Okay, I'm superbly excited that I've been selected to continue on from @zen-art. So many ideas came to mind but sometimes, we just have to let the words come out on its own. Before you start reading, do check out Part One by @zen-art

Photo by Elijah O'Donnell on Unsplash

TINGGGGGG….. !

The loud screeching sound interrupted his focus like a sharp nail piercing through the heart. He lifted his fingers off the typewriter and dropped both hands to his lap. An aching pain slowly emerged on the joints of his fingers. This pain has been excruciatingly frequent and last longer than ever every time. Squeezing his fingers together into a fist in hopes that the pain will eventually go away. In his mind, “Go Away ! I can FIGHT you off! I MUST !” Shutting his eyes tightly, he channelled all his mental energy to the agonizing ache, fencing it off as best as he could. Taking slow, deep breaths, the pain finally subside but for how long? Its occurrence is getting more inconsistent and the intervals are getting more and more shorter. After the pain finally ease off, he reached out for the little red book next to the typewriter. Flipping to the last handwritten page, he looked at the list of numbers which was written shabbily in black and blue ink.

These numbers represent a combination of dates and time; each dictating the moment of his series of occurrences. Though he had been treated by many distinguished doctors, both scientifically and traditionally, none could provide him a proper and detailed diagnose to his illness. For years, he had travelled around the world seeking even the most impossible medicine man but all lead to the same result – disappointment.

His only solace of happiness was his writing. He could write anything and everything under the sun, moon or stars. Words just seemed to come out on its own whenever his fingers touched the typewriter. Unlike many other writers who have shifted themselves from the traditional typewriter to a computer; Not him. Words just doesn’t seem to be the same on a computer screen as compared to seeing it come alive on a paper when it appears with every click of the typewriter. His editor never complained, though he would need to have it re-written once again in order to have it printed. All his books were bestsellers and with his recent win in the Warwick Prize for Writing, he was the acclaimed writer of the century.

Yet, his illness was the one and only weakness to his lifetime journey as a writer. Opening his eyes, he looked down on the manuscript which he was working on. The paragraph ended at…

"Greetings friends! I mean you no harm. My name is..." he did not know how to finish that sentence and the fear got mixed with shock. He could not remember his name.

He unhooked the clip on the right side of the typewriter which was securing the paper to its place; releasing it from the roller. He smiled to himself while placing the uncompleted manuscript into a dark blue folder. The cover of the folder has yet to have a title on it. He wasn’t prepared to give it one just yet, it was too soon. Having just written several pages, he wasn’t sure if this was something he wanted to complete. Looking around his work table, there were several similar dark blue folders, all filled with paper manuscripts. All incomplete. All without a title to it. Somehow, something in that mess caught his eye, a scribble on one of his manuscripts. A handwriting that was not familiar to him. Reaching out to the folder, he gently pulled out the manuscript.

Finish this before your journey ends

Photo by Martin Brosy on Unsplash

Gently flipping through the manuscript, he recalled writing this story down. It was during the summer of 2011. He had travelled to Asia in hopes of searching a local medicinal man whom many claims have spiritual skills to cure the most uncommon illness. His medicinal methods were unorthodox and greatly challenged by the scientific and pharmaceutical world. Sometimes, what is not proven may not necessary be unreal. Of course, the journey was a disappointment as no such person ever existed. Instead, he had spent his time writing.

Reading the story as if it was his first time; as if he was the editor in charge; as if he wasn’t the person behind the typewriter.

On December 31st, 2014 a taxi cab travelled through San Francisco, from Chinatown to Marin. The car carried a single passenger, a women. Her birthname Carolina Lowman. Current alias, Jennifer Lancestor. This is the first and the last chapter of her story.

Prologue

Eight months after her husband’s death, Carolina was driving south to her parent’s beach house to meet her five year-old son, Petric who was waiting up for her when something highly unusual occurred. Something almost magical. Snow fell in Scomath County. With this sudden appearance of snow, Carolina lost vision of the road ahead of her and hit straight to the divider and crashed into the river. The immersion in the frigid water caused Carolina’s body to go into an anoxic reflex, instantly stopping her breathing and slowing her heartbeat. Within two minutes, Carolina’s core temperature had dropped to 75 degrees. Her heart stopped beating.

( THUNDER RUMBLING )

At 8.55, a bolt of lighting struck the vehicle, discharging half a billon volts of electricity and producing over 50,000 amperes of current. Its effect for threehold.

First, the charge defibrillated Carolina Lowman’s heart,
Second, she was jolted out of her anoxic state, causing her to draw her first breath in two minutes,

( GASPING FOR AIR )

Third, based on Piere Wor Lehman’s Principle of Electron Compression in deoxyribonucleic acid, which would be discovered in the year 2053, Carolina Lowman will henceforth be immune to the ravages of time.

She may never age another day.

He closed the manuscript and placed it back into the folder. Which will he choose to complete ? The Awakening or Carolina Lowman ? It didn’t take him long to decide. He reached out for his choice of manuscript and took out the last page. Rolling the paper onto the typewriter and securing the clip on the right, he felt a sudden exhilarating adrenaline drive. He knew exactly what he needed to do. Gently stretching his fingers, he placed them on the typewriter keyboard. And as if magic had suddenly struck him like the lighting for Carolina Lowman, his fingers started to move on its own.

The first word … CLOUDS

To be continued...

With this, I hereby elect @Orcrist to take on the rely in the next seven days. It's a crossroad, whichever way is possible.