Malevolent Storm

An old beginning chapter to one of my finished books. Estelle is the character's actual name. I won't get out a full description of her, though.

The golden, digital numbers tick down to “1” and the stainless steal doors of the elevator slide open. I huff out an exhausted breath and step into the unoccupied box. I reach for the button to take me to my floor, but hastily shorter men and women, both doctors and nurses, cram in, shoving me to the darkness. My lower back cracks aloud as I ram into the golden rail. I grip it and stand on my toes, examining the buttons to see if my floor had been chosen. Surprisingly, all of the buttons were lit up. I shrink back down and bow my head from all of the humans I am stuck with until the final floor.

Ding! The elevator doors open and exits two more nurses, leaving me alone with three male doctors. My palms are sweaty and disgusting, as I never take them off of the rail. I’m not the best at being near humans, mostly if they are doctors. To me, they seem like secretive scientists, about to experiment on an Unknown, foraging for secrets about our powers. I can feel their silver scalpel, slicing at the tip of my neck, and injecting needles. But much more distinct than that, I hear a shrilling drill and the crunching sound it masks as it pierces my scalp and bores in my skull and then brain. And I can almost feel the blood seep from my hair and mask my sleek face.

The doctors glower at me, and I hesitate to stare back. But from the corner of my vision, all of their jaws drop and their facial muscles extend, stretching it all out into a demonic form. Dark circles form around their eyes, and purple veins trace their jaw lines. They are demons of the night, or demons of the elevator.

I jolt back and bash my head against the wall as the elevator comes to a stop and the doors open. The doctors’ gawk at me with their normal human faces and gives me a suspicious look. I don’t speak a word as I dart out the elevator and hurry down the hall on the fifth floor. I stop running when I take my third left turn and walk down the 550 hallway. Down this hallway is my mother, who is chronically ill.

On September 21st my mother became ill with a disease that has enabled her to walk and barely lift a muscle. Truth be told, this disease is nothing but normal. Although the doctors are able to see her grow more ill, they cannot seek the cause for it. And so they have my mother on watch until further notice. It is now September 24th, and she is not want I used to see of her. She is a deathly, pale skeleton, who refuses to eat and refuses to move. My mother is the most stubborn human being.

I knock on the outside gray wall in the hall and walk into room 558. Inside this white plastered room lays my mother, glancing outside of the windows with a peaceful look. I drop my bag onto a chair near the door and move closer to her.

Yes, my mother is…

I take the cushioned seat next to her and smile as she focuses on me now.

… human, and one of the few humans I can actually tolerate.

“Well, aren’t you beautiful today?” she crooks as she takes a lock of my hair and twirls it between her index and middle finger.

“So are you, Mom,” I say, pushing aside a strand of her chocolate brown hair that fallen in front of an eye.

Her hair is the most prized possess alongside her family. It was down to her knees and healthy. Normal days she would have it dangling up in a lose braid. Abnormal days she would let it flow behind her. But when she was enrolled into the hospital, she had a high fever�"108�"and they had no choice but to slice it off below her chin. My mother looks different, more childlike than before.

Beep… beep… beep… the heart monitor sings the pace her heart.

The deep elegance of her illness submerges me into an ocean of depression. The only wish I have for my mother is to become better and return home. As an alternative from pondering too far into sorrow, I wonder into the only color this compact hospital room had, her cyan eyes. They are magnificent to gaze into, but they held one thing. Contempt.

A sharp, rigid edge of a pale lightning bolt strikes the top of the hospital. The lights flicker bright and burn out with a click. The heart monitor reads a deadline as it malfunctions, and its screen zaps thin and blacks out. Another lightning bolt hits the generators from the side of the building and ignites them. Each fluorescent lights in the hall busts, and sparks scatter across the gleaming floors. Screams of terror sound the hall has children fling about, and the doctors and nurses tend the rooms of patients to reassure them that everything is fine. But they never come here to tell that to my misty eyed mother.

I place my mother’s hand against my cheek, not caring for the saggy pieces of skin, or the rubbing of her bones against me. “It’s all right,” I tell her instead. They’ll have the power, or parts of it, back on soon. Do not worry so much.”

Three massive lightning bolts attack the same spot, and I begin to worry myself.
My mother squeals out in horror as her body thrusts forward, and white foam oozes from her closed lips. I release her hand and pin her down the best that I can as her body convulse.

“Someone�"anyone�"help me!” I call, struggling with my mother and coughing on warms tears.

Two nurses come to my aid and a doctor comes to check my mother’s vitals. “She is just having a seizure from stress. We can stop this,” he says, gathering straps from the closest and attaching them to the bed.

These sick humans are going to strap my mother down like an animal!
“No! Don’t do that,” I order, clutching the leather straps and ripping them out of the doctor’s hands. He is dumbstruck and demands me to leave this room at once. “She is my mother, and what I say goes, you got it?”

A blunt piece of timber, from the construction section of the hospital, crashes into the window.  It destroys every bit of the two inch thick glass. The nurses stumble over as the doctor ducks down. I remain stranding as I watch the outside. The sky is blackened with a hint of vermilion. Lightning rips through the clouds in the distance as thunder zigzags across the bottom. The rain is the speed of a deadly blizzard, and I now know this is not a natural storm. An Unknown must be doing this.

The bits of light that the lightning gives dims down to nothing. And the outside is a dark playground for the rain to play. A sneaky rigid bolt strikes the roof of the lower floor before this room. And within this bolt comes a wicked, demonic heart-shaped face with the scarlet eyes of Satan.

My mother’s body convulses ferociously, and it drags my attention back to her. I push down her shoulders and hope for the best. But the best, I know, will never come. The white foam alters to red, and the blood sprays from her mouth and splatters its sticky feeling all around my face. I lose my touch on her body and scream as the once white room morphs into a bloodbath. The doctor and nurses regain their composure and tend to my mother. One of the nurses, though, comes to my side and directs me out the room.

“We need more doctors or nurses in here right now,” she calls, pushing me to the side. Many people come to the room, as I stand here, thoughtless. There is a lot of conversing within the room, and the topic is not very pleasing.

And a high pitch squeal polishes it off.

My legs are weak as I roam to the nearest restroom, lock the door, and cripple to the filthy floor in a far corner. Here I scream out the anger, the sorrow, the love I have lost, and the fear mounting within me. My body temperature rises; my fists clench, and my flames engulf me, setting off the emergency sprinkler system.

I am damp as my fire recoils back into me. I glance over my shoulder as screeching comes from the door and there hovers the scarlet eyes.

“Enjoy your new beginning without your mother to protect you,” a malevolent voice says.

And the eyes vanish.