jasonandrew (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
jasonandrew) wrote2010-06-23 12:54 pm
jasonandrew) wrote2010-06-23 12:54 pm
Entry tags:
WIP: "Recovery"
This is a story that has been gestiating for a long time.
I based a little of the story based on a friend that has had a hard road, but always managed to get back up again.
This story is an experiment for me since it involves second person POV and the main character suffers from synesthesia.
"Recovery"
by Jason Andrew
Her voice smells of sweet oranges on a hot summer day. How long has it been since you’ve heard an American woman? “Doctor, one of the patients is showing early signs on consciousness.”
His voice tastes of cold tar so bitter and oily that you want to vomit. Something about him terrifies you. “Which one?”
“Patient six.”
Cold, bright light pokes your eyes. You squint hard to avoid the sheering pain. Gentle fingers wrapped in plastic gloves force them back open. Soothing swabs of green water scrubs away the crud from your eyes. He speaks again and you choke from the sensation. “Try to follow the light, Corporal. That’s an order.”
It takes effort, but you manage to obey. Eyes down and then up to follow the frigid glittering light. You never imaged looking into the world would take so much effort. Eyes right and then left. “Do you know your name?”
You wince at the taste of his voice and pucker your lips. She rests her hands on your shoulders. The wash of oranges almost cleanses the palate. “You are safe. I know it’s hard to concentrate, but we just need to know if you remember things to treat you.”
It seems reasonable and you’ve always been a sucker for a pretty voice. “Ed. Corporal Ed Febish.”
“Good. Very good, Ed.” She squeezes you for a bit of encouragement and leans close. She smells like brilliant fireworks. “Do you know what day it is?”
The colors of the days seemed mixed to you. “Thursday. Maybe Friday. April. Forgot the day.”
“Good. Very good. Do you know where you are?”
You wish you could forget the dust and bullet ridden land that smelled of eternal ashes. “Afghanistan.”
“Do you remember your unit’s last mission?”
There’s a tiny prick of red pain in your back. Your hearts beats very quickly and you aren’t entirely sure why. The horizon spins are you aren’t sure why until the light fades and you realize you are face down on a stretcher.
“Don’t try to move. We had to operate on your back to get the bullets out. You’ll get full motion in a couple of hours.”
Flashes of memory through a thin film of muck return to you. “Friendly fire in the caves.”
“Good. Very good. What were you doing in the caves, Corporal?”
You remember hours of green tinged darkness fumbling in the stale air that passed through the gas masks. Your skin itched all over. “We were on patrol. Heard a tip about a secret cave entrance in the mountains near the Salang Pass. Radioed headquarters and they asked us to investigate.”
Once again, she cleaned his eyes with the soothing swab and your vision clears a little and so does your memory. “After a while, it felt weird being down there. Some of us got the shakes and it felt like I was licking a battery.”
The oily voice coughed. “Rapture syndrome. It happens to inexperienced cave spelunkers. An extreme reaction to darkness and depth that’s akin to an anxiety attack while on methamphetamines.”
You remember that ancient primordial instinct of wanting the open sky above you and air that smells of dandelions. “We found the base camp, but it was empty. Of the living that is.”
I based a little of the story based on a friend that has had a hard road, but always managed to get back up again.
This story is an experiment for me since it involves second person POV and the main character suffers from synesthesia.
"Recovery"
by Jason Andrew
Her voice smells of sweet oranges on a hot summer day. How long has it been since you’ve heard an American woman? “Doctor, one of the patients is showing early signs on consciousness.”
His voice tastes of cold tar so bitter and oily that you want to vomit. Something about him terrifies you. “Which one?”
“Patient six.”
Cold, bright light pokes your eyes. You squint hard to avoid the sheering pain. Gentle fingers wrapped in plastic gloves force them back open. Soothing swabs of green water scrubs away the crud from your eyes. He speaks again and you choke from the sensation. “Try to follow the light, Corporal. That’s an order.”
It takes effort, but you manage to obey. Eyes down and then up to follow the frigid glittering light. You never imaged looking into the world would take so much effort. Eyes right and then left. “Do you know your name?”
You wince at the taste of his voice and pucker your lips. She rests her hands on your shoulders. The wash of oranges almost cleanses the palate. “You are safe. I know it’s hard to concentrate, but we just need to know if you remember things to treat you.”
It seems reasonable and you’ve always been a sucker for a pretty voice. “Ed. Corporal Ed Febish.”
“Good. Very good, Ed.” She squeezes you for a bit of encouragement and leans close. She smells like brilliant fireworks. “Do you know what day it is?”
The colors of the days seemed mixed to you. “Thursday. Maybe Friday. April. Forgot the day.”
“Good. Very good. Do you know where you are?”
You wish you could forget the dust and bullet ridden land that smelled of eternal ashes. “Afghanistan.”
“Do you remember your unit’s last mission?”
There’s a tiny prick of red pain in your back. Your hearts beats very quickly and you aren’t entirely sure why. The horizon spins are you aren’t sure why until the light fades and you realize you are face down on a stretcher.
“Don’t try to move. We had to operate on your back to get the bullets out. You’ll get full motion in a couple of hours.”
Flashes of memory through a thin film of muck return to you. “Friendly fire in the caves.”
“Good. Very good. What were you doing in the caves, Corporal?”
You remember hours of green tinged darkness fumbling in the stale air that passed through the gas masks. Your skin itched all over. “We were on patrol. Heard a tip about a secret cave entrance in the mountains near the Salang Pass. Radioed headquarters and they asked us to investigate.”
Once again, she cleaned his eyes with the soothing swab and your vision clears a little and so does your memory. “After a while, it felt weird being down there. Some of us got the shakes and it felt like I was licking a battery.”
The oily voice coughed. “Rapture syndrome. It happens to inexperienced cave spelunkers. An extreme reaction to darkness and depth that’s akin to an anxiety attack while on methamphetamines.”
You remember that ancient primordial instinct of wanting the open sky above you and air that smells of dandelions. “We found the base camp, but it was empty. Of the living that is.”
no subject
If he had it before: Is he aware that most other people aren't synesthetes? And was he aware that he had synesthesias?
no subject
no subject
My personal experience, and what I know of the experience of others: It's not something you suffer from. (There are exceptions: Some people are overwhelmed by the sensations, for example. But others find synesthesia very useful in organizing their thoughts and memories. And some aren't usually aware of their synesthetic sensations; I'm partly in this category.)
Recommended website: http://home.comcast.net/~sean.day/index.html. Sean Day is both a synesthete and a synesthesia researcher. And there's contact information for the Synesthesia mailing list.
no subject
The idea that synesthesia allows some people to have a better memory and organize thoughts is part of the story.