Read Online Being For The Benefit Of Mr Kite! by Douglas Lindsay - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Douglas Lindsay
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high-pitched. So consistent, a high tone of despair.
In my head the scream became a seagull, the tone ululated. The sound of the fuselage buckling, of the plane in the storm, became the sound of the waves. Bigger waves, as though a large boat had just passed close to shore. I could hear them. I could hear Brin, chatting amiably. No worries. A beautiful, warm day by the sea. I could hear Baggins laughing. Baggins was laughing. Giggling. Ice cream on the end of her nose.
This was my happy place. This was our happy place. I was there. I could be there. I didn't have to be on the plane if I didn't want to be. The noise of the plane was swallowed up by the waves. I could be wherever I wanted. My whole body curled up into as small a coil as I could manage, every muscle and sinew tensed, my hands pressed hard against the panel in front of me, my head pressed hard against my hands. I was protected. The plane didn't matter anymore. The juddering and the shaking, various items flying around the cabin, the cries of panic. I wasn't there. None of it was real.
The sea was real. The gulls were real. That was the noise. That was the sound that surrounded me. The cry of the gulls. I had to focus on that. Such an emotive, evocative sound. The gulls. Focus on the gulls.
Some part of me, somewhere, was aware of the sudden ear-splitting crash as the bottom of the plane made impact with something. But just some part of me, that's all.
I heard the gulls.
That's how it happened. And that's all I know.
*
I woke up. I was sitting at the desk, leaning over it, my head resting on my arms. I sat in that position for a while, barely able to open my eyes. The feeling that I used to have, however long ago it used to be, when I slept normally in a bed for eight hours. That early morning, first awake, sleepy-eyed feeling.
Through partially opened eyes I saw the mirror. I didn't have any confusion. I knew straight away where I was. I must have been dreaming about it, because there was no sitting bolt upright in fear at what I was waking up to. I was being interrogated about a plane crash. I was in a strange room, with a mirror wall and a closed door that was never locked. And they thought I was the Jigsaw Man.
The water bottle was no longer on the desk. Water bottle. Water. I needed to go to the bathroom.
I'd only just begun to hope that they wouldn't be too long in coming back, when I noticed the door was open. Not just unlocked, but wide open. This made me sit up, rub the sleep from my eyes. Had they knocked on the door? I felt like there had been knocking. That was what had woken me. The knocking.
I must have slept a long time. I could feel it. I had no way to tell the time, but I had the sense of having slept for several hours. Why had they kept me awake for so long and then suddenly let me sleep off all that tiredness?
Perhaps I had told them what they needed to know. I tried to think of what I'd said the last time they had been in here. It was all about the Jigsaw Man. But it had seemed at the time that they had been the ones making revelations.
The open door had to be some sort of test. Did I pass the test by sitting here waiting for something to happen? Or by going out into the corridor, engaging the guard, testing out my surroundings? Perhaps there was no test, there was neither pass nor fail; it was just an experiment, with someone watching through the mirror to record their findings.
I looked at the mirror, wondering whether anyone was behind there at this particular moment. Had they been watching me sleep? Was someone paid to watch me sleep? That had to be at the low end of the spectrum on career fulfilment.
I was suddenly gripped by the notion that it was time to move, and not just because I needed to pee. Whoever these people were, they were in complete control. I couldn't just sit there until I dropped dead. At some stage, if they never came in, I would be drawn out, so I just had to get on with it.
I was nervous going to the
In my head the scream became a seagull, the tone ululated. The sound of the fuselage buckling, of the plane in the storm, became the sound of the waves. Bigger waves, as though a large boat had just passed close to shore. I could hear them. I could hear Brin, chatting amiably. No worries. A beautiful, warm day by the sea. I could hear Baggins laughing. Baggins was laughing. Giggling. Ice cream on the end of her nose.
This was my happy place. This was our happy place. I was there. I could be there. I didn't have to be on the plane if I didn't want to be. The noise of the plane was swallowed up by the waves. I could be wherever I wanted. My whole body curled up into as small a coil as I could manage, every muscle and sinew tensed, my hands pressed hard against the panel in front of me, my head pressed hard against my hands. I was protected. The plane didn't matter anymore. The juddering and the shaking, various items flying around the cabin, the cries of panic. I wasn't there. None of it was real.
The sea was real. The gulls were real. That was the noise. That was the sound that surrounded me. The cry of the gulls. I had to focus on that. Such an emotive, evocative sound. The gulls. Focus on the gulls.
Some part of me, somewhere, was aware of the sudden ear-splitting crash as the bottom of the plane made impact with something. But just some part of me, that's all.
I heard the gulls.
That's how it happened. And that's all I know.
*
I woke up. I was sitting at the desk, leaning over it, my head resting on my arms. I sat in that position for a while, barely able to open my eyes. The feeling that I used to have, however long ago it used to be, when I slept normally in a bed for eight hours. That early morning, first awake, sleepy-eyed feeling.
Through partially opened eyes I saw the mirror. I didn't have any confusion. I knew straight away where I was. I must have been dreaming about it, because there was no sitting bolt upright in fear at what I was waking up to. I was being interrogated about a plane crash. I was in a strange room, with a mirror wall and a closed door that was never locked. And they thought I was the Jigsaw Man.
The water bottle was no longer on the desk. Water bottle. Water. I needed to go to the bathroom.
I'd only just begun to hope that they wouldn't be too long in coming back, when I noticed the door was open. Not just unlocked, but wide open. This made me sit up, rub the sleep from my eyes. Had they knocked on the door? I felt like there had been knocking. That was what had woken me. The knocking.
I must have slept a long time. I could feel it. I had no way to tell the time, but I had the sense of having slept for several hours. Why had they kept me awake for so long and then suddenly let me sleep off all that tiredness?
Perhaps I had told them what they needed to know. I tried to think of what I'd said the last time they had been in here. It was all about the Jigsaw Man. But it had seemed at the time that they had been the ones making revelations.
The open door had to be some sort of test. Did I pass the test by sitting here waiting for something to happen? Or by going out into the corridor, engaging the guard, testing out my surroundings? Perhaps there was no test, there was neither pass nor fail; it was just an experiment, with someone watching through the mirror to record their findings.
I looked at the mirror, wondering whether anyone was behind there at this particular moment. Had they been watching me sleep? Was someone paid to watch me sleep? That had to be at the low end of the spectrum on career fulfilment.
I was suddenly gripped by the notion that it was time to move, and not just because I needed to pee. Whoever these people were, they were in complete control. I couldn't just sit there until I dropped dead. At some stage, if they never came in, I would be drawn out, so I just had to get on with it.
I was nervous going to the
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