Stream of consciousness Sunday: The accumulator, part two…

11 Sep

Ok, here we are, back in the regular, day-late slot for SoCS and ready to continue the story which began last week, today using Linda G Hill’s prompt;

” “view.” Use it any way you’d like. ”

If you insist…

The Accumulator, part two.

Scene: Fifteen years ago.

The camera gives us a bird’s-eye view; it swoops down over the car, before speeding ahead, up the long gravel drive and panning back around to meet the black limousine as it pulls up in front of Dr Braithwaite’s country house.
A liveried driver steps smartly from the car and respectfully stands to hold the door open for the doctor and his visibly traumatised passenger; the young man still looks pale and shaken, his eyes glassy as the doctor solicitously takes his arm and leads him into the house, the front door closing on our view of the two men, indicating that we need not trouble ourselves with what comes next.

Cut to…

The young man is alone in his room and some time has obviously passed since we last saw him; he is gazing out of the open window at a fading sunset, the remains of a barely-touched meal are on a small table and a cigarette burns in an ashtray on the windowsill. The young man sips from a glass of milk and picks up the cigarette, taking one final puff before flicking it into the gathering shadows of dusk, its long arc ending in a shower of sparks as it hits the ground. He turns back into the room, just as the door opens and Dr Braithwaite enters, a smile on his face.

“How are you feeling?” The doctor’s expression conveys professional and personal concern, yet there is something calculating in his eyes as his smile broadens, “I have someone who would like to see you…”

The doctor opens the door wide and we see the German Shepherd puppy in the hallway; it is the same dog we saw the young man playing with during his recovery, sitting obediently but with obvious excitement as it catches sight of its human playmate.

Dr Felix Braithwaite leans down and we get a close up of his hand as it ruffles the dog’s fur. Does the camera linger just that fraction of a second too long on his black leather glove, suggesting that we should pay particular attention to this incongruity, or is that a red herring? Whatever the significance of this plot device, we have no time to ponder it further, because the good doctor speaks again, “Go on boy, go see your master!”

We see the dog bound delightedly into the room from the doctors point of view, outside the door, but we are prevented from witnessing the joyful reunion as the doctor quickly closes the door and we see his gloved hand turn a key in the lock.

A second later, the screams begin.


Scene: Present day, a hospital room, viewed from above.

The old man, his eyes seeming to stare directly up at us, suddenly jerks; his body suffers some sort of spasm and the camera coldly records his distress as the monitor he is connected to starts to beep with increasing urgency.

The door opens and a nurse hurries in, followed closely by a uniformed policemen, who hovers uncertainly by the foot of the bed while the nurse administers an injection into the old man’s arm. His body gradually relaxes, the frantic beeping from the monitor slows to its previous steady rhythm and the nurse smoothes the rumpled sheets and straightens his pillows. She turns with a disapproving scowl to the looming constable behind her and makes shooing motions at him until he grudgingly backs out into the corridor. Then, after taking a final glance around the room, she closes the door softly behind her.

For a few seconds, the camera hangs motionless above the bed and again we are drawn to the old man’s face, but now we see the lines appear deeper, there is pain in his eyes and a subtle change in his expression…is it sorrow, perhaps?

No, harsher than that; grief.

The shot begins to tighten once more, zooming in on those eyes; diving in, through the retina and down the optic nerve, using the FX budget to full effect, spiraling into the maze of synapses, then a burst of blinding light, which fades to…

Scene: The young man’s room, fifteen years ago.

For the first time since the accident, he smiles, seeing the dog lolloping across the room towards him, he doesn’t see the door closing, nor hear the click of the lock or, if he does, he takes no notice.

He reaches for his companion, just a few paces away now, when the sudden ominous drone of the soundtrack makes us want to tell him to stop! to back away! to yell don’t do it!..but it’s too late; his fingers bury themselves in the thick fur around the dog’s neck and he feels a huge surge of energy jolt through every inch of his body, as if being electrocuted.

But what happens next will be the memory that stays with him, the image that remains seared into his brain with merciless clarity to this day.

We see the dog as if through the young man’s eyes; hands reaching to caress the soft fur when suddenly, the dog’s face registers shock, confusion and pain for the briefest of seconds before, horrifyingly, the animal…collapses in on itself, as if crushed by an invisible weight, the bloody, ruined body is torn from the young man’s grasp and flung violently to the floor by an unseen yet incredibly powerful force.

We stare through the young man’s eyes at his blood covered hands in shocked silence, then he looks up and we catch sight of his reflection in the mirror over the fireplace.

The picture fades to black as he starts to scream.


To be continued (using next week’s prompt {which can now be found HERE})…


Pingback to Linda G Hill.


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9 responses to “Stream of consciousness Sunday: The accumulator, part two…

  1. John W. Howell

    September 11, 2016 at 18:49

    Geeze, Dale. This one is starting to get scary.

    • dalecooper57

      September 11, 2016 at 18:59

      Hmm, it is a bit dark, isn’t it?

      • John W. Howell

        September 11, 2016 at 18:59

        Just a bit.

      • dalecooper57

        September 11, 2016 at 19:04

        Do you think the strange format works ok, its not too irritating?

      • John W. Howell

        September 11, 2016 at 19:33

        I think it works but I’m a writer so I understand it. There will be some not so bright readers that might have a problem sine there is a bit of intuition necessary on the location shifts.

      • dalecooper57

        September 11, 2016 at 19:37

        Oh, I’m fine with a bit of ambiguity, I’m sure it becomes obvious enough eventually. Not sure where the idea popped up from, but I quite like the way it abbreviates descriptions and presents the narrative in a way which forces the reader to imagine things more…graphically.

        That’s the plan, anyway.

      • John W. Howell

        September 12, 2016 at 01:56

        I agree.


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