Chapter 1
Dean pressed his face against the small machine, adjusting the lenses to his bad eyes. He turned the knob and watched his sample quiver. He took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair. “Here goes nothing,” he whispered to himself, pushing on his thick glasses. Dean pushed pulled out a small tube from the incubator in his lab. He held his breath as he squeezed the bulb of the syringe. Several dark blue drops fell from the warm utensil.
Dean snatched off his glasses and buried his face into the machine again. He stared down the microscopic lenses, praying. The thick blue experiment hit the tissue in the small container and reacted instantly. He studied it as the liquid bubbled and fizzed on the edges of the torn nerves. He sighed as he saw the sample being broke apart by another failed attempt. “Well at least I know that won’t work,” Dean mumbled sitting back in his chair. He picked up his glasses and stared at the thick lenses. His motivation and excitement had completely faded away. Hundreds of failed reactions rushed through his mind. “After a hundred failures at the light bulb, Thomas Edison said he now knows a hundred ways not to make a light bulb,” Dean said to himself, putting back on his glasses. “But this isn’t a light bulb,” he smirked in the emptiness of his workroom. The bright light shined above him as he stared in the abyss. His mind was jumping through different equations and formulas. “I need to fix this,” he grunted sitting up straight. A tight crick began to form in his neck. Hours of constant research and tests had been taking a toll on his body. His stomach began to rumble deep inside of him. “I’m not going to eat until I at least find out what causes the nerves to oxidize like that,” he blurted out loud. He knew no one could hear him work. He preferred it that way. Dean could feel his mind being over worked. “What could it be?” he asked, tossing his small plastic orange and blue football in the air. The spiral of the ball formed a unique color as it fell back to him. “What would cause a tissue to oxidize?” he asked again, tossing the ball higher. “Well several things would cause that. The question is, what is in that serum that would cause that?” he answered his own question with another question. He gripped the ball in his hands, pressing the thin plastic inward until it popped out. He clicked the ball several times, going over his formula. A small memory of his childhood shot in his head. “Hydrogen peroxide,” he said smiling, thinking of the gash in his leg when his mother poured the solution on it. “The peroxide oxidizes the dead tissue, causing it to sizzle. But if I take that out would could I use to help heal the torn nerves?” he questioned himself again, tossing the ball in the air. The ball hit the light and bounced across the floor, rolling under a far desk. “And that is why I chose medicines over sports, gentlemen,” he chuckled, making no effort to retrieve the ball. “If I take out the peroxide and switch it to a diluted alcohol, it should have similar effects. However, putting alcohol directly in the eyes would burn and basically destroy the retinas,” Dean explained to himself, resting his head on his hands. He stared at his reflection in the side of the metal cabinet. His thick black glasses pulled attention from his bright blue eyes. He could see the scars on his head under his short shaved head. Even he saw that he looked younger than what he was. He believed he could pass as a high school student, easier than he could a college one. “There has to be something else that could work with the experiment,” he grunted, checking through the pile of papers that accumulated over time. He scanned through the massive lists that spread across the table. “I’m almost there,” he whispered, feeling closer to his goal than ever before. Certain equations stood out more than the others. He read over the files frantically, feeling closer to the discovery. Dean pulled out a notebook and began calculating his own equations. He wrote and erased several times before gazing at a finished calculation. “Holy crap,” Dean smiled, surprised with his own work. “I think I just cracked the case, my dear Watson,” Dean laughed, quoting an old book he read. “Now lets put blood to the paper,” he sighed, pulling more capsules from the small incubator. “Let’s pray this work. I want to go home,” Dean mumbled, letting a few drops fall out of the tubes into another vial. He quickly shook up his concoction and tilted the top over a new sample. He took a slow breath and allowed two drops to fall in the clear container. As soon as the bright yellow liquid splashed on the sample, it began to absorb it. Dean knocked off his glasses and stared down the microscope. He watched as his new medicine cover the preserved optic nerve, sealing the tears with a thin coating, healing it almost instantly. Seeing his work come to life, gave him a sense of pride he had never felt before. “Oh my God,” he gasped as he sat back in his chair. He stared at his desk. His vision completely blurry with out his glasses. After years of studying and research, he has finally made his discovery. Months of staying late to use the lab finally paid off. “Now Mr. Stager will have to give me a permanent job on his pharmaceutical team,” Dean hoped to himself, leaning into to see his work. “Now to make more samples of this stuff. I’ll have to keep a few vials for myself, just in case things go south,” he exclaimed, jotting down everything that he mixed together. He wrote his formula down and shoved it in his pocket. When he pulled opened the incubator containing all of his ingredients, he heard a loud rustle outside of the lab. Dean froze, scared to know who was on the other side of the heavy sealed door. The outside buzzer echoed in the silence. It seemed to louder than he had ever heard it from the outside. “Please don’t let it be him. Please don’t let it be him,” he repeated as he marched to the door. He took a long breath, before releasing the seal on the door. He pulled the heavy door to him, still praying it wasn’t his boss on the other side. Once he stepped around the door, he saw the only friendly face around. William, who was the head engineer over pharmaceuticals, waited patiently. Dean sighed in relief when he saw his old friend. William was still in his lab coat and protective gear. The white uniform made his tan skin seem even darker. His black hair was almost a dense shadow hovering perfectly on his head. “Man you scared me for a second. I thought you were Mr. Stager,” Dean smirked, letting William pass by. “If I was, you would be out of luck. I can’t keep staying late like this every night man. I got to spend time with my wife,” William grunted, glancing over the hoard of papers across his desk. “Another thing, please take your work with you. I don’t know how to explain all of this to the morning shift,” he continued to scold Dean. Dean pushed the chair closer to the desk and swapped out the sample trays with a fresh one from the cooler. “Just hush and look,” Dean ordered as he placed the new tray in the microscope. William shook his head, looking up at Dean. Before William could say another word, Dean barked at him again. “Don’t speak until you seek,” William pushed his face to the soft rubber of the microscope and adjusted the lenses. He turned the knob until he saw a clear image of the sample. “So, it’s a sample of the Krugerson Disease. I’ve seen this a million times. It’s my job,” William said with no interest. Dean picked up his vial and held it up to the light. William saw the light pass through the bright yellow liquid. He wasn’t sure what Dean was doing. “Now watch what happens when I drop some of my Dawson Drops in it,” Dean smirked with pride. William sighed, tired of hearing about Dean’s attempts to control the disease that he had worked on for a while. William agreed sympathetically. He pressed his face in the machine once again, waiting to what Dean has come up with. Through the lens, he saw the thin needle of the syringe drop the liquid on the sample. The liquid hit the soft tissues of the nerves, covering it quickly. William’s eyes widened as he saw the nerves absorb the fluid, filling the gashes with new cells. William was in pure awe, to shocked to step lean back. He couldn’t believe his eyes. “We might have just saved a lot of lives, my friend,” he heard Dean say above him. “This is incredible,” William announced proudly. “I can’t believe you did it,” he said smiling himself. “How much effect would it have on more damaged tissue or the retinas?” William asked, wanting to know more about what he saw. Dean sat on the desk next to the microscope and stared down at the papers next to him. “I haven’t got that far yet, but will contain the infections until we make more improvements,” Dean admitted, almost loosing his excitement. “I need to test it on a different type of tissue,” Dean said in a low voice. William knew Dean’s version of different, meant trouble. “What do you mean different?” William forced the question, knowing it would mean he would have to stick his neck out once again. “It needs to be a live sample with all of the working organs corresponding together,” Dean explained, avoiding what he really wanted to say. William knew what that meant. His idea was something that, he himself has requested. “Are you asking for a human trial run?” William asked, but he knew that’s exactly what his friend meant. “You and I both know how Bison will react to that. That guy is tightly wrapped around his funds, he could read you the serial number off each penny,” William snapped back, almost in anger. Dean knew his friend was right. “I know you asked for a live trail run before; but maybe if was show him the treatment, he might reconsider,” Dean was willing to try anything, if it meant getting him a position on William’s team. William exhaled heavily, contemplating the choices. He could tell that Dean was excited and wanted more out of the company. His discovery did seem like a miracle. “I’ll see what I can do,” William declared. Dean shot up in excitement, cheering in his head. “Yes! You won’t regret it man,” Dean acclaimed happily. William placed the sample it a disposal bin and turned off the microscope. “First things first, I want to go home. It’s been a long day,” William grunted, heading for the door. Dean pulled off his coat and hung it on a hook on the wall. “You need to get you a car, taking you home every night is getting old,” William joked as Dean gathered his gear. “Oh come on, you know you like spending time with me,” Dean shot back jokingly. William let out a short sarcastic laugh, waiting by the door. “I spend over twelve hours a day with you. Enough is enough,” William smirked, closing the door behind them. They walked down the long hallway together, flipping off all of the lights. Once they reached the main entrance, Dean stopped and stared at the plaques above the reception desk. “One day my picture will be on that wall,” he fantasized about his achievements. “Come on,” William snapped, breaking Dean’s daydream. The warm night felt almost cool to him. The constant heat in the lab was something had had grown used to over the years. Dean climbed in William’s car just as he did every night. “You need to get your own car,” William grunted climbing in the driver side. Dean felt ashamed not having his own car and having to depend on his only friend at work. “I would love to get my own car, but I don’t make nearly as much as every one else who works here,” Dean hissed, thinking about the other cars he saw in the parking lot. “Between rent and school loans, I barely make enough to eat,” Dean complained. William has heard this same debate time and time again. He felt sorry for Dean, being in that situation. He sighed as he drove off, through the parking decks. Dean read through his notes multiple times, feeling more excited about his discovery. “Mr. Stager is going to be so hyped, he’s almost going to have to give me another job; or at least bump up my pay,” Dean said, pushing the thoughts of his crummy pay back. William said nothing about his excitement. William knew that Bison Stager was a covetous, greedy business tycoon. He wasn’t sure how Bison would react to Dean’s discovery, but he knew his actions would only benefit himself. William just let Dean stir in his accomplishments. No sense in destroying his motivation, William thought as he listened to Dean dream. The streetlights began to fade away as William got closer to Dean’s old home. Seeing the wreckage and rubble of the neighborhood, made William hate dropping off Dean. The roads were busted up and cracked. Trees have grown through most of the unused pavement. Wild dogs barked and chase around the wood lines. William stopped his car in front of Dean’s singlewide trailer. The porch light was still on, shining enough light in the yard to expose rotting grass and gravel spread all out. William lowered his head, almost in shame. “Alright man, I’ll see you in the morning,” Dean cheered pushing himself out the door. William watched him as he danced to his small metal door, cheering to himself. Dean grabbed the door handle to unlock it. The door came open with no effort. Dean’s heart slumped down in his chest. He sighed as he saw the new marks near the frame of the door. That sight almost made him cry. He held back tears as he slung the door open. He marched inside angrily. William waited to see what had happened. He could hear Dean yelling and cussing from inside. The lights inside flicked on. Dean began to scream louder in rage. A few moments later, Dean rushed out, slamming his door behind him. William could see his face was red with anger. Dean walked to William’s door, panting. William could see the hurt in his eyes. Dean wanted to cry, but he refused to. Before William could ask what happened, Dean was almost yelling again. “Someone broke into my house,” Dean cried out. William has never been around a place like this. The fear of criminals near him, made him completely uneasy. “What did they take?” he asked, hoping it was the right thing to say. “They stole my TV, all my CD’s and most of my food,” Dean’s voice began to crack. William had no idea what else to say. “They even stole my bed and most of my clothes,” Dean grunted, still holding back his tears. William saw a single tear fall from his cheek. Seeing Dean in a place of poverty and crime compelled William to do something. “Go get what you can,” William ordered. Dean looked at him in confusion. “I don’t want to hear any refusal or you don’t need to. Go get some stuff and get in the car. You are staying with me for a little bit; just until Mr. Stager hears your offer with the cure,” William’s words were soft and caring, more than Dean has heard in years. Dean nodded, wiping more tears from his face. He ran inside and gathered what he could. He slammed the door shut and locked it. Dean tossed his bag in the back and got in the passenger seat again. “All of this crap is about to changed. As soon as I get the better job, I’m going to burn this crap hole to the ground. They can have it,” Dean snapped. William could feel his anger and sorrow, but he wasn’t sure he agreed with his goal. William knew more about Stager than most, and it wasn’t good. William hurried out of the neighborhood as fast as he could. He didn’t want to get mugged. He sped off out of the broken road, slinging rocks out from under his tires. Dean still shook with rage, not saying a word. William drove back to the city, immediately feeling safer. Looking over at Dean, William questioned himself if what he has just done was the right thing. He knew that Dean lived in a dangerous place; he just never thought anything would happen to him. William remembered all the things that he had told him over the years. The stories of gunshots and gangs echoed in his ears. William had come to a conclusion that Dean would do anything just to survive, and he has. William’s life has been on the other side of the spectrum. He has lived in the city all of his life, not having to deal with poverty. His father was the states head surgeon of optometry. His first job was the job Dean was determined to make his career. To Dean, William was considered sheltered, and rich. William pulled into a well-lighted apartment building. The large building had lights hanging from all corners. The fields of grass were solid green behind the high fences. Dean stared out of the window, amazed. “I knew you were loaded man, but dang,” Dean blurted out. William almost felt embarrassed having so much more than his friend. Dean was to amazed to follow his friend inside when they got out. Many lights brightened the night sky. The fence that surrounded the whole complex was over twenty feet high and the top was wrapped the razor wire. “You coming?” William asked, breaking Dean’s attention. Dean reached in the car and grabbed his trash bag of clothes, following Williams through another gate. “This place is massive,” Dean gasped, still stunned by what was around him. Once Dean was inside, he felt uncomfortable being around such an expensive place. It seemed to a different world to him. It was nothing compared to what he had grown accustomed to. The cool clean air was such a relief to the muggy hot air in his old home. The carpets and walls were so clean and well pressed; it made Dean forget about the mice that constantly ran in his kitchen. Holding his trash bag of clothes made him feel even worse about where he came from. He stood beside William, waiting for the elevator door to open. He could see his reflection in the shiny metal doors. He looked just as out of placed as he felt. His shoes have darkened over time, seeming dull and bland next to William’s glistening loafers. Dean sighed as the door binged and opened in front of them. He said nothing to William, just stared at his own reflection, growing more and more resentful to his own self. William quickly made his way to his apartment door, wanting to get the night over with. The second he pushed opened the door; Dean saw a place he had only imagined. The floor was a dark marble grey, shining all around. Bright lights in chandeliers hung from the roof by chains. Windows across the main section of the room displayed the city below. Dean had no idea what to do next. “Wow,” he forced out. “How can you afford this?” he asked, not really caring to know. William went off in another room, rambling about how the place was originally his father’s and he left it to him when his parents moved to a quiet place out in the country. Dean stared out of the window, gazing at the city lights, ignoring his friend’s explanation. Being so high up, he could see for miles, even over the large buildings around him. He dropped his bag next to the window, staring down at the street. His excitement and exhilaration quickly faded when his mind went back to his small trailer in the woods. He sighed heavily and sat down on the couch. Even the couch was not what Dean was used to. It was made of cool leather with a cream color, not like the rough cloth he had slept on most of his life. A small glass bookshelf was positioned at the end of the couch, with the opening facing directly at Dean. He sat up and scanned through the books. Most of them were bushiness seminars, but there were a few novels. He saw one that made him smile. Bound Forever. It was a novel he has read a few times. He opened it up and scanned trough the chapters. “Have you ever read this one?” Dean asked when he heard William come back in to the room. “Which one?” William responded, pulling a shirt over his head. Dean raised the book over the couch, showing him the cover. William just smirked inside. “Yeah, I read that one twice. You know the guy who wrote that was from Alabama? Just think making a life like he’s got coming from a place like that,” William said, impressed about what he read about the author. Dean just smiled as he read over the author section, remembering when he lived in Alabama as a kid. He had often thought about moving back there, but he had gone to far with his work to go back to the beginning. He lied back on the couch, resting his mind and back. He pulled off his glasses and tossed them on the glass table next to him. “I’ll see you in the morning,” he heard William say as he went back to his own room. Dean simply closed his eyes, thinking about what could happen over the next few days. His discovery was the only thing he had looked forward to. He saw it as a way to get out of his way of life in to a life like William; where it was safe and easy. He wanted to prove himself to his boss more than he wanted to cure the disease.
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Matt stared at the old clock on the wall. He watched the second hand tick slowly. The sight of the big bright clown printed on his chest made him smirk. Although, Matt wasn’t a football fan, he loved to go to the games. He felt like it was about the only time he could dress like he wanted to. He could almost smell the face paint. He ran his hand over his shaved head, getting a little anxious. The first game of the season was just in a few hours.
He glanced around his classroom, scanning through all of the students. Matt felt like he never fit in with anyone in the class. He watched each group converse with their kind. He thought his whole high school was naturally segregated. He almost felt upset knowing that there wasn’t a group of friends he could sit with. “I don’t need them,” he said to himself. “The greatest people in the world were always put down by society,” he said, quoting his friend from a long time ago. He pulled out his old red notebook and flipped through the pages. Old poems and short stories filled most of the pages. He stopped on a clean sheet and began drawing. He wanted to have to the perfect paint design. Matt sketched and erased several different designs. He stopped and stared at the mildly crumbled page. His shadow darkened the center of the page; then an idea hit. He sketched long triangles under the eyes that stopped in the corner of the mouth. He shaded a circle around the eyes over the triangles, carving a thick line through the center of each eyes. The mouth came to him easily. He shaded in the lips and drew the smile out to the cheeks with arrowheads at the end. He smiled thinking of his design. “Not quite done,” he whispered slightly edging over the eyebrows. His drawing of his new face paint design boosted his self-confident. The ringing bell was like a release bell at a horse race. Matt bolted out of the door before the bell ended. He ran down the hall, rushing to the front door. He jumped quickly and kicked the door open. The metal door slammed against the brick wall and bounced back and slammed itself shut. Matt jumped down the flight of stairs and sprinted with ease. He felt his feet bounce off of the concrete as he ran down the road. The tightness in his legs and stomach made him run a little faster. The running kept his mind on the game instead of rushing to his home in the past. Matt kept his mind and body busy at all times just to keep the memories away. He saw a small steep hill over a ditch. He jumped over the ditch. Once he felt the bounce of the grass, he jumped forward and flipped over the hill. His feet hit the ground hard, but he used the momentum to continue his run. He forced his body to run and jump higher than normally. He wanted to make his body faster and stronger. The burning of his muscles felt better than the burning of his heart. The long road that leads to his small mobile home was heavy with traffic. He took the trail he had made the year before. The thick shrubs began to grow back. He kicked through most of them. Once he reached his home he dropped on the couch and rested. The burning in his legs was getting numb. He pulled the crumbled drawing from his pocket and looked over it again. He stared at it for a few moments before he felt the emptiness of his stomach. He made his way to the old fridge and looked inside. Most of the shelves were empty. A few bottles of water were stored in the door. He pulled opened the bottom drawer and saw a pack of unopened hotdogs. “Sweet lunch and dinner” he laughed ripping the pack open. He tossed a few of the hotdogs in the microwave and turned the dial. He stayed next to it, still looking over the drawing. He could hear the popping of the meat in the old microwave. He popped open the door and wrapped a piece of bread over each of them. Matt sat back on his couch and turned on the CD player on the nightstand. Music blared through the old speakers. Matt listened to every word as he ate the hotdogs. The anger and structure of the words flowed through Matt’s body. Matt felt like the artist was telling a story just like his own past. He turned the volume up. The moment Jonathan walked in, the bright lights almost blinded him. His eyes were so used to the dark light, he almost forgot how bright man-made lights can be. Jonathan rubbed his eyes and listened to the few movements inside. The absence of the wind felt unnatural to him. He looked around, only to see just a few people. He knew the few people that were there had their eyes on him. Jonathan knew he stuck out even in the largest crowds. He ran his dirty hands through his short dark blonde hair.
No matter how many times he had done this, it's still uncomfortable. His light blue eyes adjusted to the bright lights and are now scanning the entire front of the store. Jonathan readjusted the heavy pack on his back. He pulled the dark green canteen from the side pouch and gulped down the last few drops. "Free water" he whispered to himself, heading for the water fountain. He filled his canteen, keeping his eyes over his shoulders. He slipped the full canteen back into its pocket, but still continued to drink from the fountain. He drank until he could feel the cold water swish around in his empty stomach. He wiped his mouth with a smile. Jonathan looked around the massive store; barely anyone was there. He sighed to himself as he walked through the empty aisles. He grabbed a large can of soup and stared at it. "One quick slight of hand and no one would know," he thought to himself. He shook his head and placed the can back on the shelf. "Thou shalt not steal," he mumbled out loud walking away from the food. He didn't want to make himself any hungrier than he already was. Jonathan could feel his stomach turning in starvation. "I'll try something in the morning,” he said whipping his eyes. The extreme hunger made Jonathan feel weak. The restroom signs caught his eyes. "Time for some shut eye" he whispered pulling his pack more on his back. He took a long drink from the fountain before heading into the small restroom. Jonathan peaked through stalls to see if anyone might be there. "All clear" he said dropping his pack and unzipping the large component. He pulled out a thick wool blanket and a small sheet. Jonathan locked himself in a stall and straightened out the sheet on the floor. He took a deep breath as he pulled off his boots and covered himself with the blanket. He laid his head on the sack, and waited. The idea of sleeping in a public restroom still upset him, even though he had done it several times before. He can still hear the thunders roll outside. The heavy rains bounced off the thick stone roof, echoing like static. Jonathan closed his eyes and started to pray. "Please God keep me safe. I know you have a plan for me, and I know it'll get better." The room felt darker. Jonathan sighed and rolled over on his side, pulling his blanket up to his chin. The lights went out, and Jonathan rested. Not having the harsh winds or the Alabama coyotes made it a little bit easier for him to sleep. |
The BeginningHere you can get an extended view of my novels. I give you the first chapter as a gift. ArchivesCategories
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Photos used under Creative Commons from nan palmero, Mary Anne Morgan, byzantiumbooks