O brave new world

Untitled Part 13

Yay! You figured it out! For anyone else with questions as to what happened to Sang's throat please refer to chapter 2. As you may have noticed Sang firmly believes her not talking is a mental issue, not a physical one - she is 5 in chapter 2 and it was rather traumatising. Draw your own conclusions...

Mr. Blackbourne takes me to one of those death contraptions called cars. This particular one is a grey BMW. The letters stand for Bayerischen Motoren Werke – Bavarian motor works. It's funny how the acronym fits both languages. Did the founders do it on purpose? Then again, BMW has been around for a long time if I remember what my mother told me correctly. I doubt they were all that concerned about what their company's name would sound like in English back then. So it was a quirk of fate.

Quirk.

 It's a funny word, don't you think? If you look it up in the dictionary it'll tell you the origin is unknown, that the word is simply another quirk of...

I breathe a sigh of relief when Mr. Blackbourne finally parks. Cars are scary as hell; and to imagine I should actually be getting my drivers license this year! Are people really crazy enough to let teenagers drive these monster machines? They have to wait longer for alcohol; surely it's more dangerous to drive than to drink.

Before I can open my car door Mr. Blackbourne is there, doing it for me. We're in another one of those giant parking lots, though this one is much smaller than the one at the hospital. But it's still giant. Which makes the one at the hospital ginormous! That word on the other hand has a known origin: it comes from military slang. You have way too much time on your hands when you're locked up inside a house. And I'm rambling again. That happens when you're tired. But I am NOT. ALLOWED. TO. GO. TO. SLEEP. I will DIE if I do.

"Shall we, Miss Sorenson?" Mr. Blackbourne takes my arm and lightly tugs me over the parking lot. We head over to a beautiful cream colored house. The big windows make it look inviting and I think I just fell in love with the tiny wrought iron balconies in front of each of them. How I whish I could draw something like that, or even better make the design for them and then make it! I don't know if it would actually be any fun, but just to have the ability to create something so beautiful...

Mr. Blackbourne is pushing open the door to the building. The inside is light and airy, kept in creams and pastels. I cling to Mr. Blackbourne like a Koala once I notice all the people.

The man behind the reception asks us to go sit down in the waiting room for a moment. I start to shake. Will Mr. Blackbourne just leave me alone there? I don't want to panic and stab someone again. Hurting people isn't good, but when I can't read their intentions properly... I'm a quivering, crying mess as Mr. Blackbourne carries me into the next room. He strokes my back soothingly, whispering into my ear that he's there, that everything will me all right, that I'm safe, that he won't leave me. He repeats it over and over again as he rocks me. I won't leave you. We won't leave you. You're safe. I'm here.

Voices talk over my head and I feel Mr. Blackbourne's chest vibrate as he answers them. I look up, blinking through the tears. The giant is here, looking worried and helpless. Giants should not wear the look. It is not befitting their position of terrorizing us tiny puny little mortals. Maybe I should simply stop calling him the giant. But what on earth was his name again?

Next to the giant is a little old lady. Well, she's not that little, probably a bit taller than me, actually, and though her face has wrinkles and her hair has streaks of grey she looks as alive as can be. Her skin is dark – not tanned from the sun dark but dark dark – and her matching eyes twinkle. It's a worried twinkle. Huh. The world gets more astonishing by the day.