literature

Nova

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Literature Text

Nova

She slumped on the edge of the bed, glaring out the window over a hazy Manhattan.
Turning she saw the words emblazoned above the headboard:
"All sorts of bodily diseases are produced by half-used minds."
Frowning she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
Standing up, she moved into the bathroom. Leaning heavily on the basin she stared intently into the mirror.
Who am I! ...What am I? The questions roared through her mind, blazed in her veins, and burned in her eyes.
She turned to her wrist, a simple tattoo, "Nova".
What did it mean? A name? A Place? What! WHAT!?
Frustrated she struck the mirror in a tearful rage, causing it to shatter.
A trickle of blood ran between her fingers. A loan tear dripped down her soft cheek, causing her blue green eyes to glisten, replayed a thousand times over in the shards of glass, stuck to the wall, and lying in the basin.
She made her way downstairs, shrugging a coat on over her shoulders. Stepping outside she glanced around wildly.
"What is this place?" She whispered it under her breath.
She tried hiding her eyes from everyone around, pulling her long her flowing brown hair around her face.
She turned, this way, then that, head down, knowing not where she was going.
Bumping into someone, she mumbled an apology, looking up, into his eyes, she flashed: Running in a park, laughing, shouting happily, laying on the beach, holding hands, hugging…
Shaking her head the images left.
A flicker of recognition crossed the man's face, and he was gone.
She spun around violently, yet everyone passed by, as if in a dream.
She began to run now, her eyes feeling hot, hands clammy with sweat. She shut her eyes, running blindly, narrowly avoiding all obstacles as if by intuition.
She stopped, at last, standing before a grimy brick wall. The air in the alley was thick with the odour seeping from the trash lying around her.
Scrawled across the wall in white paint she read: “Overcome the disease of the body, to gain the key to the mind” – Nova.
She focused on her wrist once more.
“Nova, nova nova....” She repeated to herself over and over, sometimes aloud, sometimes in her thoughts.
The girl fell to her knees and screamed; NOVA! She tore roughly at her wrist with her nails as if trying to remove the imprint from her body.

When she awoke, she was once again in the apartment, her clothes where lying in a heap on the floor, and she felt a chill in the air.
Standing up slowly, she looked at herself. Scars and bruises painted the canvas of her skin. She couldn’t bear to behold it any longer and she hastily got dressed.
She slumped on the floor to think, head held in her hands, hair in disarray.  The longer she sat and the harder she strained her mind, more fleeting images would race across the screen of her thoughts.
Now a snippet of conversation, “It. Is. Mine!” Now a flash of a happy memory, now a grey image, showing the cause of one of her scars.
At last she could take no more, opening her eyes wide, staring vacantly straight ahead of her, she shivered uncontrollably, from an inward cold, that no amount of clothing or blankets could warm.
She returned once again to wander the streets. Though she never once had a destination, her feet seemed to carry her, as if with their own mind. Every night the events were the same; she would reach some place that appeared to have some significant meaning; whether from a previous life or from a manufactured memory she did not know. The following morning she would awake, to find herself back in that barren apartment, surveying the skyline of a city she seemed to know nothing of.
This night, as she trudged through the streets, she found before her, an empty lot. As her feet touched the stones, and the sound reached her ears, her mind’s vision was suddenly gripped with a series of chilling images.
What used to be here? A building, a house perhaps? It seemed more like a box. She could see a girl, tied to a chair, some strange machinery was on a table, some of it was attached to her. Was it? Could it be her!? The terrifying nightmare continued, filling her with fear, yet she could not stop it, she could not turn away. A man walked into the room... A monster. He switched some machine on causing the girl immense pain. She could hear the screams as if she was right there. “It is mine!” The jubilant cry rang out in the emptiness and the girl’s vision was swept blank.
She scrambled to get away from this place, losing all traction on the gravel. As she scrabbled franticly she fell, skinning her hands. She dropped to her knees in desperation, tears mixing with the blood dust on the ground beneath. She looked toward the heavens then; no, directly into the eyes of a tall figure standing over her. He offered his hand and she took it, bewilderment furrowing her brow.
Speaking at last, he asked her name.
“I... I don’t know,” she paused, then she whispered hoarsely, “Nova...”
“Let me take you home.” Drowsy, she complied, allowing the man to half carry; half drag her towards the apartment.
During the course of the walk, she began to come more to herself.
“I don’t need your help! Who are you?” She screamed. Without awaiting a reply, she continued her tirade, “I don’t even know who I am. How can I trust who you are?”
“I can help you, if you’re willing... I helped you even when you never knew.” The stranger answered softly, and spoke no more.

As the days faded and nights wore on, she gradually became more aware of the stranger’s presence. Things he said stayed with her, and began filling her mind. When she awoke in her apartment she would write down his words on the walls, over time they became full with his speech.
“The mind of the subject will desperately try to create memories where none exist.”
These words seemed to burn themselves into her mind. “I... am I that subject?”
It was beginning to become clear to her now, any memories, manufactured or otherwise, were immaterial; all that mattered now was repairing herself.

* * *

The girl; Nova, had come to an end of herself. She laid in his arms placing her life in his hands, she whispered, “Heal me... I can’t do it alone.” Her life was spent, but now she had new life...
He took her head gently in his hands, and kissed her forehead softly. She could feel the pain in her body draining away as he held her in his healing arms...



By Reuben McCartney
I never thought of putting any of my writing up on here before. Maybe someone will feel the need to read it, any feedback would be wonderfully appreciated!
© 2014 - 2024 Reub-o-tographer
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