Below are chapters 3-4 of the still currently untitled novel for Project 42.
Yes, it is riddled with typos, spelling mistakes, and grammar mistakes.
November is for writing. Editing I'll save for later.
You can still follow the entire story on Google Docs.
Chapter 5: Out from the presenceYes, it is riddled with typos, spelling mistakes, and grammar mistakes.
November is for writing. Editing I'll save for later.
You can still follow the entire story on Google Docs.
When I was woke up, the lights were bright, so bright I could not see. I was in a bed, relatively comfortable. I had been changed into a hospital gown, separated from my convocation clothing at last. My eyes slowly adjusted to the brightness. I was in a ward in some room. But I was too weak to move, as much as I wanted too. There wasn’t much looking around I could do anyways, as this white cloudiness seemed to cover a significant part my eyesight. I wondered if I was in a mental asylum. I’d probably gone crazy trying to cope with the deaths of of relatives, friends, and mentors. And probably my parents too.
A doctor came in. He introduced himself as Dr. Tonkin. I could barely make out his figure, though thankfully I could hear him clearly. He asked how I was feeling.
“I can’t see.”
“Nothing at all?” He sounded like he was caught off guard.
“Just this white cloudiness. I can see some shadows.” The doctor was scribbling something down in my chart.
“Anything else?”
“I’m just confused.” Why would God do this to me? What did I do wrong? Where are my parents? How is Helvetia doing? How will I do my masters? What happened to my friends? Did they do anything wrong?
Dr. Tonkin interpreted my confusion as disorientation, which I suppose was confusing too. It just didn’t feel as pressing. But I let him continue. I learned that I’d passed out at the memorial and thankfully someone called an ambulance and had me sent to North York General Hospital. I had spent just 3 hours in bed before I started to stir. They had found my health card in my wallet, but were unable to contact my parents. That mystery seemed to be my own constancy. Everything else was falling apart. I couldn’t depend on Helvetia anymore. I didn’t know which friends were still alive. My family was missing. I couldn’t even see any more, how would I be able to guide myself?
Feeling blindness and despair, I told the doctor I needed rest. He seemed to agree, and left, though I sensed a slight impatience in his voice. I lay there, eyes closed, avoiding the blindness of the light, and temporary escaping the cloudiness that seemed to obscure all that was in front of me. I took refuge in darkness, but that thought was also disturbing. I could not win.
Eventually I fell asleep. When I awoke, my eyesight was near-black, though I could still sense cloudiness. This was not good. A doctor came in and took some blood samples. Degradingly, a nurse took a urine sample while I used a bedpan. I felt so weak, so helpless. There was nothing I could do on my own.
I realized that my time should really be spent trying to reach out to others. WIthout family, my fellowship friends, and Helvetia, I didn’t know who I could depend on to take care of me. At the very least, I could hope and pray that Helvetia had calmed down, and that my parents were safe. I asked the nurse if she knew where my phone was. They were probably with my wallet, I added. She replied, “They’re right on the table beside you.”
“Table?”
I was suddenly overcome with sadness. I couldn’t even make out a table that was right beside me.
“Oh sorry”, said the nurse. “Ben was nice enough to charge up your phone for you. It was almost dead.”
“I guess that’s nice of Ben... wait, who’s Ben? Dr. Tonkin?”
“Oh no. It’s one of our interns. I think you’d like him, he’ll be in later today.”
“Ah, I’ll look forward to then.” I supposed I could ask him to help me read through my e-mails and texts. I would be unable to do that all on my own anyways. The nurse seemed busy and usually only stayed for a few minutes at most. I tried to count the number of hours I’d been at the hospital, realizing I’d forgotten to ask the nurse for the time of day. I certainly didn’t feel very tired anymore, so I must’ve gotten a good deal of rest. But physically, I still felt weak, and could barely move.
I tried to avoid thinking of death but it was so hard. I guess we were all destined for death anyways, but this all felt so sudden. Maybe it was just all a matter of time. Why have hope? My parents were probably already gone, and I probably didn’t have that much time either. But despite my despair, there was a song stuck in my head that kept my hopes that afternoon.
Be thou my vision, O Lord of my heart
Naught be all else to me, save that Thou art
Thou my best thought, by day or by night
Waking or sleeping, THy presence my sight
I went back to sleep.
Chapter 6: All this evil
I was awoken by the presence of someone stirring in my room. I was still weak. I opened my eyes hoping for some sight, but was only greeted by the same cloud that was beginning to haunt my dreams too. The footsteps were heavy, but the shoes were not as hard as those of Dr. Tonkin. “Ben?”, I asked.
“Ah, I’ll look forward to then.” I supposed I could ask him to help me read through my e-mails and texts. I would be unable to do that all on my own anyways. The nurse seemed busy and usually only stayed for a few minutes at most. I tried to count the number of hours I’d been at the hospital, realizing I’d forgotten to ask the nurse for the time of day. I certainly didn’t feel very tired anymore, so I must’ve gotten a good deal of rest. But physically, I still felt weak, and could barely move.
I tried to avoid thinking of death but it was so hard. I guess we were all destined for death anyways, but this all felt so sudden. Maybe it was just all a matter of time. Why have hope? My parents were probably already gone, and I probably didn’t have that much time either. But despite my despair, there was a song stuck in my head that kept my hopes that afternoon.
Be thou my vision, O Lord of my heart
Naught be all else to me, save that Thou art
Thou my best thought, by day or by night
Waking or sleeping, THy presence my sight
I went back to sleep.
Chapter 6: All this evil
I was awoken by the presence of someone stirring in my room. I was still weak. I opened my eyes hoping for some sight, but was only greeted by the same cloud that was beginning to haunt my dreams too. The footsteps were heavy, but the shoes were not as hard as those of Dr. Tonkin. “Ben?”, I asked.
“Yes, that’s me.” His voice was smooth and comforting. It seemed to contrast the authoritativeness of Dr. Tonkin, the sharpness of the nurse, and even the high-pitched voice of Helvetia, who still wouldn’t leave my mind. I prayed that she had found God after the shock of losing her parents. Maybe she had already texted me. Or maybe even called.
“Hi Ben. The nurse told me you charged my phone for me. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome! My phone has the exact same charger, so I thought that I might as well charge it. You seemed to be getting a lot of messages; it was buzzing all last night.
“Oh... could you help me... I can’t see”
“Yeah, your chart says you’ve been seeing a white cloudiness?”
“Well, it’s more of a black blur now, as if my sight was covered with ashes and dust.” Ben scribbled something in my chart.
“Here”, he said, placing the phone on my open hand. “Anything you want me to do? First you have to let me in.” I told him my password. “Wow, 23 e-mails”, “30 texts”. I asked him to read me some of my texts. There was a lull.
“Just read them to me”, I pleaded.
“Here goes then. The first is from Kalmar.” Kalmar was one of my friends first year in university, though we haven't talked much recently. “Did you hear about Jonathan and Robin? Car crash on the DVP. Impromptu memorial going on at Blood overpass. Let us know if you trouble finding us.” Many other texts were along the same lines, where some were still inquiring on the status of my eight friends. Unfortunately, I had no good news for them. I didn’t reply. I assumed they would’ve found out the sad truth by now.
No texts or missed calls from Helvetia. I was worried, but also relieved I wouldn’t have to deal with her urgently. Recognizing that Ben had no idea who I was talking about, I started with a run down of my life, but I quickly broke down in tears, trying to piece together who was left. Ben put an arm around my shoulder, gave me a slight squeeze that was the first thing remotely like a hug since the convocation ceremony. I needed it.
“I knew there was something about you when I first saw you in your bed. There was something divine working in your life, I just didn’t know it was so bitter. I will pray for you.”, Ben said. I paused in my despair, and praised God for this ray of hope. God was still out there.
Feeling closer to Ben, we spent at least an hour in silent meditation. But I still had some sense of urgency in my need to contact others, so I asked him to check my voicemail. There were six messages. The first was from Travel France. Ben put it on speakerphone, and we both listened.
“Hi Albion James. This is TravelFrance cruises. We have not yet heard from you. Both Mr. and Mrs. James have not made contact with the ship and the custom authorities will be notified in 24 hours. If you have any information about their whereabouts, or if you have contacted them, please let us know. Merci Beaucoup.”
Still no information. That message was half a day old - they’d be contacting custom officials soon. The second message was from the Dean, asking if I’d be interested in speaking at Ronda’s funeral. Bedridden and blinded, that probably wasn’t the best idea. Yet I felt that I’d be doing such a disservice to Ronda - much like how I felt God was being a disservice to everything I wanted my life to be. How could I continue working for Him when I was so incapable of anything, overwhelmed by disease, and having my friends and family taken away?
The third message was sent around noon earlier today from my masters supervisor. That’s right, I should have been in to see him today - given the shortness of my degree, he probably would not be happy to hear that I’ve been blinded and was in the hospital. His message ended with a slightly threatening note - clearly he might have been having a bad day, but he stated that if I didn’t feel that meetings were important, we could easily do without them and he could terminate my masters program. I’ll have to find a way to tell him I’m bedridden.
The next message was from the car company. Apparently, my dad’s car had been towed at my expense, after I had left it in a 1 hour parking zone. Given that my dad was unable to pick up the phone at home or at his cell - where ever he was - we had missed the 24 hour report time, and the car had now been compacted - again, at our expense. That was a tough loss, as it was our family’s only car. I never really needed one because I relied on public transit, and either my parents’ car or Helvetia’s family when I really needed it. But now...
Ben decided to continue with the fifth message in hopes of cheering me up. The stream of bad news was emotionally tiring, and added onto my physical fatigue, this onslaught of messages was a test of its own. But I was not ready for this. It was from my building owner. I learned of a fire on my apartment building floor that had thoroughly burned through my apartment, damaged three adjacent apartments, and decommissioned one of elevators because of extensive damage to the elevator shaft. But the shock was in the following line:
“The cause of the fire that led to millions of dollars of damages and the death of one person on the sixteenth floor has been traced to your oven. We have been unable to contact with primary residents of your apartment, but Al, you are listed as the third resident and a fellow tenant indicated that you were present at the apartment that day. Please contact us immediately.”
I recalled leaving the stove on when I had dashed to see Helvetia in the hospital. Another death, my house gone. I doubted insurance would cover for a mistake like this. I was screwed. My sadness had turned to anger, but my anger could only manifest itself in me, or God. The angrier I got at myself, the worse I saw God; the angrier I got at Him, the more I hated myself. My life was completely falling apart. I might as well have died in the fire.
Ben appeared to be struggling too. I couldn’t see his facial expressions, but his speech became awkward. I asked for the sixth and final message. He told me not to worry about it, that I should get some rest. I should’ve listened. But I stubbornly insisted to received the final nail in my coffin of hope, my last opportunity for a night of rest:
“Dear Albion James. I represent the Davis family, who recently lost their only child in a fire that you were responsible. We are charging you with the following: negligence, property damage, and second degree murder. Please provide us with your defense information, and we intend on scheduling our dispute for early next year, “
Me. A murderer. Alone without family and friends. My school has come to an end. I have no future. I am sick, and blind. Helpless, useless. I could barely move. All I could do was cry. Ben had run out of words to say, and all the hospital staff took pity on me. Apparently, I had some guests come in: the Dean, and some university classmates. But, in my pain, none dared to speak. And so, I and they were left to mourn in silence.
“Well, it’s more of a black blur now, as if my sight was covered with ashes and dust.” Ben scribbled something in my chart.
“Here”, he said, placing the phone on my open hand. “Anything you want me to do? First you have to let me in.” I told him my password. “Wow, 23 e-mails”, “30 texts”. I asked him to read me some of my texts. There was a lull.
“Just read them to me”, I pleaded.
“Here goes then. The first is from Kalmar.” Kalmar was one of my friends first year in university, though we haven't talked much recently. “Did you hear about Jonathan and Robin? Car crash on the DVP. Impromptu memorial going on at Blood overpass. Let us know if you trouble finding us.” Many other texts were along the same lines, where some were still inquiring on the status of my eight friends. Unfortunately, I had no good news for them. I didn’t reply. I assumed they would’ve found out the sad truth by now.
No texts or missed calls from Helvetia. I was worried, but also relieved I wouldn’t have to deal with her urgently. Recognizing that Ben had no idea who I was talking about, I started with a run down of my life, but I quickly broke down in tears, trying to piece together who was left. Ben put an arm around my shoulder, gave me a slight squeeze that was the first thing remotely like a hug since the convocation ceremony. I needed it.
“I knew there was something about you when I first saw you in your bed. There was something divine working in your life, I just didn’t know it was so bitter. I will pray for you.”, Ben said. I paused in my despair, and praised God for this ray of hope. God was still out there.
Feeling closer to Ben, we spent at least an hour in silent meditation. But I still had some sense of urgency in my need to contact others, so I asked him to check my voicemail. There were six messages. The first was from Travel France. Ben put it on speakerphone, and we both listened.
“Hi Albion James. This is TravelFrance cruises. We have not yet heard from you. Both Mr. and Mrs. James have not made contact with the ship and the custom authorities will be notified in 24 hours. If you have any information about their whereabouts, or if you have contacted them, please let us know. Merci Beaucoup.”
Still no information. That message was half a day old - they’d be contacting custom officials soon. The second message was from the Dean, asking if I’d be interested in speaking at Ronda’s funeral. Bedridden and blinded, that probably wasn’t the best idea. Yet I felt that I’d be doing such a disservice to Ronda - much like how I felt God was being a disservice to everything I wanted my life to be. How could I continue working for Him when I was so incapable of anything, overwhelmed by disease, and having my friends and family taken away?
The third message was sent around noon earlier today from my masters supervisor. That’s right, I should have been in to see him today - given the shortness of my degree, he probably would not be happy to hear that I’ve been blinded and was in the hospital. His message ended with a slightly threatening note - clearly he might have been having a bad day, but he stated that if I didn’t feel that meetings were important, we could easily do without them and he could terminate my masters program. I’ll have to find a way to tell him I’m bedridden.
The next message was from the car company. Apparently, my dad’s car had been towed at my expense, after I had left it in a 1 hour parking zone. Given that my dad was unable to pick up the phone at home or at his cell - where ever he was - we had missed the 24 hour report time, and the car had now been compacted - again, at our expense. That was a tough loss, as it was our family’s only car. I never really needed one because I relied on public transit, and either my parents’ car or Helvetia’s family when I really needed it. But now...
Ben decided to continue with the fifth message in hopes of cheering me up. The stream of bad news was emotionally tiring, and added onto my physical fatigue, this onslaught of messages was a test of its own. But I was not ready for this. It was from my building owner. I learned of a fire on my apartment building floor that had thoroughly burned through my apartment, damaged three adjacent apartments, and decommissioned one of elevators because of extensive damage to the elevator shaft. But the shock was in the following line:
“The cause of the fire that led to millions of dollars of damages and the death of one person on the sixteenth floor has been traced to your oven. We have been unable to contact with primary residents of your apartment, but Al, you are listed as the third resident and a fellow tenant indicated that you were present at the apartment that day. Please contact us immediately.”
I recalled leaving the stove on when I had dashed to see Helvetia in the hospital. Another death, my house gone. I doubted insurance would cover for a mistake like this. I was screwed. My sadness had turned to anger, but my anger could only manifest itself in me, or God. The angrier I got at myself, the worse I saw God; the angrier I got at Him, the more I hated myself. My life was completely falling apart. I might as well have died in the fire.
Ben appeared to be struggling too. I couldn’t see his facial expressions, but his speech became awkward. I asked for the sixth and final message. He told me not to worry about it, that I should get some rest. I should’ve listened. But I stubbornly insisted to received the final nail in my coffin of hope, my last opportunity for a night of rest:
“Dear Albion James. I represent the Davis family, who recently lost their only child in a fire that you were responsible. We are charging you with the following: negligence, property damage, and second degree murder. Please provide us with your defense information, and we intend on scheduling our dispute for early next year, “
Me. A murderer. Alone without family and friends. My school has come to an end. I have no future. I am sick, and blind. Helpless, useless. I could barely move. All I could do was cry. Ben had run out of words to say, and all the hospital staff took pity on me. Apparently, I had some guests come in: the Dean, and some university classmates. But, in my pain, none dared to speak. And so, I and they were left to mourn in silence.
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