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First Person Sample ( ![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} malak_au_maut journal entry.)What has this world come to? I've just about given up listening to the radio. They were playing Rebecca Black on KISW this morning. In their defense, they did parody it. But still. That is the MOST obnoxious song I have ever heard. It should be kept to tween ears only and not something teens and adults should be subjected to.....ESPECIALLY on a ROCK station. Also, I was at the store earlier, and looking at the magazines (because sometimes one will catch my interest), and since when did Snooki deserve to be on the cover of Rolling Stones? IS SHE EVEN A MUSICIAN?! That's it, I've lost the rest of my faith in humanity. THIS IS WHY WE'RE DOOMED WORLD! THIS IS WHY WE'RE DOOMED. Third Person Sample ( malak_au_maut standalone.)Paige usually never found herself in the morgue. Most of the time the morgue nurses covered everything down there. All Paige usually had to do was drop paperwork off at the nurse's station nearby. But they had been short a person due to a family emergency, and since Paige was free, she offered to help out. It'd kill time off her shift if nothing else. Tonight, she was making sure that all the information on the morgue log was correct, sometimes things got missed. So she found herself pulling bodies out and checking toe tags, scribbling on her clipboard a bit, and locking the bodies back away when done. It was a task that shouldn't have taken her long at all. Except for the fact Paige was different. Though in her defense, she wasn't aware of it yet. She was filling in the generic "John Doe" terminology for the John Doe that she leaned over when she realized that she wasn't alone in the room. Looking up, she found herself face to face with her John Doe. Initial panic response initiated, and she flung the clipboard and, indirectly, her pen across the room. Papers fluttered to the floor as she tried to hide behind something more than a dead body on a slab. "Where am I?" asked Mr. Doe, looking at Paige rather confused. He didn't know he was dead. "H-Harborview M-Medical Center," she stammered in reply. She wasn't talking to a dead man she tried to convince herself. She pinched herself, thinking perhaps she had fallen asleep on the job, but to no avail. "Where?" "Harborview?" She regained her composure a bit. "The hospital?" "What am I doing here?" "Wow, I hate to be the one to tell you this, sir. But you're dead." He didn't believe her. "That's preposterous! I was just home not long ago!" "You died six hours ago. You had a severe pulmonary embolism. You didn't get treatment in time." She hated breaking bad news to living patients. This was the first time she had to break it to a dead man. Mr. Doe stood in silence for a moment before looking down at himself on the slab between him and Paige. "Oh my god. That's me?" He looked to Paige again, and tears welled up in his eyes. "Are you my angel?" He asked. Paige was on the bridge between almost calm and completely freaked out. Here was a middle aged dead man in a hospital gown asking her if she was an angel. "No, sir. I'm not an angel. I'm an LPN, I usually work in pediatrics or around the clinic, tonight I'm just helping with paperwork." "But you look like an angel, miss. Unless I'm hallucinating those pretty wings of yours." Wait, did he just say wings? Paige rushed to the hand-washing sink, and looked in the mirror. Sure enough, she had wings. And they weren't little and sparkly like fairy wings. Oh no, they brushed the floor folded up. She flexed them a bit, knocking over a chair in the process. "Miss? You alright?" "Y-yeah," she turned to face him again. "So, uh, I guess I am an angel." She wasn't sure what she was supposed to do now. No one had given her a manual on how to deal with gigantic wings and dead men walking. After a couple hours of talking, guessing, and coaxing, Paige managed to rid herself and the morgue of John Doe. She still didn't know his real name, not that she'd have changed it anyway. It'd be hard to explain to everyone how she'd come about that knowledge. The next dilemma Paige faced was how the hell she was going to get home. She'd heard about the freaks and what happened to them, it was going to be hell to walk home. Even if it was only a half hour walk. She gathered up the scattered papers, finished the paperwork, and left it on the desk in the morgue. They'd find it in the morning. She made her way out of the hospital, trying her best not to be seen. She'd worry about explaining things later, claim she had to go home sick or something. She'd make it work, she always did. She was thankful her coat was black, the tips of her wings blended in with it and her scrub bottoms, maybe she'd go unnoticed. She walked hurriedly, and breathed a sigh of relief when she passed under the Interstate, she was halfway there by that point. She avoided running into anyone that could ask questions, keeping her gaze down, looking like she was checking her cellphone, but keeping her gaze on the path in front of her. Occasionally she would glance around, paranoid that she'd be found and arrested. All she had done was double-check a John Doe. She made her way in the back way to her apartment, avoiding the front desk completely. She heaved a sigh of relief when the deadbolt was in place. She spent the next week home on "sick leave" with what she claimed to be a case of the swine flu. Working at a hospital, they wished her well, and told her not to come back until she was 100% better. To Paige's surprise, no one questioned why she left without filing the paperwork properly. Probably chalked it up to a fever or something. That week was spent moving her wings, and working on meditating to ease them into a glamoured state. After some practice, glamour became second nature to her. It had to. It would be the only think keeping her safe out on the streets of Seattle. |
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