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  Kings of the Night

  by

  Mark Z. Kammell

  *****

  PUBLISHED BY:

  Kings of the Night

  © Copyright 2014 by Mark Z. Kammell.

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  Chapter 1.

  The spirit of Gabriel

  It was just the feeling he had.

  Not love like the tame, the banal, like shared history and shared belongings after the whirlwind, like stars fading, dying and merging into light. No, this was the whirlwind of fire, constantly on, constantly burning.

  Tragic, uplifting, devastating and beautiful. All-encompassing and all-devouring.

  Into the fire.

  Chapter 2.

  God, my arm hurts. Searing, itching pain, scratching inside it, it doesn’t want to stop but I can’t seem to get to it. I don’t know why, can’t work out why, because I can’t even see it. It’s like I’m blind. Wow, maybe I am blind.

  No, I’m not blind, my eyes were just shut. Easy mistake. But I still can’t move my arm. Wow, I need a drink. I wonder what time it is. Maybe I just missed something, maybe it’s evening. If I ask for a left handed pint maybe I’ll be all right.

  I have to work my way out of here though. And that’s a good point, why am I lying down? Everything opens up before me when I open my eyes.

  The light is fierce, bright and I have to shut them again, quickly. Slower this time, take your time. Okay, I can focus now on the light above me, coming from a single point, way above, it must be a hundred miles. White, with a white ring around it, blurry, bright, but still there. Wow. Maybe I’m dead. Maybe this is heaven. Well, no that wouldn’t work. Clearly. So I can’t be dead, which I guess is a positive.

  I have to blink several times, I can feel water gushing out of my eyes – not tears – I’m not sentimental – and I can’t wipe it away, it makes my eyes sting. My left arm won’t work either, and that is no good for the pub. Though I think maybe I have more fundamental issues.

  Like, why am I lying inert in this hospital bed? Because it’s clear, it’s obvious, I don’t have to go through the routine of noticing, identifying and realizing, it’s just so obvious. Wow, what a cliché. Just the right point to start my memories. Lying here, unable to move, in a hospital bed, alone, in a white room, the walls and ceiling too white to take in, the equipment brilliant white with little black and red lights that keep flashing, the room empty and closed except for a door and a large glass window looking out onto an empty corridor.

  I don’t know what else to do now. Close my eyes? Think how the hell did I get here? Wonder why my head hurts so much. Maybe I don’t have any arms or legs, that’s what they say, you think they really hurt when actually they’ve gone. I saw that in a black and white film once, a war film, this guy why was dying, saying to his friend, my leg really hurts can you help. Well, there wasn’t much he could do, except pretend to scratch his leg. I’m going to have to be really careful, when someone turns up I will want evidence that my legs and arms are still there. Maybe they can hold up a mirror or something.

  But what if I don’t have any? Maybe I don’t want to know. If I’m stuck here and can’t move for the next, say, three weeks, will I really want that on my mind when I can get out. And how will that work exactly? Maybe I’ll have to use a wheelchair. That wouldn’t be so bad. Get someone to wheel me round and I can get to the pub and sip my pint quietly in a corner. They will probably buy it for me, in any case. Better still, an electric wheelchair. Yes, that would be good. Get a rapid one and then my life may actually be easier. But what if I don’t have any arms? How would I operate my wheelchair? How would I drink a pint? Wow. That’s something to face up to. The existential angst of a bedridden patient. Maybe I could write about that. Do I write? No. Good job I guess. Good job.

  Oh. Maybe I drifted off. Something feels different. Something is different. The light just seems more… I’m not exactly sure. Just more, well, something. And there’s something else. My God. I can see myself. There’s a mirror. A mirror on the ceiling. I’m staring at myself. That’s what’s different. Oh wow look, I do have arms. And legs. Wow. God that is a relief. Hmmm. I don’t look that great though. Tubes everywhere. In my nose, in my mouth, in my throat. How had I not noticed those before. And my arms. Bare and white. I mean, completely. Who was it who said the mark of a man can be judged by the tattoos on his arm? Norman Mailer, maybe? Or Jesus? I can’t remember, one of the two I’m pretty sure. What does that make me? Maybe I’m not a man. Help! No, I am, look at yourself, John, look, you’ve got stubble, and muscles, though they look a bit dodgy, and hair on your arms. I mean, if you’re a woman, seriously, you have more problems than this. Okay, calm down. First thing I do when I get out of here is get some serious tattoos done. Okay, deal. Well, maybe after the pub. Right, well the good news is that I have arms and legs, so getting all that stuff done is back on the table. And get my muscles sorted. Don’t look like I’ve been to the gym for months. Maybe I’ve been on too many steroids, maybe that’s it. Maybe they’ve turned on me, attacked my flesh, removed my tattoos from the inside, maybe that’s it. But why would I be on steroids? That makes no sense. I am definitely not a body builder, just someone who’s fit, good looking and probably intelligent.

  Though you can never tell. I remember… hang on, what do I remember? Now that is a good question. Actually that proves my intelligence. There are quite a few black spots, now I come to think of it. When I say quite a few, it’s pretty much all black. I mean, I know my name. And I know how old I am, I’m pretty sure. And I think I know… or maybe I don’t. But I am quite handsome, actually, maybe I’m a model. Is that good, being a male model? No, no, no, definitely not that. Maybe. Actually, why bother thinking about it, it’s giving me a headache and it’s not like I can reach for the phone and call my agent, or my boss, or whatever and chat about this and that and important decisions and executive meetings and the state of the economy, is it, really. No, of course I can’t because I can’t move.

  Brilliant. I have an idea. I know what I’m going to do when I get out of here. Get a tattoo and go to the pub. Or maybe the other way round. But that’s sorted. So, I need some priorities in here. That will keep me focused. So, priority number one. Get out of here. Right. God, my head hurts. Maybe I

  Oh wow look progress. There’s someone here! Now this is exciting.

  On my own again. Shame. She was quite pretty. Wasn’t that the name of a song?

  Now, now, now, stop! Stay with it! There are two people here. Brilliant! I can talk to them. There’s the pretty nurse from the other time. She’s very pretty actually, and she’s looking directly at me. Wow, great she must be interested, this is great. Even with my stubble, my muscles that need some work and no tattoos, she’s there. That’s brilliant, when I’m sorted she will be all over me. Fantastic. Right, concentrate John, time for that later, concentrate on your priorities. Who’s the guy? Yeah, he’s a doctor, right, he’s got the doctor’s coat and he’s got a sensible, parted haircut, and he just looks clever. He must be the doctor. He’s got a clipboard too and he’s tapping it, and they’re talking. No! Hey, look at me, not him. I mean, maybe he looks like a better bet right now but give me a chance and it’ll all be great.

  Okay. Hand on my chin. Bit too close, my friend. Why are you staring at me like that? Hey, that hurts! Whoa, d
on’t shine that… yeah, okay, that’s weird, that’s intense. I can smell your breath now, I mean really, back off, why can’t she do this? What are you looking for? My eyes are here, you don’t need to shine that light in them. Stop, really, you’re making me sick, I’m going to

  Oh. Now, I need some water, really. I’ve got a headache. What was I drinking last night? Oh, that’s right, nothing. I’m in a hospital bed, I remember now. Next time they come I need to get myself together, ask some questions, ascertain some facts, and then assess my situation. It makes me feel better to put things in italics. Like a statement of intent. A statement of boldness.

  Whoa – crash! - ouch – that’s good. I can hear something. What was that? Hang on, I can hear. That means I couldn’t hear before. Is that worrying? No, of course, not, I can hear now.

  “Mark”

  Who said that?

  “Mark, take a look at this”

  Oh, hello, pretty nurse. How are you? It’s John by the way, not Mark, but yeah, what do you want me to look at?

  “Interesting”

  Who said that? Oh, it’s the doctor again. Hang on, maybe she’s not talking to me.

  “What do you make of it?”

  “Well, Mark, I think it confirms what we thought before. I think it’s probably category A3. What’s your opinion?”

  A3? Is that good?

  “Yes, I’m inclined to agree. I should check pupil dilation again to confirm, but if it’s still there and the blood’s like this, that’s the conclusion I’d draw.”

  “Don’t worry, Mark, I’ve already checked pupil dilation. I’m satisfied you know how to do it by now.” Such a pretty voice too. And giving one back to a doctor. Fair play.

  “So shall I write up the diagnosis and confirm next steps?” Why’s he asking her that? I wonder what the diagnosis is.

  Excuse me, what’s the diagnosis?

  “He hasn’t moved for eight days now, correct?”

  “Yes, that’s correct, I’m afraid.”

  Hang on, stop! That’s wrong! Look, moving, opening and shutting my eyes! Hey, that counts!

  They’re both looking at me.

  “Nothing, not even eye movement. You’ll have to mark him at the very end of the spectrum.”

  “Okay, thanks Jane, I’ll get this written up and run it by you. But I guess the next steps are fairly clear. I’ll check on the next of kin too.”

  “Thanks Mark. You can head off after that. Have a good evening”

  Hoy! Hang on! Wait! But they switch the light off before leaving, and for the first time I remember I’m plunged into darkness.