The prompt song this week was:
Here in Black - by Gary Numan
Paul smashed his head against the wall and screamed as hard
as he could. He felt a dribble of blood run to the tip of
his nose and wiped at it absently. It hadn’t helped.
He grabbed his jacket and rushed out of the apartment,
shrugging it on as he fled down the steps to the street. He couldn’t have given
a toss that it was two in the morning and the city was flooded with drunks
exiting nightclubs, he didn’t see them.
He didn’t want this, not tonight, not tomorrow, not any day,
but he didn’t have a choice; it was his birth right.
As the urge got larger he picked up the pace and started
running. There was only one place for his kind to go and he needed to get there,
a place of sanctuary, a place of understanding.
But even as the building came into sight he already knew it
was too late. They were in the back of mind already, pushing forward consuming
every thought, every impulse, every breath.
He stumbled, trying hard focus on his intent, something they
wanted to stop. He slowed, forcing each foot in front of the other, resisting
what they wanted; he wasn’t going to turn round, he wasn’t going to the bridge
- he WAS worth more than that.
The lights were on; the building was open twenty-four hours.
There was a man on the door – he knew that, but that meant they did too. The
whispering escalated to raised voice, and he was reduced to his
knees, crawling on all fours, each move a personal triumph over them.
A man bleeding from his head, and crawling along a street in
the early hours of the morning; Paul knew what the public saw, but it didn’t
mean he should do what the voices wanted; it didn’t mean that he was worth nothing
and he had no right to be here; it didn’t mean he was scum or worthless and
didn’t deserve to live!
He shouted back, becoming aware that it was out-loud rather
than his head, the humiliation bringing a wave of rage that pushed them out for
a moment, allowing him to stand.
The white steps up to the facility were now in sight as was
the security guards window. Relief flooded through Paul as he made eye contact with the man, but it dulled the rage, bringing them back full force and he was unable to
climb the steps unaided.
He heard a bell ringing and several white-coated people came
out to help the security guard bring him inside, their questions barely audible
over the noise in his head. Once in the entrance hall he could only drop to his
knees and cover his ears.
Then a pair of warm hands rested on his, and a soft voice
reached him as though across a great void.
“Paul? Paul? Can you hear me, it’s Audrey. Paul, look at me,
lift your head.”
He brought his head up a fraction. A light flashed in his
eyes. There was rustling around him, and her voice came again.
“We’re just going to move you into the exam room Paul.
Relief is coming soon, I promise.”
He felt himself being lifted, and even though he thought it
impossible, the noise inside reached a whole new level. He knew Audrey wasn’t
going to torture him, or probe him, or experiment on him, he knew she wouldn’t
harm him. He wasn’t going to try and hurt her and run from this place, this was
where he needed to be and he repeated that over and over to try and placate
them.
But they didn’t stop, not until the needle went into his arm, and
the drug flooded into his bloodstream, which fortunately only took a few
seconds.
He slumped back, exhausted, knowing that he’d made it; the
attack was over - he’d won.
But it was just a single battle in a war that was
going to rage for the rest of his life, each one was a fight to the death, and maybe next time he wouldn’t.
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