Turn About

Alex 04

The man gently picked his friend up from the bench. His weight was nothing in his arms, and he carried him from the train station.

Rain poured from the skies overhead, and the man stopped for a moment and turned his face to the rain and let it wash over him. It washed the blood from his friend's face and left his face looking serene and peaceful.

They soon reached the docks, and the man laid his burden down gently upon the ground as the oceans quaked ahead. Quickly he shed his clothes and then went about the process of stripping the body. He pulled a small black metal box from his clothes and then carried his friend down to the beach. After looking for a few moments he found a large stone and then lashed it tightly to the body, using fine cord that unrolled from the black box.

Once he had lashed the stone to the body's chest, he pulled it out into the turbulent seas and began swimming. Fierce waters pulled at him, and his burden slowed his progress, but the man pushed on with inexhaustible strength. When the dock was a distant sight, he finally pulled the body from his back. He had to kick his feet hard to stay aloft while holding onto the body, but still he did not let go.

With a gentleness that belied his strength, the man closed his friend's eyes. Around him the storm's fury raged, wave after wave tried to pull him under, and his friend's body threatened to pull him under. Rage pounded inside of him as well, threatening to pull him down to the depths just as surely as the ocean. He tried to fight the rage within as he did without, but that storm was a much stronger one.

Finally he let the body go, sinking into the depths with a cold finality. In the moment he also let himself go, sinking into the depths of his rage. No one heard his cries over the storm, and the ocean was little affected by his thrashings, but he let it have him for the moment at least. Alone, where it was safe to feel and be himself.

Then, his body heavy and exhausted from the exertion of swimming and the play of his feelings, he swam back towards shore. He collapsed on the wet sand with a great exhalation of air and lay gasping for breath as the rain pounded down from above, and the shore smashed at him from behind. After an eternity he rose and walked to where he had left their belongings.

His clothes lay beside his friends, like two bodies on the ground. Two choices before him. The choice was made in an instant, and then he hurled his clothes into the ocean and dressed in the others. All he kept of his old belongings was a gun.

It only took him a moment to see where the shots had pierced the clothing. Much of the blood had been washed away, but the stains remained. Then he took his own gun, aimed, and fired into his own body. The first shot was easy, but the second was much more difficult, and the last was pure agony. He hurled the gun into the sea with his dwindling strength.

The walk from the beach to a vidphone was painful, but the man bore it well and kept his wits about him. He had to restrain his impulse to stop the blood loss, and instead just focused on putting one foot in front of the other until he reached his destination. The ID in his pocket activated the vidphone, and alerted emergency services to his condition. Response time was quick considering the neighborhood.

A white ambulance rolled to a stop, the hum of its electric engine giving almost no sound. Two paramedics rushed to his side and strapped him to a board before sliding him into the back of the van. They worked over him in short, professional movements. The man felt his consciousness slipping, and it must have shown in his eyes, because one of the paramedics leaned down to look into his eyes.

"Stay with me, sir. We need you to stay away, your blood loss is pretty severe. Can you stay away Mr," he looked at the ID, "Valin."

The man nodded, and spoke through his oxygen mask, "Call me, Alex."