Motorboat Cruiser
03-15-2006, 04:06 PM
I'm toying with the idea of a story right now and thought I would share a bit of it....
Ben awoke from a long slumber under his favorite tree. A slight breeze chilled him as he slowly regained his bearings. Eventually, it all came back to him. It was a sunny Tuesday afternoon in late April and the weather was what most would consider perfect. He had drifted off while pondering a magical world where nobody suffered.
There were few pleasures in life that Ben enjoyed more than a nap in the park on his day off. As a paramedic for the city of angels, he rarely got the chance to relax and when he did, it could be damn near impossible to dim the images of his previous shift. For some reason though, this particular spot had a healing quality to it. It was a place he could dream, a place he could forget. Sleeping at home frequently led to an evening of tossing and turning, of anxiety attacks, and of nightmares. It was only under his favorite tree that he ever seemed to get a restful sleep. For when he fell asleep here, his dreams were of a better life and a better world.
The particular dream de jour, however, seemed more puzzling than the comforting escape he was accustomed to. From what he was able to recollect, he had been sitting by a lake as a rust-colored swan floated past, unlike any he had witnessed before. As he peered into the majestic bird’s eyes, they appeared no different than those of a small child, yet they also displayed the wisdom of a thousand years. The eyes haunted him and they beckoned him to follow. Along the shore of the lake he traveled, unsure of where he was headed, or why for that matter. The swan drifted into a hidden cavern by the side of the lake, camouflaged by a number of trees and bushes. Approaching the cave, Ben ventured forward. It was a tight fit but he was able to squeeze himself though the small opening. Once inside, his eyes adjusted to the lack of light and he was awed by the fact that the cave resembled an ancient palace, much larger than it ever should have been, with gold-colored walls and stone pillars. A discovery as mysterious as this, however, was no match to his surprised reaction of the sounds surrounding him. Through the walls, he could hear thousands, perhaps millions of children laughing and playing. Ben couldn’t help but smile a bit, and was surprised that he remembered how. Few sounds are as joyous as that of a child laughing and although he initially resisted, Ben couldn’t help but feel a healing power from the almost musical quality of what he heard. Stumbling through the dimly lit cave, he searched for a portal to this strange world he was only able to hear, yearning to be a part of it. Searching every nook, every crevice, he finally found what he was seeking. Between two stone pillars was a barely noticeable wooden door. Ben reached out, formed a fist of his right hand and knocked. The door started to creak, as if being opened for the first time in a century. Before he could see where the door led, Ben awoke from his dream.
Once could understand why the sound of laughter was so compelling to Ben. From the time that he was seven years old, he couldn’t recall having laughed. For it was at that age that his world shattered. It was the year he lost his family, on a cold Thanksgiving evening. To laugh was to diminish the pain he felt and his heart wasn’t ready to allow that.
Thanksgiving 1988 would be the last time Ben had ever given thanks for anything. He could still remember the way the pumpkin pie tasted, the sight of his parents, still hopelessly in love after ten years of marriage, the sound of his brother, Michael, laughing as Ben made faces across the table. These were good times that seemed as if they would never end. Ben could also recall the sound of the screeching brakes, of the impact of metal and glass shattering. As Ben’s family left for the short trip back to their home, another vehicle left the Bridgeview Tavern, driven by a man who had spent his evening giving thanks to the seemingly endless supply of whiskey shots with his name on them. He probably didn’t notice that his car was no longer in the correct lane. Considering his blood alcohol level, he probably didn’t notice much of anything.
It took almost an hour before another motorist noticed the wreckage on the rarely traveled country road. By the time the ambulance arrived, Ben was the only person on the scene who still had a pulse, his entire family taken away in a fleeting moment. Ben was in a coma for 6 months and when he awoke, he learned he was an orphan. From this point forward, smiling was for other people. Ben’s face simply forgot how.
Lifting himself from the ground, Ben walked back to his car, the haunting sounds of laughing children dancing through his head. He longed to join them.
Ben awoke from a long slumber under his favorite tree. A slight breeze chilled him as he slowly regained his bearings. Eventually, it all came back to him. It was a sunny Tuesday afternoon in late April and the weather was what most would consider perfect. He had drifted off while pondering a magical world where nobody suffered.
There were few pleasures in life that Ben enjoyed more than a nap in the park on his day off. As a paramedic for the city of angels, he rarely got the chance to relax and when he did, it could be damn near impossible to dim the images of his previous shift. For some reason though, this particular spot had a healing quality to it. It was a place he could dream, a place he could forget. Sleeping at home frequently led to an evening of tossing and turning, of anxiety attacks, and of nightmares. It was only under his favorite tree that he ever seemed to get a restful sleep. For when he fell asleep here, his dreams were of a better life and a better world.
The particular dream de jour, however, seemed more puzzling than the comforting escape he was accustomed to. From what he was able to recollect, he had been sitting by a lake as a rust-colored swan floated past, unlike any he had witnessed before. As he peered into the majestic bird’s eyes, they appeared no different than those of a small child, yet they also displayed the wisdom of a thousand years. The eyes haunted him and they beckoned him to follow. Along the shore of the lake he traveled, unsure of where he was headed, or why for that matter. The swan drifted into a hidden cavern by the side of the lake, camouflaged by a number of trees and bushes. Approaching the cave, Ben ventured forward. It was a tight fit but he was able to squeeze himself though the small opening. Once inside, his eyes adjusted to the lack of light and he was awed by the fact that the cave resembled an ancient palace, much larger than it ever should have been, with gold-colored walls and stone pillars. A discovery as mysterious as this, however, was no match to his surprised reaction of the sounds surrounding him. Through the walls, he could hear thousands, perhaps millions of children laughing and playing. Ben couldn’t help but smile a bit, and was surprised that he remembered how. Few sounds are as joyous as that of a child laughing and although he initially resisted, Ben couldn’t help but feel a healing power from the almost musical quality of what he heard. Stumbling through the dimly lit cave, he searched for a portal to this strange world he was only able to hear, yearning to be a part of it. Searching every nook, every crevice, he finally found what he was seeking. Between two stone pillars was a barely noticeable wooden door. Ben reached out, formed a fist of his right hand and knocked. The door started to creak, as if being opened for the first time in a century. Before he could see where the door led, Ben awoke from his dream.
Once could understand why the sound of laughter was so compelling to Ben. From the time that he was seven years old, he couldn’t recall having laughed. For it was at that age that his world shattered. It was the year he lost his family, on a cold Thanksgiving evening. To laugh was to diminish the pain he felt and his heart wasn’t ready to allow that.
Thanksgiving 1988 would be the last time Ben had ever given thanks for anything. He could still remember the way the pumpkin pie tasted, the sight of his parents, still hopelessly in love after ten years of marriage, the sound of his brother, Michael, laughing as Ben made faces across the table. These were good times that seemed as if they would never end. Ben could also recall the sound of the screeching brakes, of the impact of metal and glass shattering. As Ben’s family left for the short trip back to their home, another vehicle left the Bridgeview Tavern, driven by a man who had spent his evening giving thanks to the seemingly endless supply of whiskey shots with his name on them. He probably didn’t notice that his car was no longer in the correct lane. Considering his blood alcohol level, he probably didn’t notice much of anything.
It took almost an hour before another motorist noticed the wreckage on the rarely traveled country road. By the time the ambulance arrived, Ben was the only person on the scene who still had a pulse, his entire family taken away in a fleeting moment. Ben was in a coma for 6 months and when he awoke, he learned he was an orphan. From this point forward, smiling was for other people. Ben’s face simply forgot how.
Lifting himself from the ground, Ben walked back to his car, the haunting sounds of laughing children dancing through his head. He longed to join them.