Amateur cartoonist and writer, actual architect, coffee lover, and professional et ceteratist. May contain offbeat cartoons, short stories, fan art, and/or platypuses. I'm also on Twitter and Instagram as aarondoodles, and Tumblr at http://aarondoodles.tumblr.com/.
Today's entry is another potential novel-in-the-making. I have a few ideas, some good characters and story arcs but haven't nailed them down yet. The thing to remember is this: I'm chock full of novel ideas, and if I had the right agent (hint hint!) I have enough raw material to write novels for years and years.
In case anyone knows of any publishers or agents who are looking for fresh new talent. Y'know.
"Awake"- June 4th, 2011 (735 words) Aaron Matthew Smith
“Here,” she said, her voice sounding like it was coming through a grainy phone line. I tried to look up at her, but the joints in my neck wouldn’t cooperate, so I rolled my eyes up instead. Her dark, almond shaped eyes were concerned. I couldn’t really focus on anything else.
Then I noticed she was holding a cup of coffee. The smell reached my nose a second later, and I took the cup gratefully, burning my palms.
“He’s acting sluggish,” she said to someone standing behind me.
“That’s probably a side effect of the thawing process,” a man’s voice echoed in my ear. A hand took me by the chin and turned my head into a blinding light. I squinted as best I could. The light clicked off, and I saw the face of a doctor staring at me. “It should wear off.”
I tugged the thick blanket a little tighter around my shoulders. The cold concrete floor was freezing my ass.
“Do you know where you are?” The woman asked me, crouching down to look directly in my face.
It took a moment for her question to register. “No,” I said.
“Do you know who you are?”
“No,” I said, hearing the unconcern in my own voice. I was more worried about getting my cold ass up off the floor.
Sympathy colored her eyes for a moment. Then she stood and spoke into a radio or something. “We’ve got a John Doe down here…”
“Any more survivors?” Said someone on the other end.
“Negative,” she said.
I glanced up. The cold room was almost totally dark, except for some yellow lights on the tubes. They looked like tubes to me, anyway, big steel and glass tubes that poked up from the floor at a 45-degree angle. Most of them were shattered, some kind of fluid coating the floor around them. Only one of them stood with its hatch-like door open.
I didn’t remember being in there. I didn’t even really remember getting out. I remembered sitting my bare ass on this cold concrete floor. I remembered a woman with almond-shaped eyes putting a blanket over me. I remembered this cup of coffee.
“What do we do with him?” I think that was the doctor. The voices of the people were getting clearer and clearer.
“How should I know?” The woman said. She sighed. When I looked up next, she was kneeling and looking into my eyes again. “You don’t remember your name, your address? Nothing?”
The way she said it made it sound like that was unusual. “No.”
“Have we got any records?” She shouted over her shoulder.
“We haven’t been able to recover any of the files,” Another man across the room said. “But there’s a date of operation etched on his pod.” He was silent for a moment.
“Nick, what’s it say?”
“Sergeant Casey…. He’s been down here since two thousand ten.”
“Good Lord,” she whispered.
“Is that bad?” I asked.
Sergeant Casey was quiet, then said, “Can you walk?”
I hadn’t thought about it. “I guess.”
“Come on, we have to get you to the hospital. Then we’ll get you sorted.”
I sat there for a minute.
“Can you stand?”
“Do I have to?”
“To walk, you do.”
“Oh,” I said. “No.”
“Nick, Sammy, let’s get him up.”
A pair of hands took me under each arm and lifted me limply to my feet. I clutched the warm cup of coffee. My blanket nearly fell off of my shoulders, and a cold breeze made me shiver.
“Holy shit, I’m naked,” I said.
Sergeant Casey wrapped the blanket around my shame, making sure it was tucked under my arm to keep it from falling. She surveyed me, her expression a strange combination of wonder and pity.
“Call me once you get him signed in downtown, okay? I’ll finish wrapping this up and get forensics down here.” She said to the man holding my right shoulder. Then she looked at me and said, “I’ll check on you later.”
“Okay,” I said.
The two men supported me. I think my feet were moving, but I wasn’t positive. They led me to a doorway in the dark room, past the tiny lights flickering like candle flames on the big tubes. They opened the door, and I was blinded by a sudden light. Somehow, the light was even colder than the dark room had been.