1st Chapter

Chapter 1:

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Swan Song

When I was young, my father used to take me to the Marquee theatre. There, we would watch all sorts of movies. Action, horror, drama, all of them good. My favorite event was Western Wednesdays. There, we would sit in the middle of the theater, each with a large popcorn and drink. The food was horrible, tasted like dirt, but we would buy it anyway. A sort of father son ritual. On Wednesday, they would play a series of movies from the 1960’s called “The Last Cowboy” it told the story of the last true cowboy, as he faces off against the last true bandit of the west. He chases him across miles of desert, through towns, cities and even countries, each time getting closer, and each time, the bandit would get away. Looking back upon the remains of the marquee, I feel as though part of my childhood died in the wreckage. “Time to go” say’s Erik. He looks at me; his eyes show a deeper knowing. He knows that I have a connection here, if that is the only connection.

          Every time I sit here, a new flash comes back. Today, it was my fathers watch. I remembered us standing outside the theatre, waiting for the next movie to start. His face is still blurred. He looks down at his watch. I pull his hand down, curious of the intricate device. He smiles, kneels down. “See this” he says, in a deep voice, “inside of this, lie hundreds of tiny little gears moving very slowly. When they click together, it moves the hands, which tell the time. Watch” I watch very carefully. Slowly, the hands move, in perfect motion. Each time the long thin hand does a complete rotation, the longer hand moves. “The thin one tells seconds, the longer one minute, and the fat one hour.” He smiles, I smile back, his face slowly recedes to white, then nothing. I get up from my sitting position. “Anything else?” Erik asks. “No, just a watch” he helps me up, and we walk home.

It’s been 3 years since my first memory. When I close my eyes, it comes back to me, bright as day. Remember waking up in the emergency room of West Street Hospital, or at least what’s left of if. I open my eyes, and panic sets in. bright light shines into my eyes, stinging them. Light shines through the cracks of my eyelids, making my vision blurry. My breath is ragged, and I feel a panic attack coming. I try to take deep breaths, but my lungs refuse to respond. After a few minutes of doing this, I finally recover enough to open my eyes. The light burns, and its a few minutes before I can take in my surroundings. I’m wearing nothing but hospital robes. The entire place was empty. Most of the walls were corroding, as though something was eating through them slowly. My room looked as though they had been through a war. A few ammunition shells dotted the ground. Holes through the floor showed blackened wood from large explosives. In the background, a life support system was faintly beeping. I got up from the table and looked around the room. It was small and simple. IV bags dangled from tipped over stands, their needles dripping black fluid onto the floor.