could imagine her quivering in the corner as the floods of tears began to pour out of her dark brown eyes and fall down her cheeks, towards her softy curved lips. He wished, more than once, that he could sit up and tell her how much he really did love her and that he was sorry. Instead all he could manage was nothing but rapid blinking. Even his tear ducts refused to work, much to his further increased frustration.

“It is understandable. It’ll take a while. I’ll ask the counsellor to have a talk with you before you leave.” The doctor mumbled. Henry couldn’t stop the vile thought as it crawled across his mind: for a doctor you really are useless! He could have and should have at least comforted her in some way or made the impact softer ... anything!

“Thank you ... can I just ... I’ll be outside. Come on Jeremy.” Her normally smooth voice was high-pitched and pinched. Her voice was the only thing Henry could really go on, since she hadn’t even been close enough to lay a small and fragile hand on his chest. She hadn’t even been close enough to darken his limited vision, which had been painful enough. It was like she was scared to approach him, and he could just see her hugging the wall to try and avoid the situation. In vain he tried to remember the summers they had spent together, where she ran her fingers and nails through his chest-hair. He wanted to just feel her hand, her contact, especially after so long, was almost enough to drive him crazy. Things, he knew, would never be the same.

“But I wanna see Daddy ...”

Jeremy’s voice squealed out but it was cut off by Victoria. She was obviously unsure on how to deal with this as well. Henry couldn’t help but emphasis. He didn’t know what to do either, since he couldn’t do anything, but wanted to help somehow. Jeremy was his kid as well. The child he would never get to see grow up, or bring home a first date, or practice rugby with. It wasn’t fair ... but then it was his own damned fault he had ended up in this situation, he knew that all too well. “Daddy’s busy. Later. We’ll come back later. Let’s go outside now. You can play with the Lego.” She spoke quickly and through the cracks in her voice. Nobody else spoke up or tried to stop her.

Henry heard the door swing open and their footsteps as they moved away. The beginnings of a headache started to crawl over his forehead and crunch slightly while his thoughts fought to be heard. Yes, he really wished that he had been left brain-dead. His body just a slab of meat with a ticking brain. It would have been better off it the landmine had just killed him outright, the same thought whirled again, like it had never ceased doing so since he’d arrived at the hospital. At least being brain-dead he would not suffer with these feelings any more: the hurt, pain, desperation, despair, depression, and frustration. If he had fists they would have been slammed against the wall. If he had legs he would have gone after her. If he had arms they would have been wrapped around Victoria’s waist while she cried into his shoulder. If he could speak he would have uttered repeatedly that he loved her ... but he couldn’t. All that happened was blinking and perhaps a little spasm in the nubs he had left for arms and legs.

Voices in the hallway pulled Henry’s attention back from the growing thunderous thoughts. Half a second later the door swung open again and a much more confident pair of feet walked in. Not the slight clicking sound of his wife’s shoes, or Jeremy’s squeaky rubber-soled shoes, but those of something more substantial. The door clicked closed.

The doctor was quick off the draw. “Family only at this time.”

“I practically am family, Sir.” Henry would have known that voice from anywhere, with its rusty grating sound. It was Lucky Timmy. He heard the snap of a wallet, probably Timmy’s formal ID, and the silence that prevailed for a moment as it was checked. “Can I see the notes?”

The doctor handed the clipboard over and Timmy took a good read of it while he hummed. The hum hurt more than the diagnostic from the doctor. Timmy knew a fair bit about doctoring, having come from a family of professionally trained doctors. The footsteps moved closer to the bed. Henry noted the change in the light as he stared straight up at the ceiling. Timmy, he discerned, must have been standing directly next to his head. He tried blinking a few times; the only thing he could do to communicate. If anybody could understand him it would be Timmy. The very least he could try Morse code. It was something they’d learnt in the Scouts. It had seemed stupid at the time but maybe it would work. They’d used it before a few times to relay messages in high-school and at least once in Iraq. If it did work, Henry knew he could probably get a message to Vicky.

“Henry. I’m sorry, buddy. I wish ... There’s so much I could say but it won’t make things better for you or make you feel great either.” Timmy had obviously finished reading the notes. His attempt at an apology would have made Henry laugh during a better time of his life. Now it had little effect. What could anybody say to make the shit situation any better? “No brain damage, you say?” Timmy’s voice betrayed his suspicion.

“None. The scans we have run show a perfectly functioning brain ... why do you ask?” The doctor sounded unsure this time. Henry heard the doctor’s feet dragging, like he didn’t want to come closer. In a vaguely disconnected way he wondered if it must have been difficult for the him; to look after a patient that would never get any better. Didn’t doctors want to heal people and see them walk away? Henry felt a lurch in his stomach as the want to cry rose from inside again but his body didn’t respond in kind.

“So why the blinking?”

Henry paused in his efforts, shocked it had worked. With fierce determination he continued blinking. This time he beat out the code they’d learnt so well it had become part of his soul. He felt sick to his stomach and the energy the blinking sapped from him was ridiculous but he pushed on.

Short-dot, short-dot, short-dot. Long-dash, long-dash, long-dash. Short-dot, short-dot, short-dot.
S.O.S: Save our souls.

“No idea.” The doctor placed a hand on Henry’s face and waved a light in his eyes but he did not stop with the code. Henry noted the brighter patch of light pass before his eyes, making it difficult to keep going. The muscles around his face tried to move as they would have done when he grated his teeth together, but his teeth were gone, along with most of his jaw. Just the remaining tendons twanged.

“No. Doc. Stop the light. Stop.” Timmy must have either hauled the doctor away or the twit had followed the instructions because Henry noticed the light changes had stopped.

“Why?”

“It’s not brain-damage. Like you said, he’s functioning, right? No. It’s code.” Timmy tapped out the code on the metal framework of the bed, obviously remembering it from the old days. “S. O. S. Save our souls? Dude. Henry. I ...”

Henry knew Timmy wouldn’t know what to say. Just exactly what did you say to an urgent call out for help? He couldn’t help but sarcastically think ”Message received: sending functioning body!” Once he knew that Timmy was getting the message he changed the sequence to something new. This blinking pattern was different and exceedingly painful. Henry decided to keep it short. There was so much he wanted to say to Vicky but he could only do so much.

“The blinking changed. W. I. F. E ...” the process was slow and tedious for Timmy but he had become absorbed in trying to figure out the message. “L. O. V. E.”

The doctor remained silent, although he had begun to write down the letters on the page of notes so they could keep track. Timmy did all the talking, like he had done for so many years of their friendship. “You want me to tell Vicky you love her, still. Right?”

Henry blinked once for yes and Timmy understood. “I can do that for you champ. I think she knows it, you know? She’s out there in the hallway sobbing her eyes out, although I don’t think that’ll make you feel any better. We’ll make sure the kid gets raised the right way, don’t you worry about that. Vicky’ll get all the support in the world from us!” Timmy sounded almost ecstatic at being able to decipher the message and talk to his old friend again.

It didn’t make things feel any better for Henry but knowing she would be looked after did provide an element of peace. Once he got the message across the emotions came tumbling back. Exhaustion was snapping at the back of his mind. He wanted to fall asleep. No, more than that, he never wanted to wake up again. He wanted to die, he realised as his mind wandered. He wanted to die just like in all those old black and white movies, where the loved one just passed on peacefully in their sleep. He knew, however, that death was probably a long way away and the longer it took the more strain he would place on his family, his wife. It was better for him to die, at least with some dignity left.

He wished he could say it wasn’t the best option, like most suicides were, or a stupid decision, or perhaps a permanent solution for a temporary problem but that wasn’t the case. It was the best option for everybody concerned.

Besides, his thoughts continued quicker than before, just exactly what did he have to look forward to? To hear about his son growing up and never be able to hug him? To hear about Victoria’s struggle caring for him and the heart-break? Henry knew that she would eventually find another man. It was bound to happen and she was still young. It would be too much to shoulder. The emotion and frustration was already enough and to the point of boiling.

Before Timmy could leave to deliver the message to Victoria he started blinking out a new message. This one was more urgent and desperate and he knew he was making mistakes or not giving the code enough space between the letters.

Timmy picked it up immediately. “P. L. S.”

Henry paused. It was weird hearing it be spoken out loud. Humans were never built to admit this sort of thing. It went against everything that was natural and programmed inside. The tendons in his mouth twitched again as he struggled to finish the sentence. This was, he knew, his only chance. Timmy would listen and understand. Henry’s thoughts roared out: he had to understand!

“K. I. L. L. M. E.”

[Meleta/Isoldaa]

Reffy

4/5 Spelling & Grammar
4/5 Ease of Read
8/10 Use of Topic
10/15 Entertainment
11/15 Quality
Total: 37/50

The story itself is tragic (in the modern sense, of course - but this genre was left deliberately wide open to all schools of tragedy, to be interpreted as the writers chose.) I could find very, very little wrong in the way of grammar or spelling, which certainly made the 'ease of read' portion flow smoothly.

The one thing I simply could not get by, was the fact that from the first few paragraphs on, I knew exactly how this was going to end. The similarities to the 1938 book "Johnny Got His Gun" (popularized in the 1971 movie of the same title, and then in clips of that same movie in the Metallica video "One"), were far too close for me to just sit back and enjoy this piece as a wholly original work by you. Some of the main characters and the war differed, of course, but not enough for me to shut out what I already knew.

This was a solidly written piece, Ref, without a doubt. But sitting here as a judge, I can honestly say I would have preferred to see something entirely your own.

[Mena]

Reffy

4/5 Spelling & Grammar
4/5 Ease of Read
8/10 Use of Topic
12/15 Entertainment
12/15 Quality
Total: 40/50


Very tragic indeed but I felt the story lacked something. I think it needed more.. -emotion-. And then there's the morbid side of me that wonders if his friend helped him.. die? A good piece nonetheless, but I have to say I liked your last entry better than this one.

[Dylaria]

Reffy


Spelling & Grammar - 4/5
Ease of Read - 5/5
Use of Topic - 7/10
Entertainment - 11/15
Quality - 12/15
Total - 40/50

Notes:

I dunno Reffy. I mean there were a couple errors but in the technical aspects this was very solid. I just didn't find that this piece had a whole ton going for it beyond that point. Let me try to explain.

The situation was tragic but I felt that the tragedy had happened before the story and I was just seeing the aftermath. I read what happened but it kinda felt like it was just an explanation. Beyond that it was pretty easy to predict the track it was going down. I mean as soon as I read that he had no brain damage I knew he'd want to die. I know that's what I would want.

Beyond that we never find out what the reaction to the request is. Not to mention that the doctor doesn't seem that intelligent. I mean I know doctors deserve some cynicism but he seemed incompetent as much as cold to me.

To be honest, I've read and seen enough war stories that this didn't phase me. I didn't feel as much connection as I thought I should.

It was a good attempt Reffy but I can tell that this isn't your genre. No offense meant by any of this but it does show.

[James]

Reffy (117) beats Ali (0)

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