Resurrection

Chapter 14 : Marlowe's Requiem for a Dream

St Francis Hospital: Room 204. A myriad of tubes, bleached white corridors became my latest refuge. The monitors continued to blare and other static bodies stared desperately out into the abyss, hoping against all hope that somebody would stop by and talk to them.

My body was all but broken and I had no contact with the conscious world around me. I could imagine people looking at me beaten and bloodied and maybe feel a vague hint of pity, but for now I lay in a peaceful hatred and felt a power I hadn't previously emanated. A team of medical professionals would say that most of my vital signs were being cut off and that eventually I would either pass away or turn into a vegetable, that there was barely a glimpse of life as each day my condition grew worse.

In my dream-like state I was different, that a different version of myself was evolving- channelling anger and dropping the self –pity. The seething rage was swirling around inside me like a caged Valkyrie. I wanted to take names embroidered in blood, dump oil on the mouths of the morally bankrupt. I was shuffling off this mortal coil with no hint of a swan song and I was enraged by it. Except for the occasional beep warping into my head, all audio was self-maintained as if I was playing the soundtrack of my life.

"You take a mortal man and put him in control, watch him become a god, watch people's heads a' roll." Megadeth's anthem for doomed souls was playing at a dull roar as my subconscious brain-dumped the events of the last few days.

Images flickered of gruesomely dramatic scenes, grainy like a messed up super 8 home movie; this continued on playing from my painful perspective on all of the events unfolding. The last images coursing through my conscious like a worn out old film reel, which broadcasted the final blows that would send me into a coma and give me permanent skull fractures. I watched each hit from various weapons rain down on me in slow motion and I could hear the grunts from the pikeys with the odd chuckle thrown in for good measure. The fuckers were having a delightful time crushing my body and getting in some valuable exercise.

This playback finished abruptly and I felt my perception disappearing into myself. My eyes reflected back a kaleidoscope of splattered colour palettes, growing outwards exponentially in long complex webs. Colours throbbed inside my skull before surging outwards. The speed picked up, my heart pulsated wildly and it felt like I was staring at hyperspace, reminiscent of the hyper drive on the Millennium Falcon and combined with the journey of the Tardis. My hyper travel slowly morphed into a dark quagmire that felt like nothing on Earth. Entwining me were various large arteries surging through this dark brown slurry. Faces were pulling out of the mud like wraiths of Mordor searching for their precious me. I didn't know how to explain this state of purgatory. This image began to fade and instead I felt myself fall onto a beach. Even though my face thudded against wet sand, it was not an entirely unpleasant sensation, as I could hear the soft swirling tumbles of the surf, rising like a crescendo as the waves started to rise in the background. The overwhelming sounds of the tides reverberated around my head as each wave came thundering towards me. As I looked up from the compacted shiny particles, I could see the remains of a deserted beach. The coastline crept around a point of rocks and the coastline behind me continued to curve like a golden scimitar. It was starkly beautiful. The rocky outlines of the pass creeping around the point break were littered with vines and dense foliage. The beachhead was scattered with tussocks of an off-green grass and emitted a pungent aroma of salt and flowery perfumes. Seagulls could be heard in the distance and the billowing sunlight was beginning to wake me up, forcing me like the touch of a mother's hand to rise up for the occasion. By the time I had gained some footing, there was a figure in the near distance, fading into vision with its emanating shadow filling with blood and vitality.

At first I thought it was some Buddhist enthusiast or yoga instructor, as his attire was a set of all white free flowing robes. The bristly beard around the man's face resembled a pastiche of Jesus and Jorah Mormont; from a distance. The sandy blonde hair hung over his face yet could not hide the growing bald spot trying its best to burst out of the top of a nice mane.