121.223.139.129: New page: ===Post of the Month - August 2006=== ====by James Marson==== On: Red' Blue' Blue' Red' James' fingers stumbled across the keys, every time slipping across the glossy surface. Com...

2010-07-05T01:38:50Z

New page: ===Post of the Month - August 2006=== ====by James Marson==== On: Red' Blue' Blue' Red' James' fingers stumbled across the keys, every time slipping across the glossy surface. Com...

New page

===Post of the Month - August 2006===
====by [[James Marson]]====

On:

Red' Blue' Blue' Red'

James' fingers stumbled across the keys, every time slipping across the glossy surface. Comforted by some forgotten memory of completion, his eyes fell closed and a tangible darkness swept in. It stifled him, like a thick velvet blanket and seemed to press in oppressively around him, its soft touch encouraging a final release. 'Resistance is futile', James could not help but tell himself. Yet cruelly, through the padded walls of his inner prison came the insistent red blinking. A Borg drone, though seemingly a malfunctioning one had his eye on him. To hell with him; if he wasn't in a rush to come and kill him he preferred his own prison.

Flash'Flash'Flash'Flash'

Still it persisted, a red laser cutting irretrievably through the walls of velvet. Were they less soft, James did not doubt the walls of his cell would have rung the clangs of laughter, draped like manacles about his feet, every exhalation dripping with the trappings of irony. Two wills battled silently for his custody. James' seemed to be neither. Unwillingly he was pulled in by the drone, its endless monotony and unswerving dedication without chivalric cause. The eyes once again opened.

For a minute the Lt. Cmdr. stared blankly at the blinking red light, its mesmerising regularity holding fast his gaze. Then before his eyes, a delayed reflex. His right hand moved up to the control panel before him. Its fingers moved in fluid patterns born out of repetition as they handed over station keeping duties to the Starbase. As James looked on he understood. The Pacifica was docked, by the looks of the view screen, at a Starbase. Where and when still eluded him, and as he instinctively searched his memory he was instantaneously rebuffed by a siren; a flash of pain sent him crawling back towards the comforts of absent-mindedness. But this time he stopped himself and pushed himself up onto his feet. They seemed unsteady beneath him but they carried him nevertheless across the familiar deck of the bridge. Footsteps were uneven. The metronomic frustration of his mind sought to bring them into line but only under punishment of pain. Left. Out of habit he was being taken to the turbolift. Right. He would find somewhere to sleep. Left. Perhaps even someone to help him. Right. The uneven rhythm amongst the ordered surroundings drew the attention of Lt. Ashley Douglas who looked up from the science station.

Douglas: Finally calling it a night huh Commander? I suppose I can understand you wanting to see your ship safely back to Starbase with the pirate threat about though. *pauses* If you don't mind me saying though sir you *really* look like you could do with some sleep.

James had stopped and was looking blankly at Lt. Douglas. He could not remember when he had come onto the bridge for this shift, and nor did he want to try. His brain seemed to have ground to a halt in protest at lack of sleep. He was moving purely out of habit and instinct. Speaking was too much though. He continued to the turbolift doors.

Douglas: *looking vaguely put out at the lack of a reply* Goodnight then Commander.

James let out a small grunt as he entered the turbolift. He sagged against the wall and waited for the turbolift doors to close. Outside Ashley Douglas shook her head. How such lack of courtesy could bring anyone to be a senior officer she didn't know.

The turbolift doors opened again on the deck below, and James stumbled into his quarters. He did not bother to call for lights, only the time. The computer informed him it was 0300 hours before James succumbed to weariness and collapsed onto his bed, not bothering to change out of his uniform. He waited there, motionless, exhausted, and waiting for sleep to wash over him. But every time it came near and he felt he had caught onto its elusive tail there was a vicious stab of pain in his head and a rush of thoughts.

Computer: The time is 0730 hours.

The lights had come on. James rolled out of bed and headed almost zombie-like to the door. Once in the turbolift he was about to call for Deck 1, when the realisation of the absurdity of it all stopped him. He needed help, and couldn't think of anyone more able to help him at the moment than Dr. Morgan.

James: Deck 10.

His legs brought him to the door of sickbay, but there they stopped. He stared for a moment at the door. His pulse quickened. He swallowed. Something, very possibly fear, surged up inside of him. If he stepped through those doors, they would once again close behind him. And when would they open again? He took a step backwards. But with the fear, and the rush of thoughts it brought came the pain again. He clenched his teeth; so hard he felt they might crack, and stepped through the door.

A blue uniform moved towards him. It said something. It was animated and talking that was almost farcical. He only wished he could wake up. A memory of why he was here came up, tumbling out of his mouth and into the air.

James: Dr. Morgan.

Patterson: It's not 0800 hours yet, can I help you instead?

Sarah slightly worried; the Lt. Cmdr. certainly didn't look too great. He blinked, opened his mouth to say something. But before he could say anything the mouth's shape contorted, its previous placid shape defiled as muscles pulled in response to pain. The eyes screwed up and hands flew over his ears, as if trying to block out the stunned silence around him. He collapsed to his knees. But still no cry of agony, no gasp of pain, and certainly no words of explanation. There was only the silent run of a solitary tear which squeezed between the tightly shut tears, running down the lines of a distorted expression, letting out a silent cry for help. Sarah crouched and tried to coax him over to a biobed. But he writhed out of her grasp as one by one his muscles involuntarily cramped up, pulling tight against one another. Sarah gave up on moving him and hurried over to pick up a hypospray. She quickly filled it and rushed over to sedate the silently twitching figure on the floor. As she bent over him to administer the sedative his eyes opened and for a moment she hesitated looking into his eyes, These amidst his pained expression glowed dully like crystal orbs blue and green to a glance with crystalline cracks radiating from a hazel core. But despite the array of colour, they did not seem pained; rather lonely and despairing in their blood-flecked surroundings. James gasped, a faint hiss, discharging not chemicals but responsibility.

James: Help me.

Without further hesitation Sarah pressed the hypospray to his neck and shortly after the faint hiss, his felt his body go limp once more. With only a little trouble she heaved him up onto the biobed.

Sarah: *taps* Dr. Morgan could you report to sickbay please *taps*

It was 0755 hours. She would have been here in five minutes anyway. But as Sarah picked up a tricorder and scanned the prone form, she couldn't understand what was wrong with him.

Off:

OOC: Phew, I'd forgotten how long these take to write. But this isn't even 1500 words. How you manage 4000 I have no idea, This is the start of a few JPs between myself and Connie, who by the looks of things, between the wedding, and trips down memory lane could be quite active over the next few days. Connie � if you could contact me as soon as you have some time on your hands? Thanks.

Also welcome to our new recruits don't worry, all my posts aren't as long winded as this. My writing style will soon be changing a bit to match the shift in my character's development.

Oh, and apologies for the rather poor pun in the title I've never been that great at them.

Tag: Connie

Lt. Commander James Markson <br>
Chief Flight Control Officer <br>
USS Pacifica <br>

[[Category:Post of the Month Winners]]

Docking Up - Revision history

121.223.139.129: New page: ===Post of the Month - August 2006=== ====by James Marson==== On: Red' Blue' Blue' Red' James' fingers stumbled across the keys, every time slipping across the glossy surface. Com...