going out of my mind :: pandora/ezekiel {ems}

[ghosty]

[googlefont="Sacramento:400"]

Pandora Blair A name to me is no longer behind a person; it's a name to a target. I quickly slide the knife into my belt, and pull on a jacket. Black and leather. It's not really the best clothing for this type of weather, snowy and heavy wind, but it's more for role of hiding what's at my waist, not for protection against the weather. I open the front door, and greeted by white, and the steaming of my exhaled breath. It's bitterly cold, and no one is out. I remember the address, a good trek across from my front doorstep. Setting off at a brisk pace, due to the slowly falling sun in the sky. Don't want for it to be too late that I might miss them inside their locked door. Don't really want some peacekeeper coming to a report of a girl trying to break into a house; that certainly will ruin my image with Father once and for all. Although, in all honesty, not much can help recover that from the ruined position that it currently lies.  Knowing my luck, the cloud's began to drop snow again, and it began to settle, making it deeper and deeper until it easily covers my ankles. My feet were making more prints than I wanted them to; a map right back to my front door if everything went to pot. I honestly hope that this is just a simple operation, one that keeps Father happy, and so I don't have to remember this when I sleep. I always try and save my mind from this, just like all the horror's that I see when working in the hospital. I'm not a qualified doctor, but even that doesn't stop me from seeing the gruesome cases that people come in with. Some of them are from someone in our family from failing, like some of the cousins that Father's corruption has touched.  If I had a choice, he would be gone, and more silent than any of the people that I kill, just to please him. His heart being stopped by a blade grasped within my own hand. Yet for that to happen, I'd need to be lucky, or just plain dreaming. It's not like I don't do enough dreaming about that topic any case. It'll become an obsession, a never-ending obsession until either I, or he dies. An opening appears, a small square opening up into a selection of stalls. I see a lone man walking, and an image, a photo, filters into my mind. He's the target, the one I've been instructed to kill. If again, I had a choice, I would have warned him, but then they would send my brother, the demon he is, to slowly take his life away, then turn onto me, love nor affection anything that used to be between us. I don't know why someone wanted this man dead, nothing more than a nobody, spending his hours at a factory, or in the pub.  And he was drunk; the pub was his journey home today. Not wanting for him to see me, I curve around the front of the buildings, until I am behind him.Breathing out, trying to get my heart to go down to a normal level, I slowly slip out the knife, the hilt grabbed securely inside my right hand. Grabbing his neck, I whisper, "I'm sorry." Sorry doesn't really make up for what I've just done. I throw the knife away from me, not wanting to get the blood from him, onto me. Not very good if anyone passes me by. Having a bloody knife is probably going to get the peacekeepers called to my house. Father would probably kill me before that though. And behind me, I hear the crunching of shoes in snow. My heart in my mouth, I shout, "Help me! Someone's been stabbed! Anyone, help!" I knew it was too late for him, his blood slowly sinking deeper, further away from him. Making a rose in the blood, a sign of his death. Rest in peace.   wc: six hundred and seventy three made by ghosty, inspired by rook.

[Knuckles]

Ezekiel Alexander
Narration Thinking "Hearing" "Speech"

Working at the hospital had many challenges. Ezekiel thought he had seen it all - broken bodies of the dying lined the hospital beds. Blood dripped onto the white tiled floor painting it red as medics worked wholeheartedly trying to save someone. Sometimes the efforts were futile, but on the rare occasion a stopped heart would start beating again, and the medics and nurses would all jump for joy. Each time someone was resucitated, an amazing sense of success crept through his veins, and it slowly showed itself across his face, however, when CPR wasn't successful a sense failure filled the room. Sorrow and remorse as he knew what was next. Nobody wanted to tell someone their family member was pronounced dead, but at the end of the day it was all part of the job.

And today was one of those days.

Snow fell heavily from the sky piling higher and higher on the ground, but none of that mattered. His shattered heart was broken as he pulled the wife of the dead man aside. Tears stained the brim of his eyes as he looked into her's. "I'm sorry, Ma'am, we've done all we could do." Her wails echoed through his mind bouncing from the walls of the building before her violent sobs raged throughout her body. Rubbing a hand against his face, Ezekiel tried to figure out a way to console her. To tell her that everyone would be fine. Was death ever fine? No. It wasn't. Ezekiel watched as the woman walked away tears running down her face, and his heart snapped in half. A tidal wave of emotions ran throughout his body.

Shaking his head he went to his locker where he grabbed all his items. Throwing them inside his bag, Ezekiel took off into the snow. Every step crunched beneath his feet. Each breath formed a cloud as he exhaled all his worries into the air, and he lost track of the time and even where he was, but he knew many ways to make it back to his house. All the worries was gone until a horrific cry for help blasted through his ears.

Someone's been stabbed.

At the moment he was useless as he took off sprinting in the direction of the voice. Wind blew through his hair, and his cheeks burned bright red from the cold, icy chills slapping against him. Why did this happen to day he thought to himself as he pushed himself forward until he saw a girl standing in the snow. The once white surface was stained crimson. His heart fell into a void the moment his eyes focused on the man lying on the ground. His face was pale, and his lips were blue, and Ezekiel knew his death was there. He knew nothing would save him, but he had to try.

Ripping his jacket from his body, he pressed it down against the wound wondering where the criminal ran off to. His eyes looked around doing the best he could to make sure the scene was safe, but in the back of his mind, Ezekiel felt something was completely off about this entire situation. "Did you see what happened?" He asked hoping she knew something, but it never crossed his mind that the culprit was standing next to him.

[googlefont="Nothing You Could Do:400"]

553 words

[ghosty]

[googlefont="Sacramento:400"]

Pandora Blair And I was right, the increasing pace of the crunching behind me an acceptance in the snowy open. A call for help was surprisingly helpful in trying to run, but I was in no fit state to tun. The cold snow beneath my knees had rendered than paralysed in ice. A boy, older than I am runs up. He's in the medical industry; the look of helplessness upon his face. He knows that it is too late to save him, as do I. He takes his jacket off, and presses it onto the wound. Trained to help until the look in their eyes is glassy, not the slowly pleading look turning into unseeing. "Did you see what happened?" The look in his eyes is not anything but questioning, not even a look of suspicion on his face. Just the way that I liked it; no one even considered the one calling for help was the one that committed the crime. The knife was sat a short distance away from me, the steam slowly rising off the knife, slowly making another rose, albeit a smaller one. I shake my head, and murmur, "I think that's the knife, though," as I extended my thumb behind my head. It's only a short distance behind me, easily within clambering distance, in case a peacekeeper turned around the corner. I severely doubted that one would be out at this time of night, but I can never take risks of that scale. Remembering the symptoms of shock, I begin to shiver, despite the blood warming me up more than I would like to admit. My fingers, red from the life energy of this man, were warm, yet sticky. Slowly becoming locked as it dries upon my hand under the cold air. The steam that everything was making was showing, that the snow was the only cold thing in this situation. And then. there was a click in my head. No more was I finding an escape from here. I became a nurse-in-training once again. I looked towards the wound on the neck, deep, a question on my lips. "Is the trachea severed? I couldn't really see." If it was, there was definitely nothing that could be done here; the hospital itself was too far away for the two of us to get him there alive. The almost silent rasping of air was almost evidence that it was, but I did not say.  Building a relationship with the almost witness did not seem like a bad idea, and questions were the only way that such events could happen. I could have named multiple events where such behaviour could have worked, allowed me to get away a lot cleaner than actually happened. But most of all, it was a test. Not for him, not for what I've already done. It was a test for me, and if I can diagnose a patient. It might have been a patient that I caused, but it's a patient none the less. This man no longer was a target; he was a challenge. wc: five hundred and six made by ghosty, inspired by rook.

[Knuckles]

Ezekiel Alexander
Narration Thinking "Hearing" "Speech"

A crimson flower formed around his neck. Blood spewed from the arteries splashing Zeke in the face covering him in a stain he has worn many times. The once beautiful white snow was now a dark red. Despite his attempt to control the bleeding, Ezekiel knew this man was too far gone to save. He had seen it many times standing in the hospital when innocent citizens were brought in, and the family begged for them to save the poor soul, but once the person was too far gone, once their number was called, even the greatest doctor in the world wouldn't be able to save them. Yet it never made the loss any easier. Devoting a heavy workload of trained professionals to reach through death's door in order to grab the soul before being sucked into the oblivion was usually impossible, but it wouldn't stop him from trying.

Ezekiel would never forget the night his mother died in his arms. All the training in the world wasn't enough to save her as it was her time, and to this day he hasn't forgave himself.

Her voice broke through his mind, and every hair stood on end the moment her words escaped her lips. Icy chills swept across his body trapping him inside a snowglobe as snow poured down around him. Unexpecting eyes darted away from the man bleeding out in front of him as he held as much pressure as he could against the wound trying not to cut off the flow of oxygen, but it was a lose-lose situation. This man was going to die no matter what. "Well," Zeke coughed as he cleared his throat. How did you know where the knife was? I haven't even seen any footprints leading towards it. He wanted to say, yet he refused to allow the words to flee from his lips.

Silence surround him devouring his soul tearing apart what little he knew while his heart wept for this man. Ezekiel didn't know him, but the idea of losing another in the same night after a horrific cardiac arrest was enough to break him. Yet this girl seemed to know more than she was letting on by asking if the trachea was severed, and by the sound of his breathing it was. Blood was surely pooling inside his lungs as it dripped inside him. Feeling for a pulse, he finally allowed himself to speak."Yeah. He doesn't have much time left. Whoever did this knew exactly what they were doing." But nothing was there. No radial. No carotid. Nothing. Just the silence of a steady heart belonging to a man taken far too soon.

"He's gone." Zeke sighed. "May want to get out of here before whoever it was returns." Nothing in the world mattered to him as his heart bled with the tears staining the the soulless eyes of the man lying in front of him. With a steady hand, he reached forward to shut them before offering a silent pray. Sleep well, sir. Rest well.

[googlefont="Nothing You Could Do:400"]

506 words