Chapter Two

The Ordeal

...a lone man wakes in a deserted world. Bleeding, his memories gone he must navigate a strange world to find his way home.

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The Ordeal - Chapter Two

Written by Edward Shaddow

I awoke to the sound of claws clicking and scraping on glass. Morning seeped into the room as a bright orange glow, flowing through the large double windows and spilling out over the bed. My eyes closed tighter as the gentle warmth crept over my head kissing me awake. Cringing, I waited for the pain of my headache to rush back, after being banished by the peace of unconsciousness, but it didn’t come. Laying on the bed straddling the realms of sleep and consciousness, I came to realise a few things. The first being that the pain that had almost left me for dead, had now all but left my body. The second being that despite my previous predictions, I was still very much alive. Although, the latter was yet to be proven one hundred percent, it was looking good. Which was a surprisingly good start to the day. Rolling onto my back I extended my arms above my head and arched my back in the worlds longest morning stretch. Bones an muscle cricked and protested against being woken while an immensely satisfying and comforting yawn forced its way out through my gaping mouth.

My arms folded neatly behind my head forming a pillow with my interlaced fingers. It was always rough getting up in the morning, especially after the day I just had. The scraping that had woken me started again, louder and more furious. As I lay width ways in the centre of the bed I bent my head backwards over the edge to look out the window. A large raven was standing on the window sill, running his claws and beak over the glass. “The wake up service here is excellent,” I said cheerfully to the raven, “Can you let the chef know I’ll be down for breakfast soon?” If I didn’t know better, I would have sworn it gave me a dirty look before flying away, cawing. Probably was hoping I died in the night, sorry to disappoint, guess he’ll have to find someone else's eyeballs for breakfast, I mused. As if on cue my stomach expelled an almighty rumble and the previous days agony was quickly replaced with hunger pains. “There better be a damn good buffet waiting for me” I said to the room.

Quicker than I expected, I was up and heading towards the bathroom, looking forward to a long, hot shower. Through a sleepy haze I shuffled over the cold marble floor of the bathroom and turned both hot and cold taps to full. Quickly steam began to fill the generous space and I stripped the remnants of my clothes off, leaving them in a messy heap on the floor. The strong pressure flowed over me, washing the last remaining pangs of the previous day down the drain. Closing my eyes I lent into the stream and let the piping hot water wake my dull senses and massage my poor body. Showers are the perfect time for reflecting on your life and occasionally washing away the sins of yesterdays. I let my mind wander and thought about how I ended up here, where ever here was. Try as I might, I couldn’t remember anything before waking up bleeding on that street. Not just the night before, the entire week, month, years were just gone. My eyes opened suddenly as the realisation hit me, my life was a blank. I mean, I could remember things, like how to use a shower, what a shoe was, why people were obsessed with potpourri, well actually I never knew that, but you see what I mean. I could remember things like that. It was just specifics that eluded me. The main one being “What the hell was my name?” Wounded, lost and now nameless, that’s just perfect, I thought as water streamed down my face.

The peace of the shower ruined I turned it off and towelled myself dry. “Ok,” I said, wiping the fog from the huge mirror “Time to see the damage. ”An unknown face stared back at me. It was a strong, hard face, yet bright and happy, almost friendly. Water slicked back my long white hair, exposing sharp features and extremely pale blue eyes. If it wasn’t for the slight tan in my skin, you could have been mistaken in thinking I was part albino. “Hmm...not bad” I said, running a hand through my hair, “I can work with this.” I studied my face for a while, hoping that it would jog a memory or two. Not even a hint of memory came back to me, just that same familiar face staring back at me, almost tauntingly. Frustration started to build up and push it’s ugly way towards my now curled fist; it took most of my energy just to stop myself from punching the mirror. Sighing, I picked up my discarded clothes from the floor and turned to leave the warm mist of the bathroom and enter the cool chill of the main room.

Discarding my towel I began to dress in the previous days attire, blood stained as they were, it’s all I had. As I pulled on my white Bonds shirt over the dirty (real dirty now) denim jeans I noticed just how much blood they were covered in. The entire left side of my shirt and jeans were a dark brown where the blood had dried overnight; just how much blood had I lost? More importantly...I quickly pulled up my shirt, exposing my stomach. There was no wound. No gaping hole, no horribly mutilating scar, nothing. Soft, tan skin lay taught across the source of the previous nights torment. Mere hours ago I was screaming for an ER, now I was ready to prowl the beach with David Hasselhoff! What exactly is going on here? Am I loosing my mind; well what’s left of it at any rate. My stomach growled loudly and tightened, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten for well over a day. I suppose it would be better to think this over with some food in me, maybe a couple of cups of strong coffee as well, I said to myself, already walking towards the door.

Early morning sunlight flowed down the hall from the window at the far end, giving the walls a warm welcoming glow. I counted eight other rooms as I walked towards the lift, each one sporting perfectly mounted gold numbers and locked doors. The journey down to the ground floor took mere moments this time, rather than the several agonising hours it felt like last night. A faint ‘ding’ announced my arrival as I peeled back the bronze grill and stepped into the grand lobby before me. “Wow” the word slipped from my mouth in a hushed breath as I looked over the room as if for the first time. I hadn’t been in the right frame of mind to appreciate the sheer scale of the lobby enhanced now by the subtle changes that the new day’s light brought.

The mirrors were far more impressive in the daylight, and that was saying something. Each story carved into the thick dark wood jumped and moved as shadows played along the grooves, gods and giants fought on a dark background of branches and leaves. All the plants had grown several feet in the night and had now completely covered their boxes, and most of the floor, giving the illusion that the hotel had been involved in a hit-and-run with a rainforest. My boots squeaked embarrassingly on the polished marble floor, echoing around the empty lobby as I walked towards the centre. Light streamed down from the two large wood framed windows above the grand staircase, picking up the dust that filtered through the air, adding to the desolate feeling welling up inside me.

An empty hotel is a sight to behold. It’s not until your ears finally resister the total lack of sound that your mind clicks and puts it with the images your eyes have been sending. Nobody. Nothing, no staff, no loud tourists, not even a snotty nosed brat running around trying to convince the bellhops to let them ride the luggage carriers. For a moment I close my eyes and imagine the bustle of a long weekend crowd flowing around me, warm bodies rush past me and the roar of life reaches up and fills my ears. As quickly as it came, the image vanished from my mind and I was back standing in the middle of a big empty hotel, hungry and with more than a few questions on my mind. Sighing, I took one more look around the lobby, half hoping a crowd would jump out from behind the sitting chairs and yell ‘Surprise!’. With no such luck I headed towards the restaurant, my boots continuing to squeak against the marble, although I was past caring.

“Table for two please good sir, by the window if I can.” I said to the space where the maitre d'hôtel would stand. “Yes sir, very good sir. Is sir expecting a second party?” I said in my best French accent, bowing slightly to myself.

“Thank you. No, I’m on my own this morning; however I do believe in keeping my options open.” I replied, giving a knowing wink.

“A wise man indeed. If sir will just follow me, I have the perfect table for you.” I said moving towards the front of the restaurant and pulling out the chair of front most table. Sitting down I thanked myself and picked up the black leather menu resting on the table behind me. “What do I feel like this morning? Eggs Florentine, hmm, or perhaps it’s more of a pancake day?” I mused out loud.

“If sir would permit, may I recommend a personal favourite of mine? The hand rolled oat porridge with a hint of vanilla topped with seasonal fruits covered with wild honey and cinnamon? It’s not, how do you say ‘exotic’, but it is an excellent start to the day.”

“Simple, delicious and filling. I do believe you have sold me on the porridge friend, thank you.”

“Very well sir. Any drinks to start the day? Fruit juice, tea, coffee...?”

“A tall glass of fresh orange juice, followed by a large, a very large, cup of your strongest coffee, if I may.”

“It will be with you momentarily sir. Enjoy your meal and good morning.”

“And a good morning to you my friend...” I said to the empty room. “Well, that porridge isn’t going to make it’s self,” I said getting up from the table and headed towards the kitchen doors.

Pushing through the swing doors I was met with a sight any half decent chef would give his left... well, let’s just say they would give a lot to see this kitchen. While the customer side of the restaurant was all white table cloths and chandlers the kitchen was purely business. Stainless steal benches filled the surprisingly large space, with large industrial sized ovens, grills, hot plates, fridges, freezers (you name it odds are it was there) dotting the gleaming landscape. How can one building hold so many ascetic wonders without something clashing horribly? I humbly doff my hat to the designers, I know who I’m going to get to redesign my place. My place. I try and visualise what my place looks like... images of light and people come to me in quick hard flashes, none stay in focus long enough for me to see and they quickly fall back in to black behind my eyes. Damn it. Sighing, I shake it off and focus on what the store room has to offer me.

Food. Sweet, glorious food. If Oliver were here he’d have died of shock; the shelves were lined floor to ceiling with tins, boxes, crates and jars of the richest food you have ever seen. It was like having a supermarket in your pantry, without the stupid people blocking whole isles with their trollies or the apathetic cashiers who zoned out hours ago and are plotting the deaths of their customers, of course. I roamed up and down the shelves looking for ingredients, oats, check. Cinnamon, check. Mixed dried fruit, check. Grabbing a few other bits and pieces I left the store and dumped my breakfast on the nearest bench, grabbing a suitable pot from the overhead racks on my way back from my milk run. Cooking came quite naturally to me, even though I couldn’t remember who taught me or what I cooked for dinner a week ago, I sort of knew that I could and did. Not professionally, it didn’t seem like it was my job or anything, it was deeper, more ingrained. Well I could cook porridge, that was enough for now.

The smell of warm honey and cinnamon filtered up from my bowl as I carried it out to my table. My body prickled with happiness as I held on to the comforting sensation only a warm breakfast can bring. Life isn’t too bad I guess, even if I am alone in the world, I thought to myself, blowing gently on a spoonful of hot porridge. No sooner had the spoon entered my mouth than came a furious beating of wings that continued to fly over my head to land in a pile of black feathers on the back of the opposite chair. The large raven turned to face me and used its beak to smooth down its ruffled feathers. With the speed and suddenness possessed only by birds, it snapped its neck up levelling a pitch black bead of an eye with mine. My spoon hovered halfway between my mouth and bowl, not daring to move. It was the most bizarre and breathtaking scene to fall upon me, even after waking up in an empty city. Locking eyes with a raven in a deserted hotel restaurant over a bowl of porridge, it just doesn’t happen. Enough brain cells woke up from the shock and managed to open my mouth and begin to push sound though it when the raven jerked its head towards the kitchen and said in a very matter-of-fact manner, “Did you see if there was any bacon in there?”

Next Chapter...

Artist

Android Lust

Song

Hole Solution

Reason

“You need a hole in your head” a lyric that really fits this chapter which just happens to be in the middle of a great song, one that suits the isolation and frustration our hero must be feeling about now.

‘There better be a damn good buffet waiting for me’ I said to the room.