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First Sight: A d20 Modern Story Hour (Updated 01-03-2008)
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<blockquote data-quote="Lamprolign" data-source="post: 411702" data-attributes="member: 7860"><p><em>A broom is drearily sweeping</em></p><p><em>Up the broken pieces of yesterday's life</em></p><p><em>Somewhere a queen is weeping</em></p><p><em>Somewhere a king has no wife</em></p><p><em>And the wind cries Mary</em></p><p>- Jimmy Hendrix, <em>The Wind Cries Mary</em></p><p></p><p>Gabe moved forward on unsteady feet. Ahead in the gloom ghostly white drapes obscured the view of the house next door. No trace of blue or red emergency light illuminated the gossamer cloth. Closed doors stood opposite one another where the hallway met the window. A small table lay smashed, a lamp on the floor with its shade some feet away. </p><p> </p><p>On the floor, beneath the window rested a motionless form. An almost imperceptible groan broke the silence. Gabe moved forward cautiously and knelt beside the body. He saw the face of the young woman, perhaps no more than a teenager. Her delicate features were drawn into an unconscious grimace. Her breath came ragged and uneven. An ugly welt traced the line of her cheekbone. Gabe extended a wary hand ... </p><p></p><p>Her eyes snapped open, watery blue orbs filled with fear. Gabe felt himself slipping beneath the surface of those eyes. As if submerged in the depths of a still pond, Gabe heard a distant voice, low at first, then building in volume and intensity: “<em>Crú na veas nor.</em>” Gabe was as a statue frozen in a tableau with this dying girl. The world dissolved but for the blue eyes, shining like reflecting pools. He was drowning in those eyes… </p><p></p><p>Images flashed though his mind, too fast to comprehend, yet every detail was seared into his memory. </p><p></p><p>A small, towheaded girl trips over an extended foot while running to the bus. Knees bleeding, she looks at the larger child gloating over his cruel prank. For no apparent reason he falls to the ground, pushed by an unseen hand…</p><p></p><p>The girl, older now, sitting in a small kitchen. Sunlight streams through a calico curtained window overlooking steep wooded mountainsides. A plate flanked by a spoon and fork slowly spins through the air. An unseen woman’s voice rises in delight… </p><p></p><p>Older still, grasping a duffle bag and gazing out the large windows of the L-train at the looming skyline. Old warehouses and tenements surrounded by chain link and razor wire pass below… </p><p></p><p>A young woman now, standing in a dim hallway directly before a man in a cardigan. A man in the midst of an unholy metamorphosis. He growls and leaps. She feels the power burning through her, a bright flash of light chased by perfect darkness…</p><p></p><p>Gabe wrenched himself away from those cold blue eyes, overbalanced and fell. He lie there, staring without sight at the ceiling. The images faded slowly. The floor was hard and cold beneath him. He slowly sat up, rose to one knee and turned toward the girl. </p><p></p><p>The musty odor was gone, replaced again by the sanguinolent smell from below. Gabe stared at the spot where she had lain. The girl was gone, in her stead a disposable CPR mask, wrappers from sterile packed EKG electrodes, shiny plastic and white paper, all strewn about as debris from a maelstrom. He cupped his head in his hands and rocked slowly, struggling with the flood of images that threatened to inundate him. He couldn’t be sure what was real and what was imagined. His rational mind flailed about for a reasonable explanation, a beacon in a storm of lunacy. </p><p></p><p>Instead of a beacon, Gabe saw flashing lights. He was driving to the scene again. </p><p></p><p>He drove his own car, coming straight from the small house he rented in Rosemont, a suburb about thirty minutes from downtown Chicago. U2 came on the radio, and Gabe cranked the volume. Bono was singing, “The city’s aflood, and our love turns to rust … we’re being blown by the wind, trampled in dust.” The clock display read 3:00 a.m., which meant it was 2:00. Gabe never bothered to fall back. The clock would only have to be reset in the spring, after all. </p><p></p><p>Gabe parked behind a squad car. He shielded his eyes from the visual cacophony of red and blue lights. Gabe noted an ambulance parked near the sidewalk. The usual crowd of onlookers encircled the fringes, uniformed officers keeping them at a respectable distance. </p><p></p><p>“Hey Gabe, what’s shakin’?” Lamar Willis, a beer-bellied beat cop, waved.</p><p></p><p>“Me,” Gabe grumbled. He held out his hand, visibly twitching. “That’s a Red Bull and two ephedrine. I was dreaming about that mechanic babe from <em>Firefly</em> when the damn phone rang. Somebody out sick?”</p><p></p><p>“No,” said Lamar. The typically jovial officer seemed subdued. “I hear Jack Casey asked for you special on this one. I hear it’s ugly.” </p><p></p><p>Gabe pulled a pair of individually wrapped nitrile exam gloves from a box in the front seat of his car, stuffing them in his overcoat pocket. The digital camera resting beside the gloves disappeared into a coat pocket next. Irritated by the fact that he had beaten the CSU van to a scene yet again he made his way toward the row house surrounded by yellow tape. </p><p></p><p>Paramedics made their way under the tape, obligingly held up by nearby police officers. They pushed a gurney with haste toward the waiting ambulance. Gabe stood midway between their destination and the line of police tape. He looked at the gurney as it trundled past. The victim was a young woman with delicate features framed by platinum hair. At the instant they passed her head rolled toward Gabe. </p><p></p><p>Her eyes opened. Impossible blue eyes held Gabe’s for barely a moment, and then they were gone. </p><p></p><p>Gabe’s vision blurred. He watched blue and red lights refracting through flowing water on a glass pane. Sounds that had been clear in the frigid night air were now distorted, slurred. Dazedly Gabe drifted toward the yellow line of tape, slipping on the rime. He collapsed in a tangled pile of limbs…</p><p></p><p>He was on his knees, staring down at the floor in front of the curtained window. Gabe climbed to his feet. </p><p></p><p>“What the hell is going on?”</p><p></p><p>His head was pounding. Nothing like this had ever happened before. He thought about the girl on the gurney. He wondered if she was all right and reached for his cell phone, meaning to call the hospital…</p><p></p><p>“<em>Don’t bother. I’m dead.</em>” It was the girl’s voice.</p><p></p><p>Gabe lurched back against the wall, whipping his head from side to side in search of the voice. The white drapes stirred, rising in some slight breeze though the window was closed tight. He caught sight of his reflection in the window, though it wasn’t him at all. Where his likeness should have appeared was instead the image of a snowy-haired young woman. Stunned, he just stared, slack jawed and glassy eyed.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Jeez, looks like I got stuck with a real winner.</em>” The irritated voice was not heard, but rather the words seemed to float in Gabe’s mind. “<em>I’m Mary.</em>” The voice paused again, now resigned. “<em>This could take awhile to explain.</em>”</p><p></p><p>© 2002 Austin Hale</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Lamprolign, post: 411702, member: 7860"] [I]A broom is drearily sweeping Up the broken pieces of yesterday's life Somewhere a queen is weeping Somewhere a king has no wife And the wind cries Mary[/I] - Jimmy Hendrix, [I]The Wind Cries Mary[/I] Gabe moved forward on unsteady feet. Ahead in the gloom ghostly white drapes obscured the view of the house next door. No trace of blue or red emergency light illuminated the gossamer cloth. Closed doors stood opposite one another where the hallway met the window. A small table lay smashed, a lamp on the floor with its shade some feet away. On the floor, beneath the window rested a motionless form. An almost imperceptible groan broke the silence. Gabe moved forward cautiously and knelt beside the body. He saw the face of the young woman, perhaps no more than a teenager. Her delicate features were drawn into an unconscious grimace. Her breath came ragged and uneven. An ugly welt traced the line of her cheekbone. Gabe extended a wary hand ... Her eyes snapped open, watery blue orbs filled with fear. Gabe felt himself slipping beneath the surface of those eyes. As if submerged in the depths of a still pond, Gabe heard a distant voice, low at first, then building in volume and intensity: “[I]Crú na veas nor.[/I]” Gabe was as a statue frozen in a tableau with this dying girl. The world dissolved but for the blue eyes, shining like reflecting pools. He was drowning in those eyes… Images flashed though his mind, too fast to comprehend, yet every detail was seared into his memory. A small, towheaded girl trips over an extended foot while running to the bus. Knees bleeding, she looks at the larger child gloating over his cruel prank. For no apparent reason he falls to the ground, pushed by an unseen hand… The girl, older now, sitting in a small kitchen. Sunlight streams through a calico curtained window overlooking steep wooded mountainsides. A plate flanked by a spoon and fork slowly spins through the air. An unseen woman’s voice rises in delight… Older still, grasping a duffle bag and gazing out the large windows of the L-train at the looming skyline. Old warehouses and tenements surrounded by chain link and razor wire pass below… A young woman now, standing in a dim hallway directly before a man in a cardigan. A man in the midst of an unholy metamorphosis. He growls and leaps. She feels the power burning through her, a bright flash of light chased by perfect darkness… Gabe wrenched himself away from those cold blue eyes, overbalanced and fell. He lie there, staring without sight at the ceiling. The images faded slowly. The floor was hard and cold beneath him. He slowly sat up, rose to one knee and turned toward the girl. The musty odor was gone, replaced again by the sanguinolent smell from below. Gabe stared at the spot where she had lain. The girl was gone, in her stead a disposable CPR mask, wrappers from sterile packed EKG electrodes, shiny plastic and white paper, all strewn about as debris from a maelstrom. He cupped his head in his hands and rocked slowly, struggling with the flood of images that threatened to inundate him. He couldn’t be sure what was real and what was imagined. His rational mind flailed about for a reasonable explanation, a beacon in a storm of lunacy. Instead of a beacon, Gabe saw flashing lights. He was driving to the scene again. He drove his own car, coming straight from the small house he rented in Rosemont, a suburb about thirty minutes from downtown Chicago. U2 came on the radio, and Gabe cranked the volume. Bono was singing, “The city’s aflood, and our love turns to rust … we’re being blown by the wind, trampled in dust.” The clock display read 3:00 a.m., which meant it was 2:00. Gabe never bothered to fall back. The clock would only have to be reset in the spring, after all. Gabe parked behind a squad car. He shielded his eyes from the visual cacophony of red and blue lights. Gabe noted an ambulance parked near the sidewalk. The usual crowd of onlookers encircled the fringes, uniformed officers keeping them at a respectable distance. “Hey Gabe, what’s shakin’?” Lamar Willis, a beer-bellied beat cop, waved. “Me,” Gabe grumbled. He held out his hand, visibly twitching. “That’s a Red Bull and two ephedrine. I was dreaming about that mechanic babe from [I]Firefly[/I] when the damn phone rang. Somebody out sick?” “No,” said Lamar. The typically jovial officer seemed subdued. “I hear Jack Casey asked for you special on this one. I hear it’s ugly.” Gabe pulled a pair of individually wrapped nitrile exam gloves from a box in the front seat of his car, stuffing them in his overcoat pocket. The digital camera resting beside the gloves disappeared into a coat pocket next. Irritated by the fact that he had beaten the CSU van to a scene yet again he made his way toward the row house surrounded by yellow tape. Paramedics made their way under the tape, obligingly held up by nearby police officers. They pushed a gurney with haste toward the waiting ambulance. Gabe stood midway between their destination and the line of police tape. He looked at the gurney as it trundled past. The victim was a young woman with delicate features framed by platinum hair. At the instant they passed her head rolled toward Gabe. Her eyes opened. Impossible blue eyes held Gabe’s for barely a moment, and then they were gone. Gabe’s vision blurred. He watched blue and red lights refracting through flowing water on a glass pane. Sounds that had been clear in the frigid night air were now distorted, slurred. Dazedly Gabe drifted toward the yellow line of tape, slipping on the rime. He collapsed in a tangled pile of limbs… He was on his knees, staring down at the floor in front of the curtained window. Gabe climbed to his feet. “What the hell is going on?” His head was pounding. Nothing like this had ever happened before. He thought about the girl on the gurney. He wondered if she was all right and reached for his cell phone, meaning to call the hospital… “[I]Don’t bother. I’m dead.[/I]” It was the girl’s voice. Gabe lurched back against the wall, whipping his head from side to side in search of the voice. The white drapes stirred, rising in some slight breeze though the window was closed tight. He caught sight of his reflection in the window, though it wasn’t him at all. Where his likeness should have appeared was instead the image of a snowy-haired young woman. Stunned, he just stared, slack jawed and glassy eyed. “[I]Jeez, looks like I got stuck with a real winner.[/I]” The irritated voice was not heard, but rather the words seemed to float in Gabe’s mind. “[I]I’m Mary.[/I]” The voice paused again, now resigned. “[I]This could take awhile to explain.[/I]” © 2002 Austin Hale [/QUOTE]
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First Sight: A d20 Modern Story Hour (Updated 01-03-2008)
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