Please be honest with your opinions, this is my first draft so who knows how good it is (or how crap) lol. Hopefully the second draft will be much improved...
It fell with a sickly thud; blood and fluids spurting wide across the surrounding ground, people watched in horror; sentences were left unfinished, creating a silent, apprehensive atmosphere.
The aroma/stench of hot sticky tar and car fumes wafted up from a source extremely close to my nose. The sound of cars screeching to a halt and horns blaring seemed much too close for comfort. The distant sound of bellowing sirens and panicked voices began to mingle in, before they all started to fade away. I should have started to worry; to worry where I was, what was happening, why my gorgeous blonde hair was plastered to my head, looking a funny shade of brown-red, why the world was moving round whilst I seemed to be stuck; unable to function. It was then it hit me, like a glass of cold water in the morning, I wasn’t worried because I wasn’t actually there, I was simply observing.
The alarm rang out piercingly in her ears, the numbers flashed brightly, 6.30am. Her day began. Rushing round, eating breakfast, no animals to feed. She didn’t have time for animals. At precisely 7.45am, glancing once more in her hallway mirror, she was, as usual, in her pristine state of appearance; not a hair out of place, she stepped through the doorway pulling the door tightly shut behind her. She sped down the stairs, the lift took too much time out of her day, reaching the main doorway, flushed, but still perfectly composed. In passing she nodded good morning to the porter – she really must learn his name, it had been five years since she had moved into her penthouse, and, other than the civil good morning, not a word had passed between them. She brushed through the entrance, took a deep breath, clutched her satchel to her side and prepared for the daily turmoil of hailing a cab.
She breathed a sigh of relief as she flopped into the slightly grubby looking passenger seat of the cab. She now had twenty minutes of journey in which she could relax, not that she ever did what people in general would call relaxing, before the stress of the day really hit her. She pushed in through the crowded maim doorway, bodies rushing in every direction. She headed straight for the staff cloakroom, doing her best to ignore the hustle and bustle around her. She had barely hung her coat and changed her shoes before the door opened behind her.
“Dr. Watson. You’re needed in resuscitation immediately”.
“Okay, I’m there.” She replied, in her normal brisk business-manner tone. No sooner than she entered the building was she thrown head first into her work.
The day passed in the normal rush and stress with which it normally does. She was constantly in demand, the only break she got was at 3.00pm, six and a half hours after the start of her shift, and lasted just short of 10 minutes. In and out of operating rooms, numerous patient consultations, the daily post-operation check ups, the bi-weekly catch up with medical school students; the jobs were endless, there was always a broken arm, bumped head, heart failure, and many more complaints at which she must deal with. The day flew past, without a moment to herself. The end of her shift came and went. Eventually, when she had been on shift for 13 hours she managed to make her escape; although, who was she kidding, there were numerous chances, earlier on, when she could have clocked off, but what was the point.
She was fed up with the silent welcome she received every time she returned to her apartment; it was beginning to depress her. But her job was her life and soul; it was all she lived for, without it her life would have been as empty as a school during the holidays. Don’t be confused; she was a beauty, and extremely charming, simply made to be popular and cherished, but her job demanded all her energies and all her days.
I watched, my eyes brimming with curiosity; wanting to listen in on every conversation, but only managing to focus on the odd word here and there. People rushed about, terrified voices shouting to each other. I couldn’t understand what all the commotion was about, or why I felt so distanced from everyone and everything. I knew something was wrong, but just couldn’t quite put my finger on what it was. I was thinking I should be worried, but it seemed impossible, I felt almost as if I couldn’t feel anything; apprehension, anxiety, worry, fear, I simply felt...nothing.
She opened her door, and not for the first time did she wish she had someone to welcome here, to give her a hug and tell her she had been missed, someone with whom she could talk over her day; but no, she was alone. That had always been the way, shutting people out, till all that seemed to matter in her life was her work, it was always the same, always had been, but she sincerely hoped it wouldn’t always be that way; no matter how likely it seemed. Deep inside her lay the reason, and most probably the answer, to her loneliness. But she was too scared to admit it, and simply ignored it, burying it further into her soul with each passing day.
‘The day loomed dark and cold, everything was so gloomy. The little girl stood there, watching with tear filled eyes as the wooden box was lowered into the ground. Her last connection with a family was gone. First her father, her best friend, and now her beloved mother. Little did she realise that day was to alter her forever; gone was the cheerful, chatty, bubbly Claire Watson. The new Claire Watson was cold, unfeeling and work orientated.’
The sweetest memory she had was of a garden, hundreds of flowers in full bloom; Lily’s, bluebells, daffodils, tulips, wall flowers and roses. Oh, how she loved the roses; red roses, yellow roses, pink roses and the most special of all, the White Roses, her mothers favourites. This garden was perfect, every flower, every branch, every bird, was untouched; the whole place contained an almost magical quality. Yet, no matter how much she loved this garden, she was never quite able to explain it. The memory of her mother, pushing her on a big wooden swing and her laughter ringing out into the air was about the only thing she could remember of the place; and even this was becoming vague. It was being compressed by the memories of graveyards, funeral songs, old people; smelling of coffee and hugging her till she suffocated. The memory of this garden was what got her through the nights when the emptiness really affected her, it was her sanctuary. The people began to fade, the noises stopped, the smells were replaced with the sweet smell of pollen. I no longer needed the answers to my questions, it didn’t seem to matter what was happening, I was at peace as I drifted through this beautiful garden. I looked around, my eyes filled with the sights of millions of flowers in full-bloom; and then, tending to the white roses, was my mother. Now I realised that I had succeeded in my last quest; I had fulfilled the dream that was in my head as I had stepped off the rooftop.