Another Thing on His Mind- Creative Writing

Another Thing on His Mind- Creative Writing
Looking at himself in the mirror he couldn?t believe how much he had been transformed: grey lifeless eyes soaked colour and energy from the outside world; his voice had become thin and reedy! His contours, once soft were now chiselled and his sculptured bones looked brittle and feeble. He stood there glaring openly, eager to quickly turn away but finding it too painful. Trembling along the crippled fingers, hands and spine, he could not stand the sore sight that faced him and only to find his legs collapsing suddenly beneath him, he fell. The feeling of endlessly falling down a deep, dark hole engulfed him. Flat on the ground without a twitch, joints at angles people thought were not possible. The deserted bathroom failed to conjure up an assistant to help and so Jon?s body continued to lie in the same situation; tranquil and unaware of the surroundings and danger yet to fool him. The clock struck twelve, only to stir the unconsciousness of the body lying on the tiled bathroom floor of number 32, Orderley Way. Slowly widening his eyes, Jon began to realise what had just occurred. Once again an attack had kicked in, an attack that hadn?t happened just the once. Everyday since the event, Jon had been living in fear of these attacks that shocked him more and more every time. During the period of being in the ?special place? there was always someone closely watching and monitoring his every move.
However, now that Jon was expected to become more independent on himself, his home doesn?t feel the same luxurious location to him and living a life seem harder than it should be. No-one to help him, no-one to hear his cries and no-one to care and hold him when he?s down and lonely. Or was there? Carefully clenching onto the towel rail, Jon heaved his hefty self to his weak feet and headed straight for the door. This seemed more demanding than it had always been before; placing one lean foot in front of the other could not carry his scrawny body! His stone boulder head was rocking from side to side, willowy twig-like legs were no longer stable and safe to walk on, and his feet had no sense of direction. Stumbling and tripping, Jon determinedly forced himself to the door and it was necessary for him to continue down the stairs and towards the phone. He had to phone someone, he needed help; serious help. The first person that Jon would have always contacted in an emergency was his precious sister. His older sister Dianne was so close and dear to him, and had been so supportive after the event. However, as much as he wanted to remember who to call, he couldn?t. His inferior mind remained clueless and blank. Trying his hardest to concentrate he stared continuously out through the broken window overlooking his fresh green field ?broken window? He thought again once more, a broken window, how long had that been there for? A sudden strike of aching pain unexpectedly stabbed his heart, gradually spreading to beneath his ribs and beyond. First reaction was to make a phone call, as he was about to do not long before. He proceeded to pick up the dusty phone beside him. Who? What number? Jon?s mind had nothing inside, nothing to jog his memory of who to contact. Why did he want to contact someone so urgently? He was determined to figure it out. Gazing out of the window once more, he noticed the fresh green fields were gradually being covered in a blanket of snow. White and soft snowflakes swayed in the wind and blew onto the house; the breeze let a few in through the broken window. Snow in winter he was thinking. For some peculiar reason he did not seem to believe that this was correct. He sat for a moment, on the wooden chair with a flowery cushion his mother had once sewn for him as a child, with the phone still in his crooked left hand. He entwined the wire in his fingers and realised it was his sister he had been desperately meaning to contact?but why couldn?t he possibly figure this out before? Dianne had always been the first person for him to contact, until now. For some reason he could not get it into his warped head who he was meaning to call. All of a sudden, there was a disturbing noise which startled Jon in his sacred moment of contemplation. It sounded strangely to him as a rare, unusual doorbell. He swivelled round in his stiff chair and bravely faced the front door further along the strict hallway. His droopy, tired eyes on the base of his dropped, slanted head glared at the brass door handle, as if it was expected that a strange person was to daringly wander through. However, he noticed how no sudden movement was coming from the king-sized imposing door, neither was the noise?he began to relax his head further down onto his shoulders, only to find that the alarming noise was no doorbell from the front of his empty house, but was a ringing noise coming from his crooked left hand. He answered the phone slowly and suspiciously, and picked it up to his ear. Listening closely to what was being said, he realised it was someone important attempting to contact him. He listened to them irritatingly talking about his health, the words ?mad?, ?insane?, ?be careful?, and ?watch yourself? overwhelmed his mind. The husky voice from the phone did not sound familiar; it seemed rough and daunting, and slightly echoed in the background, yet the man on the other end seemed to know who Jon was, and all his personal details. Letting the phone slowly drift back and click onto its hook, he pondered with shocked, confused and frustrated thoughts. Questioning himself, he came to the realization that for someone who was so bizarre, to distinguish more about his unusual life than he did, was extraordinarily worrying. Gently floating towards the winding wooden staircase, Jon immediately headed upstairs and straight for the bedroom. ?Rest, yes maybe I just need a quick rest to clear my mind? he contemplated; at which point his frail, quivering limbs gave way.

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