Frozen with shock, one hand clung to the phone as though it were a lifeline. The words echoed in his mind. "No, doctor," I pleaded, my voice cracking with anguish, "It was a mistake. My wife is not dead." The rush of my words felt like an attempted incantation to solidify their value. The response was ever so cold, blunt as a hammer. "Sir, we are using her phone to call you," the lady said, and I could hear grim dreadfulness weighing in on her voice; "please come earlier, so she won't be given out to schools to be used as practicals." What water her words had in them slapped me hard, sending ripples of shock into horror. She yelled that death was nothing to her, just an everyday thing, almost to the pitch of shrieking. At that moment, it dawned on me that this person, this stranger on the other end of the line, absolutely could not care less about the gravity of what she was saying. My wife, the love of my life, was to her nothing more than a specimen for experimental dissection.
In a worried tone, she asked, "What happened, Mr. Arrow?" stepping towards me. Her eyes seemed to survey the whole scene. I inhaled deeply, forcing myself to regain some self-control; for deep inside, my blood was boiling."This...maniac has summoned me,"I said, pointing my finger with an air of accusation at the shaking man in indignation. Instead of treating me with the respect and care I deserved, this man was spouting rubbish. His wounds cut deep into my soul. I could feel my anger boiling over at the rekindled memory of his insults, and I fought to keep my feelings under control. "Calm down, Mr. Arrow. Explain it to us," another man said from the crowd in a gentle and soothing tone while stepping toward us. "You're still angry," he stated. At that moment, the doctor arrived through steamrolling the crowd with forbidding, autocratic expression etched all over him. "What in heaven's name is going on here!" he said firmly and in a commanding tone. How--oooohhh, I felt relief at h
ARROW’S POV "Yes, doctor," I said, and enthused was I to enter the room. Such calm soothing: the drone of air conditioning, a soft hiss of papers across the desk awaiting great news. "As I sat, Dr. Smith glanced up, his eyes sparkling and warm, inviting me to sit down before his desk. "Lovely news for you, Mr.-Arrow," he said, the rapt smile radiating with enthusiasm, as I settled into the chair. My heart racing with anticipation, and I fought to calm my breathing as I waited for the doctor to go on. "Oh, I cant wait to hear this, doctor; what is it?" My voice was charged with excitement; my heart raced as I waited. Enthusiasm was evident in my voice, and my heart was racing in expectation. "Your wife is responding so well," Dr. Smith said, full of beautiful optimism as he leaned comfortably back on his chair. The words reached my ears like music-the music of hope. A huge burden lifted from my shoulders as I could finally release the breath I had been holding. The heavines
I woke with a jerk, body raising with tremendous force as I came to the stark realization that it was already morning-the next day-a new day; a day with a fresh batch of worries, new tides of anxiety washing over me like a cold dark wave. An unwelcome slant of sunlight flashed through the window, hitting me hard, forcing me to squint, while the dull throbbing ache crashed down upon my head like a sledgehammer. "Kalmia! Jemima!" I screamed, my voice a loud urgent sound bouncing off the walls, but not a breath seemed to be heard-just that awful, wrenching silence that tore through empty walls as if I were shouting into a vacuum. And memories snapped into view; how they were at the hospital the night before? My heart sank, my stomach twisted with worry, a knife turning in my gut. Stood up, forcing it with all my will, the body weary, the muscles stiff from tiredness, the grittiness in my eyes from sleeplessness. It was like crawling out from the depth of a dark, bottomless pit. I mad
Frozen in shock, I stood there, while Jemima's words hung over the scene like a challenge waiting to be answered. "Kalmia is missing," she finally said; her voice was soft and hesitant, the voice of a woman afraid of being criticized. I felt a shock of panic, as though some being had punched me in the solar plexus, and I managed, "How? Who took her?" But in my mind there was such a noise of thought, like a flash of lightning trying to assemble a jigsaw from the previous night. Jemima, gazing into the pit, stated, "I don't know. I woke up this morning and she was gone. But I heard a shout during the night, I just didn't know it was her.” The words hung on her lips, laced with deliberation, like a person trying to explain something very complex. Fists clenched, I walked with that furious anger, trying to stifle a storm inside me toward the doctor's office. Smoke filled my mind about my missing daughter and now my missing wife. "My daughter was the first; now it is my wife," I said,
When I got out of the vehicle and stepped onto the aged asphalt surface of the old warehouse, my vision started to hunt the environment, like the one searching for treasure hidden. Like someone hiding their true intentions, the dim light thrown long shadows on the ground. I walked cautiously, footsteps echoing on the walls, like a person trying not to wake somebody up. I looked around the room, taking in everything from dusty crates to rusty machinery, like someone pulling pieces together, probably to fit a puzzle. And then, I saw Kalmia. As if that treasure had finally been found. She was bound to a chair, arms tied behind her back-like a captive. The face was pale and drawn, almost like that of someone exhausted by a long journey. From her looks, one could tell she was real-well, well, extremely-tired, like one who has spent all energy reserves. Her eyes looked sunken, gaunt, like someone peering into the darkness, and her skin was dry and cracked, like a person suffering from deh
When I returned from outside, I found Jemima sitting on the couch with concerned yet relieved eyes. Tension emanated from her body, so much that it resembled a person gripping something fragile, but somehow that tension transformed into a strength that has withstood all trials. Stealthily, I walked to her, almost as if walking not to awake a sleeping child. "It's all right, my love," I said soothingly, as if to a frightened beast. "This will be all right." I wanted to comfort her but the very doubt glittering in her eyes held my claiming the truth at bay. "Let me make some soup," I decided, steering the focus away from her pain. "It helps to dull the ache." I knew that soup did really nothing, a mere comfort, but comfort is comfort. Jemima nodded, her answer just a whisper, "Okay." The very tone she used made it seem like even whispering required a struggle. Into the kitchen I went, my hands acting on their own accord, as though one were performing an exercise learned long ago.
Arrow and I stepped out of the house while Jemima remained inside, her slumber undisturbed. The sunlight poured warmth around us.Just as we were beginning to enjoy our quiet morning walk, a small pocket-rocket zoomed past with great enthusiasm. I was taken by surprise, seeing Dawn trotting towards us with lively little legs.I took advantage of a passing angle, and there in the distance was another man waving us goodbye. Surprise, curiosity, and mild worry poured within me. Who was that man, and why was Dawn with him?With dawn approaching, I was caught by her bright smile and her sparkling eyes. "Mommy, Mommy!" was the excited call by her tiny voice, holding a biscuit in her hand, and neatly dressed hair was proof that somebody else took care of the child.It was amazing to realize how well taken care of my little girl was and how happy she appeared. A mixed wave of emotion - relief and thankfulness but also with a strong element of intense love- cresting in my heart, and when I loo
Arrow and I stepped out of the house while Jemima remained inside, her slumber undisturbed. The sunlight poured warmth around us.Just as we were beginning to enjoy our quiet morning walk, a small pocket-rocket zoomed past with great enthusiasm. I was taken by surprise, seeing Dawn trotting towards us with lively little legs.I took advantage of a passing angle, and there in the distance was another man waving us goodbye. Surprise, curiosity, and mild worry poured within me. Who was that man, and why was Dawn with him?With dawn approaching, I was caught by her bright smile and her sparkling eyes. "Mommy, Mommy!" was the excited call by her tiny voice, holding a biscuit in her hand, and neatly dressed hair was proof that somebody else took care of the child.It was amazing to realize how well taken care of my little girl was and how happy she appeared. A mixed wave of emotion - relief and thankfulness but also with a strong element of intense love- cresting in my heart, and when I loo
When I returned from outside, I found Jemima sitting on the couch with concerned yet relieved eyes. Tension emanated from her body, so much that it resembled a person gripping something fragile, but somehow that tension transformed into a strength that has withstood all trials. Stealthily, I walked to her, almost as if walking not to awake a sleeping child. "It's all right, my love," I said soothingly, as if to a frightened beast. "This will be all right." I wanted to comfort her but the very doubt glittering in her eyes held my claiming the truth at bay. "Let me make some soup," I decided, steering the focus away from her pain. "It helps to dull the ache." I knew that soup did really nothing, a mere comfort, but comfort is comfort. Jemima nodded, her answer just a whisper, "Okay." The very tone she used made it seem like even whispering required a struggle. Into the kitchen I went, my hands acting on their own accord, as though one were performing an exercise learned long ago.
When I got out of the vehicle and stepped onto the aged asphalt surface of the old warehouse, my vision started to hunt the environment, like the one searching for treasure hidden. Like someone hiding their true intentions, the dim light thrown long shadows on the ground. I walked cautiously, footsteps echoing on the walls, like a person trying not to wake somebody up. I looked around the room, taking in everything from dusty crates to rusty machinery, like someone pulling pieces together, probably to fit a puzzle. And then, I saw Kalmia. As if that treasure had finally been found. She was bound to a chair, arms tied behind her back-like a captive. The face was pale and drawn, almost like that of someone exhausted by a long journey. From her looks, one could tell she was real-well, well, extremely-tired, like one who has spent all energy reserves. Her eyes looked sunken, gaunt, like someone peering into the darkness, and her skin was dry and cracked, like a person suffering from deh
Frozen in shock, I stood there, while Jemima's words hung over the scene like a challenge waiting to be answered. "Kalmia is missing," she finally said; her voice was soft and hesitant, the voice of a woman afraid of being criticized. I felt a shock of panic, as though some being had punched me in the solar plexus, and I managed, "How? Who took her?" But in my mind there was such a noise of thought, like a flash of lightning trying to assemble a jigsaw from the previous night. Jemima, gazing into the pit, stated, "I don't know. I woke up this morning and she was gone. But I heard a shout during the night, I just didn't know it was her.” The words hung on her lips, laced with deliberation, like a person trying to explain something very complex. Fists clenched, I walked with that furious anger, trying to stifle a storm inside me toward the doctor's office. Smoke filled my mind about my missing daughter and now my missing wife. "My daughter was the first; now it is my wife," I said,
I woke with a jerk, body raising with tremendous force as I came to the stark realization that it was already morning-the next day-a new day; a day with a fresh batch of worries, new tides of anxiety washing over me like a cold dark wave. An unwelcome slant of sunlight flashed through the window, hitting me hard, forcing me to squint, while the dull throbbing ache crashed down upon my head like a sledgehammer. "Kalmia! Jemima!" I screamed, my voice a loud urgent sound bouncing off the walls, but not a breath seemed to be heard-just that awful, wrenching silence that tore through empty walls as if I were shouting into a vacuum. And memories snapped into view; how they were at the hospital the night before? My heart sank, my stomach twisted with worry, a knife turning in my gut. Stood up, forcing it with all my will, the body weary, the muscles stiff from tiredness, the grittiness in my eyes from sleeplessness. It was like crawling out from the depth of a dark, bottomless pit. I mad
ARROW’S POV "Yes, doctor," I said, and enthused was I to enter the room. Such calm soothing: the drone of air conditioning, a soft hiss of papers across the desk awaiting great news. "As I sat, Dr. Smith glanced up, his eyes sparkling and warm, inviting me to sit down before his desk. "Lovely news for you, Mr.-Arrow," he said, the rapt smile radiating with enthusiasm, as I settled into the chair. My heart racing with anticipation, and I fought to calm my breathing as I waited for the doctor to go on. "Oh, I cant wait to hear this, doctor; what is it?" My voice was charged with excitement; my heart raced as I waited. Enthusiasm was evident in my voice, and my heart was racing in expectation. "Your wife is responding so well," Dr. Smith said, full of beautiful optimism as he leaned comfortably back on his chair. The words reached my ears like music-the music of hope. A huge burden lifted from my shoulders as I could finally release the breath I had been holding. The heavines
In a worried tone, she asked, "What happened, Mr. Arrow?" stepping towards me. Her eyes seemed to survey the whole scene. I inhaled deeply, forcing myself to regain some self-control; for deep inside, my blood was boiling."This...maniac has summoned me,"I said, pointing my finger with an air of accusation at the shaking man in indignation. Instead of treating me with the respect and care I deserved, this man was spouting rubbish. His wounds cut deep into my soul. I could feel my anger boiling over at the rekindled memory of his insults, and I fought to keep my feelings under control. "Calm down, Mr. Arrow. Explain it to us," another man said from the crowd in a gentle and soothing tone while stepping toward us. "You're still angry," he stated. At that moment, the doctor arrived through steamrolling the crowd with forbidding, autocratic expression etched all over him. "What in heaven's name is going on here!" he said firmly and in a commanding tone. How--oooohhh, I felt relief at h
Frozen with shock, one hand clung to the phone as though it were a lifeline. The words echoed in his mind. "No, doctor," I pleaded, my voice cracking with anguish, "It was a mistake. My wife is not dead." The rush of my words felt like an attempted incantation to solidify their value. The response was ever so cold, blunt as a hammer. "Sir, we are using her phone to call you," the lady said, and I could hear grim dreadfulness weighing in on her voice; "please come earlier, so she won't be given out to schools to be used as practicals." What water her words had in them slapped me hard, sending ripples of shock into horror. She yelled that death was nothing to her, just an everyday thing, almost to the pitch of shrieking. At that moment, it dawned on me that this person, this stranger on the other end of the line, absolutely could not care less about the gravity of what she was saying. My wife, the love of my life, was to her nothing more than a specimen for experimental dissection.
As soon as the woman's gaze clashed with mine, needle-sharp and inquisitive, she put the question that made my heart skip. "What do you mean madam? Do you have anyone who fits the description?" Her tone had a slight implication of curiosity, through the eyes were very eager to know the truth. That gave me a shiver. I stood frozen for a short time, trying to decipher the implications of her question. Jemima stood there in that attitude, hands on her waist, scrutinizing me with an intensity that turned me into a specimen under a microscope. I swear I felt her glare pin me down, as if she too waited for the answer. I inhaled a deep breath, forcing my mind to arrange itself whilst mumbling through an answer. "Y-yeah," I stammered, barely above a whisper. "She was my younger sister with this description...but we lost her into the cold hands of death years back." The relentless eyes of the woman never left mine, while the question that followed fettered me even deeper. "Are you sure she