Post by Jack Carrington on Jun 21, 2013 5:33:00 GMT
Take me with you
Sometimes i FEEL THAT IT'S OUR DESTINY TO FALL - GET DRIED AND HUNG UPON A GALLERY WALL, HOLDING ON BY JUST A THREAD TO OUR HEARTS.
Saturday, June 30th.
2:56 p.m.
Midtown, Manhattan.
The rain came in a downpour. The forecast had predicted it most of the week, and the following week wasn’t looking much brighter. Boston witnessed rainy seasons nearly year-round, making this a custom event for Mr. Carrington. Vigilant not to get in the path of enraged sidewalk regulars, Jack ducked into the nearest shop just around the corner, cell phone glued to his ear. It had been a busy day; urgent to make it home in one piece, Jack had made several failed attempts to contact his typical driver. Flustered, he pocketed his phone, defeated and spent. Jack leaned himself against the wall adjacent to the revolving entrance, closing his eyes and taking in the sound of the thunder just outside. It was peaceful, as it could almost - just almost - drown out the sharp passing of traffic and the wail of a bus horn somewhere off in this distance.
Jack imagined himself tucked away in his bed for the night, watching the rain from his penthouse window. It all seemed so distant; Jack was so weary that he couldn’t possibly imagine any means of transportation that would get him to the hotel in time before he passed out entirely. There was one thing for certain; Jack could not brave this weather to make it to the subway. In fact, he was positive that there was likely not a citizen in New York there that could, or should. The rain was blinding. Finally forcing his eyes open, Jack noticed the woman at the counter eying him, and he flashed her a gentle smile in return. She was lucky, dry and awake. All the same - even soaked and exhausted - Jack was still a rather lucky man. Jack was still breathing a bit heavily from his run, and trembling a bit from the chill of the air conditioning against his drenched suit. The only - closest - option that Jack had left was the city bus.
The thought was...slightly daunting.
Not that Jack was too pampered, not that he refused to travel by the crowded bus. It was the idea of the number of people watching him, eyeing his suit and tie, questioning his motive for taking the bus. Jack preferred to travel alone, avoiding the task of taking in so many people all at once. The consideration of all this had Jack trembling a bit more; but again, it was his only option. As if right on cue, Jack heard the familiar sound of bus wheels against the flooded pavement. Jack seized the opportunity without hesitation, hurrying himself out the door; outside, he threw his head around wildly until he caught sight of the bus making a stop at the corner a ways down. Thunder clapped once more as Jack raised his hand, calling out to the bus and the citizens boarding. Hopefully, they might relay the message. In New York, that was unlikely.
Black dress shoes hitting hard against the soaked sidewalk, Jack made a run for it as quickly as possible. He looked slightly ridiculous; it was a rare sight to see a business man making a mad dash for the city bus. In fact, Jack wasn’t even sure that bus was heading in the direction he needed to go, but it had to be closer to the hotel than where he was. It looked to be heading the right way, anyway. “Wait! Please - stop!” Jack cried out over the rain. His hair was plastered to his head, suit not quite as dapper as it had been. By the time Jack caught up with the vehicle and boarded, he was dripping from head to toe. The bus was crowded beyond imagination, male and females packed in like sardines. Many sat, avoiding shoving their faces into the backs of the person standing in front of them - a bit too close for comfort - holding onto the metal rail.
Jack swallowed, breathing quickly. His eyes shifted from left to right, catching sight of a large, disgruntled black man who didn’t seem to like the sight of Jack. So he looked away, hesitantly taking hold of a vacant rail.
The bus closed its doors and moved on. Jack was careful not to eye anyone in particular. Rather, he glanced down at the floor, taking note of the puddle he had made below his feet. An elderly woman poked him on the ankle with her cain; he glanced to his right. She wore a smug look, but her eyes were kind. A small broach was pinned to her chest, a dazzling cross. When she spoke, it broke the silence of the moving bus. ‘Sonny, your shoe is untied.’ Jack smiled - and truly smiled as something warm settled within him. The woman had brought him an ounce of joy for the day, and she had only made a small comment about his shoelace. Nodding, Jack replied sincerely. “Thank you.” He knelt down to tie his shoe.
As though some force had shoved him from behind, Jack was thrown forward. There was a sharp pain near the top of his skull. Scrambling frantically, Jack attempted to hold onto something as he slid around for a moment. Though his mouth fell open, he could not make a sound - or perhaps it was that his own sounds were lost in the mass of screams and cries. Something heavily collapsed near the rear of the bus, causing it to jolt around several times. There was the sound of shattering glass, pain across nearly every inch of his body, a heavy weight atop him and a numbness in his leg. Then the electricity was cut, or so he assumed. For a moment, everything was silent.
It took Jack a moment. His head was rested against the bus floor, though he dangled partially off the steps leading off the bus. His eyes were open, but his vision blurred. Shaking, Jack reached out for something - nothing - in hopes that his hands worked. Something knotted painfully in Jack’s throat. Was it a cry? He wasn’t sure; he only knew that he was partially immobile. With all his effort, Jack lifted his head away from the shattered glass beneath him - away from the pool of blood - to take in what he could. There was only a mass of bodies, men and women thrown around. One man fled the bus, hobbling, but the rest of the group was entirely motionless. Jack emitted a sob, taking in the horrific scene. He had been involved in a bus accident, clearly a fatal one.
Was Jack dead? Was he experiencing this externally? No, he couldn’t be. His heart pounded wildly, fearfully, though grateful that he was alive. Not well, but alive. Could this, though, be his last moment? Taking in a sea of the injured, of the deceased? Jack allowed his head to collapse to the floor once more, his eyes taking in everything near him. At the sight of a hardly identifiable body, Jack felt nauseous. At the sight of the dazzling cross pinned to the severed body, Jack turned away and shut his eyes. In that moment, he was a young boy again. Frightened of the dark and what it contained.
Somewhere, Jack heard a gentle whimper. The cry of a woman. Not looking at anything in particular, Jack again opened his eyes. The cry was muffled, as though the woman were drowning, or covered. It was a painful, pitiful sound - something inside Jack swelled and felt that pain, too. Carefully, Jack lifted his head. A hand was gripping the metal rail, attempting to hold something for dear life. All at once, Jack felt a need to go to the victim, to cry out. Though the pain shot across his body - through his arm, moving up into what felt like a shattered ribcage - Jack maneuvered himself into a crawling position on his elbows, where he kept his eyes locked on the survivor's hands. There was a small break in the bodies - as though most people had been tossed to the right side of the bus. The woman had managed to stay to the left somehow, enabling Jack to slowly make his way to her. He grunted in agony against the pain in his ribcage, his leg and head. Something in his wrist felt fractured, but not broken. By the time he had reached the woman, he glanced her over. She was unidentifiable, plastered in blood and taken by the shards of glass. Something came from her, what it was, Jack couldn’t tell.
“I’m here,” Jack whispered. That’s all he could say. This silenced her for a moment, enough for Jack to notice her breathing. She was still alive, and she still had a chance - they still had a chance. If he and this woman were the only survivors on the bus, they would make it together. If she were to die, she could die comfortably. Lifting himself up by the metal hand rail, Jack cried out in suffering before collapsing against the surface behind him. With the arm that wasn’t inflicted, Jack could move the woman towards him, placing her head in his lap. Something within him was determined to keep this woman alive; neither of them would have to be alone.
2:56 p.m.
Midtown, Manhattan.
The rain came in a downpour. The forecast had predicted it most of the week, and the following week wasn’t looking much brighter. Boston witnessed rainy seasons nearly year-round, making this a custom event for Mr. Carrington. Vigilant not to get in the path of enraged sidewalk regulars, Jack ducked into the nearest shop just around the corner, cell phone glued to his ear. It had been a busy day; urgent to make it home in one piece, Jack had made several failed attempts to contact his typical driver. Flustered, he pocketed his phone, defeated and spent. Jack leaned himself against the wall adjacent to the revolving entrance, closing his eyes and taking in the sound of the thunder just outside. It was peaceful, as it could almost - just almost - drown out the sharp passing of traffic and the wail of a bus horn somewhere off in this distance.
Jack imagined himself tucked away in his bed for the night, watching the rain from his penthouse window. It all seemed so distant; Jack was so weary that he couldn’t possibly imagine any means of transportation that would get him to the hotel in time before he passed out entirely. There was one thing for certain; Jack could not brave this weather to make it to the subway. In fact, he was positive that there was likely not a citizen in New York there that could, or should. The rain was blinding. Finally forcing his eyes open, Jack noticed the woman at the counter eying him, and he flashed her a gentle smile in return. She was lucky, dry and awake. All the same - even soaked and exhausted - Jack was still a rather lucky man. Jack was still breathing a bit heavily from his run, and trembling a bit from the chill of the air conditioning against his drenched suit. The only - closest - option that Jack had left was the city bus.
The thought was...slightly daunting.
Not that Jack was too pampered, not that he refused to travel by the crowded bus. It was the idea of the number of people watching him, eyeing his suit and tie, questioning his motive for taking the bus. Jack preferred to travel alone, avoiding the task of taking in so many people all at once. The consideration of all this had Jack trembling a bit more; but again, it was his only option. As if right on cue, Jack heard the familiar sound of bus wheels against the flooded pavement. Jack seized the opportunity without hesitation, hurrying himself out the door; outside, he threw his head around wildly until he caught sight of the bus making a stop at the corner a ways down. Thunder clapped once more as Jack raised his hand, calling out to the bus and the citizens boarding. Hopefully, they might relay the message. In New York, that was unlikely.
Black dress shoes hitting hard against the soaked sidewalk, Jack made a run for it as quickly as possible. He looked slightly ridiculous; it was a rare sight to see a business man making a mad dash for the city bus. In fact, Jack wasn’t even sure that bus was heading in the direction he needed to go, but it had to be closer to the hotel than where he was. It looked to be heading the right way, anyway. “Wait! Please - stop!” Jack cried out over the rain. His hair was plastered to his head, suit not quite as dapper as it had been. By the time Jack caught up with the vehicle and boarded, he was dripping from head to toe. The bus was crowded beyond imagination, male and females packed in like sardines. Many sat, avoiding shoving their faces into the backs of the person standing in front of them - a bit too close for comfort - holding onto the metal rail.
Jack swallowed, breathing quickly. His eyes shifted from left to right, catching sight of a large, disgruntled black man who didn’t seem to like the sight of Jack. So he looked away, hesitantly taking hold of a vacant rail.
The bus closed its doors and moved on. Jack was careful not to eye anyone in particular. Rather, he glanced down at the floor, taking note of the puddle he had made below his feet. An elderly woman poked him on the ankle with her cain; he glanced to his right. She wore a smug look, but her eyes were kind. A small broach was pinned to her chest, a dazzling cross. When she spoke, it broke the silence of the moving bus. ‘Sonny, your shoe is untied.’ Jack smiled - and truly smiled as something warm settled within him. The woman had brought him an ounce of joy for the day, and she had only made a small comment about his shoelace. Nodding, Jack replied sincerely. “Thank you.” He knelt down to tie his shoe.
As though some force had shoved him from behind, Jack was thrown forward. There was a sharp pain near the top of his skull. Scrambling frantically, Jack attempted to hold onto something as he slid around for a moment. Though his mouth fell open, he could not make a sound - or perhaps it was that his own sounds were lost in the mass of screams and cries. Something heavily collapsed near the rear of the bus, causing it to jolt around several times. There was the sound of shattering glass, pain across nearly every inch of his body, a heavy weight atop him and a numbness in his leg. Then the electricity was cut, or so he assumed. For a moment, everything was silent.
It took Jack a moment. His head was rested against the bus floor, though he dangled partially off the steps leading off the bus. His eyes were open, but his vision blurred. Shaking, Jack reached out for something - nothing - in hopes that his hands worked. Something knotted painfully in Jack’s throat. Was it a cry? He wasn’t sure; he only knew that he was partially immobile. With all his effort, Jack lifted his head away from the shattered glass beneath him - away from the pool of blood - to take in what he could. There was only a mass of bodies, men and women thrown around. One man fled the bus, hobbling, but the rest of the group was entirely motionless. Jack emitted a sob, taking in the horrific scene. He had been involved in a bus accident, clearly a fatal one.
Was Jack dead? Was he experiencing this externally? No, he couldn’t be. His heart pounded wildly, fearfully, though grateful that he was alive. Not well, but alive. Could this, though, be his last moment? Taking in a sea of the injured, of the deceased? Jack allowed his head to collapse to the floor once more, his eyes taking in everything near him. At the sight of a hardly identifiable body, Jack felt nauseous. At the sight of the dazzling cross pinned to the severed body, Jack turned away and shut his eyes. In that moment, he was a young boy again. Frightened of the dark and what it contained.
Somewhere, Jack heard a gentle whimper. The cry of a woman. Not looking at anything in particular, Jack again opened his eyes. The cry was muffled, as though the woman were drowning, or covered. It was a painful, pitiful sound - something inside Jack swelled and felt that pain, too. Carefully, Jack lifted his head. A hand was gripping the metal rail, attempting to hold something for dear life. All at once, Jack felt a need to go to the victim, to cry out. Though the pain shot across his body - through his arm, moving up into what felt like a shattered ribcage - Jack maneuvered himself into a crawling position on his elbows, where he kept his eyes locked on the survivor's hands. There was a small break in the bodies - as though most people had been tossed to the right side of the bus. The woman had managed to stay to the left somehow, enabling Jack to slowly make his way to her. He grunted in agony against the pain in his ribcage, his leg and head. Something in his wrist felt fractured, but not broken. By the time he had reached the woman, he glanced her over. She was unidentifiable, plastered in blood and taken by the shards of glass. Something came from her, what it was, Jack couldn’t tell.
“I’m here,” Jack whispered. That’s all he could say. This silenced her for a moment, enough for Jack to notice her breathing. She was still alive, and she still had a chance - they still had a chance. If he and this woman were the only survivors on the bus, they would make it together. If she were to die, she could die comfortably. Lifting himself up by the metal hand rail, Jack cried out in suffering before collapsing against the surface behind him. With the arm that wasn’t inflicted, Jack could move the woman towards him, placing her head in his lap. Something within him was determined to keep this woman alive; neither of them would have to be alone.
CODED BY ELECTRIC OF BACK TO NEVERLAND
