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First draft of Unnamed Christian SciFi Novel
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<blockquote data-quote="Harry Larry" data-source="post: 77568642" data-attributes="member: 454385"><p>"I feel like I have the wrong body and the wrong memories. I feel like I am not your husband, even though I know I am."</p><p>At the last sentence, a tear came to her eye. A different kind of worry seemed to take over, a concern for something other than diseases.</p><p>"Did I do something wrong? Am I not a good wife?" she asked, voice waning.</p><p>"I love you, I know that."</p><p>The words had been the right ones. Of all that could have been said, this was what she needed most to hear. But the air was thick with thoughts and questions, some strange mist that had seemed to come from nothing, and yet now hung over everything like a heavy blanket.</p><p>"Then what is it that feels wrong?"</p><p>Sitting up on the small couch was more of a challenge than it should be, and only Marissa's supporting hand made it even possible. She whispered half sentences meant to calm and soothe, but she was too worried to be forceful with them. They sounded distant, like words spoken across a chasm.</p><p>"Out in the wasteland. I saw something, felt something, something that I still have problems comprehending. I felt like I left my body, briefly, and was put back in, just a tiny bit different."</p><p>Her eyes were now nothing but questions, the frown turning from concern to confusion. Her hands were still gentle, caring, every touch a relaxing gesture.</p><p>"A man was outside earlier, on my path back home, did I tell you that?"</p><p>She shook her head, her focus intense as she waited to hear.</p><p>"He was... he looked worn, he looked sick. I called for an ambulance, and they came and took him. But he said things, strange things. He talked about sheep and birds."</p><p>"Your sparrow," she said, quickly putting it together.</p><p>"Sparrow. Yes, a sparrow. Or... no sparrow. Not a sparrow, those were his exact words."</p><p>"What was not a sparrow?" she asked, her emotions finally taking a back seat to logic and reason. The nebulous ailment had become a riddle, instead, and riddles could be solved.</p><p>"He never said. But he clearly wanted me to know it."</p><p>A faint sound came from the kitchen. Something to drink had been warmed. How she had the time and attention to set that in motion was impossible to tell, she simply had a knack for making sure things happened when they needed to. Without a sign of surprise, she simply stood and walked to get it. Seconds later, she brought in a cup of hot tea, the aroma of it filling the room in an instant. Closer it became clear that she had put honey in it. Two small cups, one for each.</p><p>"Was he ill, the man? Did he seem, perhaps, delirious?"</p><p>The tea made every last bit of cold that could have remained evaporate. The sweetness of the honey made every muscle relax. Everything felt better, at least for a moment.</p><p>"I am fairly sure he was. But there was this... sincerity to him. Whatever it was, he wanted me to listen. He wanted me to understand."</p><p>"You listened. That is all you can choose on your own. Understanding requires more than what you control."</p><p>"Perhaps. It could be just ramblings, the words of a feeble mind screaming for attention as reason slips away. I see that, sometimes, in the ones we try to save."</p><p>For seven years, Marissa had been married to a medic, a recue worker, and she had never shown disdain for the job. She had listened to horrid stories of the injuried, the sick, and the dying, and she had never complained about it. Her work was in a calmer environment, looking for little ways to improve the logistics of things moving through the city, helping people make their respective work a little easier. She saw numbers and the names of places all day, moving the numbers between the names of people and places and trying to find ways to move more by doing less. Efficiency, order, systems. All things that either worked or did not work. They did not decay. They did not get sick, they felt no pain, no fear, they never cried or screamed in fits of anger. People did. People caught on bad days, in bad situations. That was a different job. She knew it, and she respected that. But she was protective, protective of her home and her family. And on this evening, that job had threatened to cross the line, threatened to not be a job, threatened to drag someone she loved into the darkness. It was painted like broad strokes on a canvas in every fold in her face, with every shift of her eyes. She was not just listening to stories, not this time. She was looking for monsters, for anything that could leap from the experiences of rescue work and force her to become the rescuer.</p><p>"You should sleep," she said, covering all the tension and fear up behind kind eyes. "they were right, you need rest. You have experienced too much, too quickly."</p><p>Wise words from a good heart. She was right. Everything had been too much. The tea was nearly gone, only a small puddle left on the bottom of the cup. She took the cups and brought them back into the small kitchen, letting little machines do the rest. It was time to sleep, time to let body and mind shed the burdens placed on them by the day.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Harry Larry, post: 77568642, member: 454385"] "I feel like I have the wrong body and the wrong memories. I feel like I am not your husband, even though I know I am." At the last sentence, a tear came to her eye. A different kind of worry seemed to take over, a concern for something other than diseases. "Did I do something wrong? Am I not a good wife?" she asked, voice waning. "I love you, I know that." The words had been the right ones. Of all that could have been said, this was what she needed most to hear. But the air was thick with thoughts and questions, some strange mist that had seemed to come from nothing, and yet now hung over everything like a heavy blanket. "Then what is it that feels wrong?" Sitting up on the small couch was more of a challenge than it should be, and only Marissa's supporting hand made it even possible. She whispered half sentences meant to calm and soothe, but she was too worried to be forceful with them. They sounded distant, like words spoken across a chasm. "Out in the wasteland. I saw something, felt something, something that I still have problems comprehending. I felt like I left my body, briefly, and was put back in, just a tiny bit different." Her eyes were now nothing but questions, the frown turning from concern to confusion. Her hands were still gentle, caring, every touch a relaxing gesture. "A man was outside earlier, on my path back home, did I tell you that?" She shook her head, her focus intense as she waited to hear. "He was... he looked worn, he looked sick. I called for an ambulance, and they came and took him. But he said things, strange things. He talked about sheep and birds." "Your sparrow," she said, quickly putting it together. "Sparrow. Yes, a sparrow. Or... no sparrow. Not a sparrow, those were his exact words." "What was not a sparrow?" she asked, her emotions finally taking a back seat to logic and reason. The nebulous ailment had become a riddle, instead, and riddles could be solved. "He never said. But he clearly wanted me to know it." A faint sound came from the kitchen. Something to drink had been warmed. How she had the time and attention to set that in motion was impossible to tell, she simply had a knack for making sure things happened when they needed to. Without a sign of surprise, she simply stood and walked to get it. Seconds later, she brought in a cup of hot tea, the aroma of it filling the room in an instant. Closer it became clear that she had put honey in it. Two small cups, one for each. "Was he ill, the man? Did he seem, perhaps, delirious?" The tea made every last bit of cold that could have remained evaporate. The sweetness of the honey made every muscle relax. Everything felt better, at least for a moment. "I am fairly sure he was. But there was this... sincerity to him. Whatever it was, he wanted me to listen. He wanted me to understand." "You listened. That is all you can choose on your own. Understanding requires more than what you control." "Perhaps. It could be just ramblings, the words of a feeble mind screaming for attention as reason slips away. I see that, sometimes, in the ones we try to save." For seven years, Marissa had been married to a medic, a recue worker, and she had never shown disdain for the job. She had listened to horrid stories of the injuried, the sick, and the dying, and she had never complained about it. Her work was in a calmer environment, looking for little ways to improve the logistics of things moving through the city, helping people make their respective work a little easier. She saw numbers and the names of places all day, moving the numbers between the names of people and places and trying to find ways to move more by doing less. Efficiency, order, systems. All things that either worked or did not work. They did not decay. They did not get sick, they felt no pain, no fear, they never cried or screamed in fits of anger. People did. People caught on bad days, in bad situations. That was a different job. She knew it, and she respected that. But she was protective, protective of her home and her family. And on this evening, that job had threatened to cross the line, threatened to not be a job, threatened to drag someone she loved into the darkness. It was painted like broad strokes on a canvas in every fold in her face, with every shift of her eyes. She was not just listening to stories, not this time. She was looking for monsters, for anything that could leap from the experiences of rescue work and force her to become the rescuer. "You should sleep," she said, covering all the tension and fear up behind kind eyes. "they were right, you need rest. You have experienced too much, too quickly." Wise words from a good heart. She was right. Everything had been too much. The tea was nearly gone, only a small puddle left on the bottom of the cup. She took the cups and brought them back into the small kitchen, letting little machines do the rest. It was time to sleep, time to let body and mind shed the burdens placed on them by the day. [/QUOTE]
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