Afraid Of The Morning

When Flint woke up in a hospital in the year 2509 at the age of fourteen, he could remember nothing, now twenty-four and working as a guinea pig in a lab, he feels the need to wait, until his life is scattered to the wind by the appearance of Martian, a wolf with a history of insanity and violence, and Flint's past is revealed through her, and with the help of some renegade friends, he begins a journey to question what it means to be human.

Like life, like man and beast, like all good stories, this is a collection of many parts that, for now, appear to be disjointed, like pieces of metal jumbled across a work surface. Who knows, tomorrow you may return to this place, and find the pieces of metal have been fitted together. Who knows, what may now be disjointed nonsense, could tomorrow be a pocket watch.


Sometimes Flint wasn’t even sure what he was waiting for. Actually, when he thought about it, he knew perfectly well he wasn’t waiting for anything, he justcouldn’t be bothered to do anything about it.

To say he was handsome would be an overstatement, he was good-looking, sure, but he somehow blended in with the background, he didn't stand up, he was just another guy you could walk past in the street and never notice. He was so pale his skin appeared to be hewn from white marble, and so thin it made one wince to look at him but were set with the brightest, deepest chocolate eyes that sparkled with all the character that appeared to have been sucked from the rest of his body. His hair was the same shade of brown, soft and feathery, falling to his jawline, but with a thick, peculiar streak of pure, jet black running down the centre.

He often thought about his life as he ran down the road towards work. If you could call it work. He was never in a hurry, he was never late, never even overslept, he just liked running. He loved the feeling of the cold winter air slicing his pale face, and ruffling through his thick hair as if trying to hold him back.

Sometimes he wondered if it was anything to do with the accident, the fact he just hung around, but he could never remember.

“Well it’s not as if you even try,”
Flint was leaning against the doorway of a medical examination room, a stern, middle aged woman with her grey-streaked black hair in a tight bun was looking at him with an expression of concern.
“If you’d just see Doctor Somerset, he could give you activities to do, mental stimulation, it would help you to recover...”
“I don’t need yet another doctor looking at me, I get enough of that here,” Flint folded his arms and narrowed his chocolate brown eyes.
“Flint, I know you’re... frustrated...” she began.
“You’re telling me,”
“...But you can’t expect everything to come rushing back right away,”
“Right away? I was fourteen, Martha, ten years, it wasn’t last week,” He growled in exasperation.
Martha seemed keen to drop the subject of Flint’s past, she pulled on a white coat and gestured for him to enter the room.
“So how’ve you been feeling?” She asked briskly as he hung his old grey jacket on a hook behind the door and sat on the end of the bed, watching her warily.
“Um, good,” He said, “Really, really good, actually.”
Martha turned round and gave him a critical look, sighing as she took his pulse from his thin wrist, “You’re not eating properly,” She pointed out.
“I’m fine,” He growled.
“You can’t expect to keep this job when you’re a corpse, when did you last eat?”
“Oh... I dunno, yesterday... morning, I think,”
“You can go home and eat after this then,” She ordered, “Properly,” She added as he rolled his eyes.

After checking his lungs, teeth, heart, eyesight, hearing, skin condition, hand-eye coordination and general level of fitness, Martha clicked on her black heels over to a filing cabinet labelled ‘Subject Records’, and whipped out a particularly fat file with Flint’s name and a small portrait photograph on the front.
“You’ll do, just,” She told him, as she scribbled down his results, “No apparent side-effects, you’re a lucky man,” She said with a small smile as she passed him a small slip of paper, “Hand that in to reception and you can go home, and mind you eat properly before Monday,” She demanded, “Or I might change my mind about your state of health,”
Flint smiled despite himself as he pulled his coat on and walked out of the exam room.

The End

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