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    P. E. Knapp
  • P. E. Knapp
  • Author
  • 09/10/2024
  • 407 Words
  • 1,030 Views
  • 10 Comments
Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 
Stop! Read First!  This story is marked Mature! There are Graphic Scenes, Sensitive Content, Sexual Situations, Foul Language, and descriptions of Traumatic Events including Death. 
This story is not for everyone! If you don't feel comfortable with ANY of the above. Please don't read!

Tragedia Et Amor - Prologue. Prologue

This story is about two teens meeting five years after an altercation, but to understand that past is to understand the pain.
Mature Content! There are definitely scenes that require the use of the Violence, Sensitive Content, and Sexual Content tags.
If depictions of MM or MF sex, abuse and bullying or graphic fight and injury scenes bother you, please don't read this story.
Warning! The Prologue has descriptions of hospital rooms and a person in pain. Do not read if you feel this would bother you.

June 1996. Port-A Memorial Hospital. The body lying on the bed in the center of the wall. Eyelids fluttered. Thoughts: White. Nothing but white. Bright lights. Burning through my eyelids. Pain. Scorching up my leg, arm, shoulder. A hotness I can’t understand. Sounds of squeaking in the distance. Sometimes near, sometimes far. That annoying beeping and a sound. A sound like slurping through a straw. My throat hurts. My mouth doesn’t want to move. Tongue. It sticks to my mouth. A cold damp feeling of something rough wiping across my face. Whispers in the distance as I feel the cold damp thing touch my other side of my face. The flash of heated pain before it stops. Everything sounds like it’s in the distance. I jerk at the ice cold on my chest. Again the distant whispers. Sounds off to one side before the coldness shooting up my arm and the heaviness of my body. The slowing of my thoughts as I drift again on a sea of pain and dreams.

* * * 

I remember boats everywhere. The water was covered with boats. People listened to the words spoken across the radio. People sang hymns. My mom spoke, then threw wreaths and flowers into the water and emptied a vase or something with ashes over the side of the big boat. The sound of horns, many horns sounding at once. Blasting the air with a calliope of sounds. I was tired. Slept on the makeshift bed that transported me. Rode in an ambulance after being in a church. Many people I didn’t know patted my arm with sad looks and tears. Telling me everything will be OK. That they were sorry for my loss. A nice lady named Tabitha stayed right by my side the entire trip. Whether at the church or in the ambulance or on the boat. Mom held my hand.

People took pictures of us. I was in the newspaper. The photo showed me in the ambulance bed on the rear deck of the big fishing boat. My family and friends are around us. The picture must have been taken by a helicopter. Another picture showed all the boats in a large circle around us. Hundreds of boats. All different kinds of boats. And I hurt. Anything on my left side hurt. I slept a lot. Holding that newspaper in my arms. Refusing to let it go. I didn’t know why.

Thanks for reading!
Copyright © 2024 P. E. Knapp; All Rights Reserved.
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As a note to all readers! Thank you for reading and remember. Comments are the fuel writers need to write. Please consider leaving comments below and giving the story a thumbs up. Thank you!
Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 
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Anton_Cloche

An interesting prologue @P. E. Knapp, which raises a great number of questions, some of which may be answered in due course.

Someone in such bad condition after a tragic accident (?) is taken to the burial at sea in his hospital bed? Either very important, or the scion of a wealthy (political or business) family?

One query is the reference to the sounds of many boat horns as the ashes are poured overboard, as "Blasting the air with a calliope of sounds"?

The editor in me, and comments of many maritime friends,  would refer to those discordant sounds, even of 'steam whistles', as being more of a cacophony than a mellifluous calliope. 

 

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P. E. Knapp
13 minutes ago, Anton_Cloche said:

An interesting prologue @P. E. Knapp, which raises a great number of questions, some of which may be answered in due course.

Someone in such bad condition after a tragic accident (?) is taken to the burial at sea in his hospital bed? Either very important, or the scion of a wealthy (political or business) family?

One query is the reference to the sounds of many boat horns as the ashes are poured overboard, as "Blasting the air with a calliope of sounds"?

The editor in me, and comments of many maritime friends,  would refer to those discordant sounds, even of 'steam whistles', as being more of a cacophony than a mellifluous calliope. 

 

Thanks for the comment, Anton_Cloche!

The answers you seek are in the next chapters. 😀

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