The Platfrom

The platform chapter 2: Hospital

The Platform Chapter 2: Hospital

"I'm not sure, we can think of something, I mean, we're both intelligent I'm sure, but I need to catch the train, or I've had it for this New Years", replied Ann, when she was multitasking between running backwards, shouting, and deciding her love life status, balanced between a chance home, away from this uncertainty, John, and her defying dignity. Her left work shoe had been scuffed from months of wearing as she always wore her 'the bridge' handbag on the right arm, letting her have a high tendency to force her way on to this side. Spilt yoghurt within the entrance of London Paddington had carelessly been left, acting as a lubricant between Ann and the lined floor. Ann fell to the ground, where the impact strained through her. What seemed as seismic activity fractured Ann's wrist as she landed on it, and shattered her New Years to a pulp. Her arm broke, and thankfully a steady draft from the platform edge to the exit of Paddington pushed her bag behind her head reducing head injury. Meanwhile, John froze his face modern art. Fate seemed close again. Sub consciously slightly suspicious, Ann realised this. She thought to herself as the light was diminishing from her eyes flakily staring at the Paddington national Victorian clock at an angle of 45 degrees from where her shades should be placed. Light shimmers of that distinct voice that she first met on the bus, too was diminishing. She was leaving Him in that Tuxedo suit, and the rain started on the over world. 

One bright light filled Ann's mind in a steady flash, just as the blinding sensation you deceive once a photo has discriminated you, feasting from end to end. Imagine this light beam reaching to your inner depths to intensely scan your life style as an object with no value. But Ann has value, now, she is in, herself. A weary at first voice was pushing into Ann's mind sufficiently, saying "Ann, Ann, Ann", as though there was a crescendo, "Ann, Ann!". Something was there, but Ann couldn't put her mind to it, as now truly, she was unconscious to the 'up and out' world. Now she was controlled inside. Now we enter Ann. Whoever controls regulates Ann. A very distinct voice, that wasn't her mother, father, siblings or one of her friends which puzzled the embroiled inner world of Ann, directed her into a swirling sensation. Thrust worthy Ann is yet to be stitched through from her history. Stabbed by that sewing machine needle that makes our fingers bleed. She is officially within.

Eyes open. She was surrounded in this vast spectrum of white indulgence of steady patterns of bright blue seeping from the claustrophobic walls, such as food dye seeping from its bottle, tempting. As these water patterns forming a bond within her head carried on its duties, a mystical sound of charm bells came from around her which she could recognise from her year four music class at the 'St. Christina's school'. The perfect district where the monarchy visit- Westminster, Great Britain. Surrounded with a brisk dash of glowing fragments of what to Ann, seemed glass, and became less like glass as it failed to cut every inch of her body, and fed sugar supplements to her starving independence. Waves and wind sheets circled her as she was becoming more distressed, where she needed so desperately to know that something, that was happening to her. A tribal thump of the orchestral kettle drums acted in unison to her heart beat, where the main beat of the pulse came around more frequently. The air is blue. 

A trickle of the purest water fell on to the delicate nose of Ann. She noticed that this trickles too came frequent, after the general uproar of this kettle drum. In convenience, Ann looked up. She looked up but white was among her. Falling sick of this white, the subconscious found out. A vast stream turning into a river, turning into a flood took Ann by surprise. The surrounding had a tint of blue, and within her the ice was dancing. The heat was stricken from her surface as this object within her mind. Her blemished skin had been dyed blue. Her ear drums had now been perforated.  

The water slowly rising above Ann took advantage of her inability to swim. It was almost as though whatever this was, new about her in almost every sense, detailed to show off its knowledge to the best, of her education. Seeing the wind belts of glass?, seeing the drips of convectional dye within the water taking the heat away from her? A sense of confusion first masked her. A slight sense of unease from all of these questions brought her into a steady beat, followed by the sharp icy water steeling the foundations of her parker coat, and dignity. Desperation is stalking her- someone tell her what she's thinking.