-JT-
01-11-2005, 09:58 PM
Read and review plz (p.s. i can't be bothered to re-paragraph :p)
“Waiting”
The bed was old and moaned loudly at any slight movements that Jack made, not that this was often. Jack had been immobilised for what seemed an eternity, but was realistically more like a few months. The old man, now trapped inside a silent, tranquil torment could only wait for the cold hand of death would grip his heart, reliving him of his pain. Jack had a great deal of time to figure out what was to become of his eternal fate, he wanted to know if it would all just simply end in a blanket of darkness or if he would continue on, in endless torment for all eternity. If he could just take back all those misspent days and every second of anger, he could wash his sins away, which now lay like led on his chest.
His routine, as repulsive and recurring as it was, kept the old man sane, after all it was the only thing he had to hold on to. He would wake up, every day as usual at 7:10am and stare at the clock, waiting for 10:00am, for the nurse who came to check up on him every day. She would change the water in his drip, empty his bedpan and occasionally, when it was necessary wipe the tears that streamed down the old mans cheek. He couldn’t eat through his mouth, so he was fed through a tube which was filled up during the nurses daily errands which she did for the man. Then and 1:00pm she would leave, kissing him on the forehead before she did so.
Between pondering over his death and watching the clock, Jack thought about his life, his achievements and what he had accomplished during his stay on earth. He hadn’t had much of an extravagant life. He never married and only worked one job, since he was 12 years old. He remembers vividly his first day working at his fathers shop. He was told to stack the shelves, bring up goods from the basement and deliver groceries to people houses on his bike. When his father died he inherited the shop and run it for 58 years, until a year ago when he had to give it up due to being diagnosed with cancer. He felt ashamed that he had no offspring to inherit the shop from him, which made him upset a lot; intensifying the pain he was forced to suffer, within his cell.
Jack had never really been a religious man. He had never believed in god, nor had he believed in an after life. He had always been a literal, down to earth man who didn’t take kindly to sarcasm and certainly didn’t believe in things, which could not be proven. It wasn’t until the diagnosis came through that he began to wonder what was to become of his mortal soul, after all to get somewhere you must imagine and believe. He realised that this had been his problem his whole life. He never imagined, or dreamt of goals which would change his life. He realised that all life follows a sure and steadfast pattern. Live, Love, Burn, Die. We live, we love, burn with desire and passion and then we die. Jack refused to follow the pattern, he had never loved, never burned with desire but now he was about tot die and perhaps if he had followed it he wouldn’t be dieing alone, like he is now, which makes him feel cold inside, it angers him and there is nothing he can do about it, his flesh has become a tomb of which he cannot escape.
Jack looked at the huge grandfather clock in the corner. It towered over the whole room, almost as id imposing on the rest of the room, as if it were inferior to the clock. The time was 12:36, he’d been awake for just six hours, and already it felt like a week. He closed his eyes in an attempt to sleep, all he could see was the room. He’d become to used to the sight of the room, stared at it from the same angle for so long that he even when he closed his eyes, it was all he saw. The endless torment was too much for the old man, he couldn’t bare another day of life, but he knew, oh god he knew that it wasn’t time yet, he knew that no matter how much he wanted it, he couldn’t die until his time came, the pain couldn’t end until it was meant to. It was summer and when the sun reached it zenith, which was about now, the room turned into a wretched hell. The temperature just seemed to keep rising, until it was un-bearable. The de-hydration gave him terrible cramps; the pain just continues to worsen throughout the day.
Jack didn’t know his mother, but his father told him she had died of cancer a few days before his first birthday, he couldn’t remember her at all. His father also died of cancer when Jack was 15, he, like Jack spent his last few months in bed, un-able to move. Jack spent a lot of that time with him in bed, comforting him. For his whole life Jack was terrified of facing the same fate, he prayed against it but here he was, lying in bed, un-able to move, helplessly waiting to die.
Jack knew death was extremely close, he could feel it and it scared him intensely, he knew that at this point that in 30 seconds time he could be dead, forced to accept his fate, die. He knew however that it would be the end of his suffering; his torment would be over, his flesh no longer a tomb. He began to wonder if anyone would remember his name, when time has washed away his dust and his ashes, would anyone miss him? He had no family or friends that he was aware of, he was just a man, there on his own, alone waiting to duck away into darkness.
The huge grandfather clock chimed loudly, startling Jack, in fact, terrifying him. He felt a strong pain in his heart as if it was tightening up, closing. He could still hear the **** chiming quarter to 11 in the background, but it was distant. His chest continued to tighten and he found he could not breath. For the first time in weeks Jack moved his hand and held it to his chest gasping for breath he moaned, tears rolling down his face. His heart Palpitated missing a beat, this was it. He started to burn up as the pain intensified, then an over whelming sense of oblivion came over him, he lay his head on the pillow, everything became distant as he closed his eyes. Rain battered a tattoo on the window, the clock concluded it’s chiming. Jack was dead.
“Waiting”
The bed was old and moaned loudly at any slight movements that Jack made, not that this was often. Jack had been immobilised for what seemed an eternity, but was realistically more like a few months. The old man, now trapped inside a silent, tranquil torment could only wait for the cold hand of death would grip his heart, reliving him of his pain. Jack had a great deal of time to figure out what was to become of his eternal fate, he wanted to know if it would all just simply end in a blanket of darkness or if he would continue on, in endless torment for all eternity. If he could just take back all those misspent days and every second of anger, he could wash his sins away, which now lay like led on his chest.
His routine, as repulsive and recurring as it was, kept the old man sane, after all it was the only thing he had to hold on to. He would wake up, every day as usual at 7:10am and stare at the clock, waiting for 10:00am, for the nurse who came to check up on him every day. She would change the water in his drip, empty his bedpan and occasionally, when it was necessary wipe the tears that streamed down the old mans cheek. He couldn’t eat through his mouth, so he was fed through a tube which was filled up during the nurses daily errands which she did for the man. Then and 1:00pm she would leave, kissing him on the forehead before she did so.
Between pondering over his death and watching the clock, Jack thought about his life, his achievements and what he had accomplished during his stay on earth. He hadn’t had much of an extravagant life. He never married and only worked one job, since he was 12 years old. He remembers vividly his first day working at his fathers shop. He was told to stack the shelves, bring up goods from the basement and deliver groceries to people houses on his bike. When his father died he inherited the shop and run it for 58 years, until a year ago when he had to give it up due to being diagnosed with cancer. He felt ashamed that he had no offspring to inherit the shop from him, which made him upset a lot; intensifying the pain he was forced to suffer, within his cell.
Jack had never really been a religious man. He had never believed in god, nor had he believed in an after life. He had always been a literal, down to earth man who didn’t take kindly to sarcasm and certainly didn’t believe in things, which could not be proven. It wasn’t until the diagnosis came through that he began to wonder what was to become of his mortal soul, after all to get somewhere you must imagine and believe. He realised that this had been his problem his whole life. He never imagined, or dreamt of goals which would change his life. He realised that all life follows a sure and steadfast pattern. Live, Love, Burn, Die. We live, we love, burn with desire and passion and then we die. Jack refused to follow the pattern, he had never loved, never burned with desire but now he was about tot die and perhaps if he had followed it he wouldn’t be dieing alone, like he is now, which makes him feel cold inside, it angers him and there is nothing he can do about it, his flesh has become a tomb of which he cannot escape.
Jack looked at the huge grandfather clock in the corner. It towered over the whole room, almost as id imposing on the rest of the room, as if it were inferior to the clock. The time was 12:36, he’d been awake for just six hours, and already it felt like a week. He closed his eyes in an attempt to sleep, all he could see was the room. He’d become to used to the sight of the room, stared at it from the same angle for so long that he even when he closed his eyes, it was all he saw. The endless torment was too much for the old man, he couldn’t bare another day of life, but he knew, oh god he knew that it wasn’t time yet, he knew that no matter how much he wanted it, he couldn’t die until his time came, the pain couldn’t end until it was meant to. It was summer and when the sun reached it zenith, which was about now, the room turned into a wretched hell. The temperature just seemed to keep rising, until it was un-bearable. The de-hydration gave him terrible cramps; the pain just continues to worsen throughout the day.
Jack didn’t know his mother, but his father told him she had died of cancer a few days before his first birthday, he couldn’t remember her at all. His father also died of cancer when Jack was 15, he, like Jack spent his last few months in bed, un-able to move. Jack spent a lot of that time with him in bed, comforting him. For his whole life Jack was terrified of facing the same fate, he prayed against it but here he was, lying in bed, un-able to move, helplessly waiting to die.
Jack knew death was extremely close, he could feel it and it scared him intensely, he knew that at this point that in 30 seconds time he could be dead, forced to accept his fate, die. He knew however that it would be the end of his suffering; his torment would be over, his flesh no longer a tomb. He began to wonder if anyone would remember his name, when time has washed away his dust and his ashes, would anyone miss him? He had no family or friends that he was aware of, he was just a man, there on his own, alone waiting to duck away into darkness.
The huge grandfather clock chimed loudly, startling Jack, in fact, terrifying him. He felt a strong pain in his heart as if it was tightening up, closing. He could still hear the **** chiming quarter to 11 in the background, but it was distant. His chest continued to tighten and he found he could not breath. For the first time in weeks Jack moved his hand and held it to his chest gasping for breath he moaned, tears rolling down his face. His heart Palpitated missing a beat, this was it. He started to burn up as the pain intensified, then an over whelming sense of oblivion came over him, he lay his head on the pillow, everything became distant as he closed his eyes. Rain battered a tattoo on the window, the clock concluded it’s chiming. Jack was dead.