15 views
My special gift :)
I was 13 when the body fell.
I remember it like it was yesterday. It was at that point I realised I was odd, or at least different from everyone else.
I was stood outside the pharmacy in the shopping the centre in the middle of town. Large Victorian, or maybe Georgian, buildings towered all around me, forming a dull urban canopy that turned the daylight a blueish-gray. I remember looking at a dog, happily wagging its tail in anticipation of its owners return. Barking, it excitedly circled the old bicycle lean-to it was chained to. Some people walked past, not taking much notice of me, going about their lives doing daily things. Everyone just bustling together getting dull daily things from town and then returning home to even duller lives.
In the serene chaos of modern day life I was now ready to return home when strangely, time seemed to slow right down.
Then I felt it.
A whoosh of air right next to me. As I turned to my right, calm and collected, I heard the first of the screams. Pretty quickly I saw it. The source of their cries, there on the floor; or, at least whatever was left of it.
Mangled blobs formed a vaguely bipedal silhouette on the pavement beside me, the pile of gelatinous, oozing flotsam deterring anyone and everyone around me. My mind jolted awake from the stillness and boredom of normalcy, and I felt intrigued. I don't remember how long I was stood there staring, but I soon noticed that people seemed scared of the man-pile, though I had already reasoned that he was very dead and didn't exactly pose a great danger to me.
People staggered into each other, crying and looking upwards, as if wanting to find where he fallen from. Perhaps they were expecting to see an evil super villain laughing maniacally from the top one of the buildings. I didn't bother looking up. I didn't care why he'd ended up like this, all I knew was that I should probably wash my shoes.
It was a most curious thing to be stood there after this event and not realise why everyone so upset. I doubt they all knew him, I doubt any of them had ever seen him before, yet I felt surrounded by crying children, uncontrollable barking animals, fainting adults, crying elderly people and some panicked rescue workers who had recently joined the scene.
Uniformed officers ran around to the tune of the sirens, desperately throwing blankets and flasks into the hands of terrified people. I remember one lady grabbed me by the shoulders and thrust a blanket into my hands. She spoke hurriedly without actually saying anything but stopped abruptly once she saw the blood on my feet. I was hastily forced into the back of an ambulance where another lady stared me straight in the eyes and asked me who I was, how I was, where my parents were, etc.
I told her my name, the fact that I was just out to pick up some medication and that I was to return home quite soon because otherwise my parents would worry- and I've never hear the end of it. If I got in trouble again my curfew would be brought forward another hour, following the previous restriction enforced upon me following an act of mercy involving a dying bird, a brick and the neighbors stupid toddler.
Sitting in the back of that ambulance was quite comfortable despite the many adults running past me, in and out the large medical vehicle, accosting other people and ambushing them with sub-par tea flasks. I watched the rain fall outside from the safety and warmth of my cozy seat. After a while, I remember asking a lady for a comb as my hair had gone all frizzy.
A policeman grabbed me on the arm and insisted to question me about the man-splat and I was fine with going with them; but I remember a lady with a stethoscope was very cross with the policeman, insisting I shouldn't be 'harassed' or spoken to without my parents. At this point I'd been out much longer than I said I would be, and my parents were sure to punish me regardless, so I thought: "sod it", and went with the policemen to the station.
They sat me in a tiny, cramped, uncomfortable, and poorly POORLY ventilated room and told me that the specialist would be with me shortly. Apparently some police officers are trained to talk to people of specific ages and I had to wait for one who could talk to teenagers to be available. Some time passed and a woman came in, with a very sympathetic look at her face she asked me the same questions the blanket lady and the previous policeman had asked me and at this point I really did begin to question the efficiency of the bureaucracy within this department. If they can't carry a message from one scene to another, relying solely on the victims memory, it's no wonder so many people's stories change when they're interviewed. I wondered if it take so much long than necessary to solve crimes with everyone having to repeat themselves every couple of hours, but I obliged and filled out a booklet describing my day and the sudden appearance of a mushed-up mound of man beside me.
It was nice to be out of that soggy blanket but it was humid and gross in that room. I must have sat there for few hours answering questions with a succession of people asking me to 'write as much as I remembered', over and over again. I remember writing:
1. went out for medication
2. was on my way home
3. felt something fall next to me
4. saw a dead man
5. got a ride in a police car
I wrote in numbered bullet points so it would be easier for them to follow chronologically. I also tried to keep my words short so they wouldn't have trouble remembering what I'd written.
By the third hour I was fed up, bored, and wanted some dinner. The specialist woman left and about 10 minutes later another officer opened the door and just sort of shouted "you're free to go".
As I left, the receptionist caught my arm and felt the need to bend down to speak to me even though I was quite capable of simply looking up at him. He asked me what my parents phone number was if I needed a taxi. I asked if me had a phone charger because my phone died while I was out and I couldn't remember my parent's number. At that point I saw the station doors burst open and my parents running through shouting at everyone to find out where I was. A police officer approached them to calm them down and prevent them from invading the entire station.
I calmly walked over to them and my mother lunged towards me, grabbing me and reassuring me that things were okay. My father hugged the pair of us, squishing us together like sardines. I recall longing for that stuffy old interview room as the last few gasps of air left my lungs.
When he finally relented, and I could breathe again, I managed to apologise for going to the police station and asked if we could go home. My phone still needed charging and I was hungry.
Looking back I see that I've always been like this, I can't remember a time I wasn't calm or just empty while all hell let loose around me. I think I'm pretty special because of this. That blobby dead man made me realise I had my own special gift- my doctors call it:
Sociopathy.
:)
© 🐧
I remember it like it was yesterday. It was at that point I realised I was odd, or at least different from everyone else.
I was stood outside the pharmacy in the shopping the centre in the middle of town. Large Victorian, or maybe Georgian, buildings towered all around me, forming a dull urban canopy that turned the daylight a blueish-gray. I remember looking at a dog, happily wagging its tail in anticipation of its owners return. Barking, it excitedly circled the old bicycle lean-to it was chained to. Some people walked past, not taking much notice of me, going about their lives doing daily things. Everyone just bustling together getting dull daily things from town and then returning home to even duller lives.
In the serene chaos of modern day life I was now ready to return home when strangely, time seemed to slow right down.
Then I felt it.
A whoosh of air right next to me. As I turned to my right, calm and collected, I heard the first of the screams. Pretty quickly I saw it. The source of their cries, there on the floor; or, at least whatever was left of it.
Mangled blobs formed a vaguely bipedal silhouette on the pavement beside me, the pile of gelatinous, oozing flotsam deterring anyone and everyone around me. My mind jolted awake from the stillness and boredom of normalcy, and I felt intrigued. I don't remember how long I was stood there staring, but I soon noticed that people seemed scared of the man-pile, though I had already reasoned that he was very dead and didn't exactly pose a great danger to me.
People staggered into each other, crying and looking upwards, as if wanting to find where he fallen from. Perhaps they were expecting to see an evil super villain laughing maniacally from the top one of the buildings. I didn't bother looking up. I didn't care why he'd ended up like this, all I knew was that I should probably wash my shoes.
It was a most curious thing to be stood there after this event and not realise why everyone so upset. I doubt they all knew him, I doubt any of them had ever seen him before, yet I felt surrounded by crying children, uncontrollable barking animals, fainting adults, crying elderly people and some panicked rescue workers who had recently joined the scene.
Uniformed officers ran around to the tune of the sirens, desperately throwing blankets and flasks into the hands of terrified people. I remember one lady grabbed me by the shoulders and thrust a blanket into my hands. She spoke hurriedly without actually saying anything but stopped abruptly once she saw the blood on my feet. I was hastily forced into the back of an ambulance where another lady stared me straight in the eyes and asked me who I was, how I was, where my parents were, etc.
I told her my name, the fact that I was just out to pick up some medication and that I was to return home quite soon because otherwise my parents would worry- and I've never hear the end of it. If I got in trouble again my curfew would be brought forward another hour, following the previous restriction enforced upon me following an act of mercy involving a dying bird, a brick and the neighbors stupid toddler.
Sitting in the back of that ambulance was quite comfortable despite the many adults running past me, in and out the large medical vehicle, accosting other people and ambushing them with sub-par tea flasks. I watched the rain fall outside from the safety and warmth of my cozy seat. After a while, I remember asking a lady for a comb as my hair had gone all frizzy.
A policeman grabbed me on the arm and insisted to question me about the man-splat and I was fine with going with them; but I remember a lady with a stethoscope was very cross with the policeman, insisting I shouldn't be 'harassed' or spoken to without my parents. At this point I'd been out much longer than I said I would be, and my parents were sure to punish me regardless, so I thought: "sod it", and went with the policemen to the station.
They sat me in a tiny, cramped, uncomfortable, and poorly POORLY ventilated room and told me that the specialist would be with me shortly. Apparently some police officers are trained to talk to people of specific ages and I had to wait for one who could talk to teenagers to be available. Some time passed and a woman came in, with a very sympathetic look at her face she asked me the same questions the blanket lady and the previous policeman had asked me and at this point I really did begin to question the efficiency of the bureaucracy within this department. If they can't carry a message from one scene to another, relying solely on the victims memory, it's no wonder so many people's stories change when they're interviewed. I wondered if it take so much long than necessary to solve crimes with everyone having to repeat themselves every couple of hours, but I obliged and filled out a booklet describing my day and the sudden appearance of a mushed-up mound of man beside me.
It was nice to be out of that soggy blanket but it was humid and gross in that room. I must have sat there for few hours answering questions with a succession of people asking me to 'write as much as I remembered', over and over again. I remember writing:
1. went out for medication
2. was on my way home
3. felt something fall next to me
4. saw a dead man
5. got a ride in a police car
I wrote in numbered bullet points so it would be easier for them to follow chronologically. I also tried to keep my words short so they wouldn't have trouble remembering what I'd written.
By the third hour I was fed up, bored, and wanted some dinner. The specialist woman left and about 10 minutes later another officer opened the door and just sort of shouted "you're free to go".
As I left, the receptionist caught my arm and felt the need to bend down to speak to me even though I was quite capable of simply looking up at him. He asked me what my parents phone number was if I needed a taxi. I asked if me had a phone charger because my phone died while I was out and I couldn't remember my parent's number. At that point I saw the station doors burst open and my parents running through shouting at everyone to find out where I was. A police officer approached them to calm them down and prevent them from invading the entire station.
I calmly walked over to them and my mother lunged towards me, grabbing me and reassuring me that things were okay. My father hugged the pair of us, squishing us together like sardines. I recall longing for that stuffy old interview room as the last few gasps of air left my lungs.
When he finally relented, and I could breathe again, I managed to apologise for going to the police station and asked if we could go home. My phone still needed charging and I was hungry.
Looking back I see that I've always been like this, I can't remember a time I wasn't calm or just empty while all hell let loose around me. I think I'm pretty special because of this. That blobby dead man made me realise I had my own special gift- my doctors call it:
Sociopathy.
:)
© 🐧
