Malcolm Reed (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
tactical_alert) wrote2007-11-11 01:14 pm
tactical_alert) wrote2007-11-11 01:14 pm
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theatrical_muse #204: Sometimes the appropriate response to reali
Sometimes the appropriate response to reality is to go insane. (Philip K. Dick)
((Opening and ending quoted from Last Full Measure.
In honour of National Drown Malcolm Reed Month on EntST*. :D))
Leicester, England, Wednesday, April 11, 2136
The shock of the chill water all around him snapped Malcolm back into full consciousness, and he began to struggle against the bullies. But all three of them seemed to be holding him down, and they were stronger, and he couldn't get any leverage against them anyway.
His cheeks bulging as he struggled, Malcolm felt as if his lungs were on fire, felt his blood hot beneath his skin. He opened his eyes and saw moss-covered concrete deeper in the water. He struggled further, and his vision became hazy again, felt the absurd sensation that the air that remained in his lungs was what was actually suffocating him. He pushed it out in a steady stream of bubbles, and gulped to breathe again.
But there was no oxygen beneath the surface of the old fountain to the southeast rear acreage of Evington Academy.
And so, Malcolm Reed began to drown.
The first time his father took him out onto the water after his near-death experience at school, Malcolm had been nervous but determined. It had been a handful of months, physical health determined to be fine, proper punishments handed out, and now on summer break. The entire incident seemed behind them all.
A few rowing exercises out on the ocean had his knuckles white, but he completed the task like old times, like the growing and experienced seafaring boy he was. The small amount of fear sitting in the pit of his stomach could have been from any number of things, he decided.
His father suggested a brisk swim after that, about out to where they had rowed and back to the beach. The water was calm, the skies clear; it would normally have been an easy, relaxing, and altogether enjoyable experience for him.
Young Malcolm watched his father go off ahead and then ran into the water after. Once the water hit his midsection, that fear suddenly grew in a way he couldn't understand. But he pushed onward, pushing off of the sand on the bottom and outstretching his arms.
The moment the water washed over his face, closed over his head, just for that moment, panic surged through him like chilling tendrils wrapping themselves about his insides. He knew the motions; swimming was second nature to him. But his legs would not kick nor would his arms pull him steadfastly through the water. He bobbed up and down for a moment after surfacing with what he hoped wasn't a squeak of terror, feet desperately attempting to find the soil it had only just moments ago felt solidly beneath him. It wasn't there.
He knew he could tread water. Float. Swim back to shore. His mind screamed at him to do anything, anything other than flail about in a panicked way, but the fear made his movements jerky and unresponsive, and he felt as if he were about to die again. He went under and splashed about more, gasping desperately for air when his face managed to breech the surface again, sucking in oxygen and seawater on which he choked, and he sank again. Bobbing helplessly like a buoy in a storm.
He felt a strong arm wrap itself around his chest and his head stay above this time, coughing and sputtering all the way to shore where he staggered as his father watched with a gaze not understanding.
"What's the matter with you, boy? It was just a swim. Did something happen?"
Malcolm stood there shuddering, shaking his head slightly. "I don't know. I don't think anything happened..." He wouldn't tell his father that he panicked just because he was in the water. That was a stupid reason. Ridiculous! Something the young teenager couldn't accept.
"That's all right. Maybe you're still recovering. We'll try again later."
They tried a few days later. And the day after that. And a few more times during that month until his father began to lose his temper about it, especially after it became obvious that there was nothing really wrong with Malcolm--he just had this terrible fear of drowning. An understandable fear, but one that would do him no good.
After a while, he stopped trying altogether, to the annoyance of his elder, who forced it on him. He had never been so glad for school to start again when it did, when all he had to focus on were his studies.
His father always told him stories about heroic Reeds of the past from generations back. But one story he began focusing on his great-uncle, a man who shared similar fears but worked aboard a submarine where he died, locking himself in the flooding engine room in order to allow the rest of the crew to escape the sinking vessel. A fear of drowning that was faced with honour. And yet every attempt Malcolm was forced to make to merely swim a short distance was met with failure and splashing desperately to shore.
Aquaphobia, a phobia, a downright disorder--disgraceful to put it in such a way, therefore he refused to call it that. He could live with it. He was certain of it. His father needed him to. He needed to become the naval officer he was born to become. His father's harsh words and the tradition of the Reed family compelled him to face and overcome his fear--something he was as of yet completely and utterly unable to accomplish. He could hardly stand himself and his stupid, pathetic little fear.
And so he began to plan his revenge on the people that had caused it all.
Leicester, England, Friday, April 11, 2138
"Should we throw him in?" one of the older boys asked, and Malcolm could hear the unfettered, stupid glee in the other boy's voice.
"No!" Morris gasped through the blood and tears that stained his florid face. "I can't swim!" He struggled to lift his lolling head, involuntarily flinching at the blows that he knew were imminent.
Malcolm grabbed him by the hair and pulled his head up.
"Neither can I," Malcolm said, looking into Morris's frightened, darting eyes. "Not anymore."
((Opening and ending quoted from Last Full Measure.
In honour of National Drown Malcolm Reed Month on EntST*. :D))
Leicester, England, Wednesday, April 11, 2136
The shock of the chill water all around him snapped Malcolm back into full consciousness, and he began to struggle against the bullies. But all three of them seemed to be holding him down, and they were stronger, and he couldn't get any leverage against them anyway.
His cheeks bulging as he struggled, Malcolm felt as if his lungs were on fire, felt his blood hot beneath his skin. He opened his eyes and saw moss-covered concrete deeper in the water. He struggled further, and his vision became hazy again, felt the absurd sensation that the air that remained in his lungs was what was actually suffocating him. He pushed it out in a steady stream of bubbles, and gulped to breathe again.
But there was no oxygen beneath the surface of the old fountain to the southeast rear acreage of Evington Academy.
And so, Malcolm Reed began to drown.
The first time his father took him out onto the water after his near-death experience at school, Malcolm had been nervous but determined. It had been a handful of months, physical health determined to be fine, proper punishments handed out, and now on summer break. The entire incident seemed behind them all.
A few rowing exercises out on the ocean had his knuckles white, but he completed the task like old times, like the growing and experienced seafaring boy he was. The small amount of fear sitting in the pit of his stomach could have been from any number of things, he decided.
His father suggested a brisk swim after that, about out to where they had rowed and back to the beach. The water was calm, the skies clear; it would normally have been an easy, relaxing, and altogether enjoyable experience for him.
Young Malcolm watched his father go off ahead and then ran into the water after. Once the water hit his midsection, that fear suddenly grew in a way he couldn't understand. But he pushed onward, pushing off of the sand on the bottom and outstretching his arms.
The moment the water washed over his face, closed over his head, just for that moment, panic surged through him like chilling tendrils wrapping themselves about his insides. He knew the motions; swimming was second nature to him. But his legs would not kick nor would his arms pull him steadfastly through the water. He bobbed up and down for a moment after surfacing with what he hoped wasn't a squeak of terror, feet desperately attempting to find the soil it had only just moments ago felt solidly beneath him. It wasn't there.
He knew he could tread water. Float. Swim back to shore. His mind screamed at him to do anything, anything other than flail about in a panicked way, but the fear made his movements jerky and unresponsive, and he felt as if he were about to die again. He went under and splashed about more, gasping desperately for air when his face managed to breech the surface again, sucking in oxygen and seawater on which he choked, and he sank again. Bobbing helplessly like a buoy in a storm.
He felt a strong arm wrap itself around his chest and his head stay above this time, coughing and sputtering all the way to shore where he staggered as his father watched with a gaze not understanding.
"What's the matter with you, boy? It was just a swim. Did something happen?"
Malcolm stood there shuddering, shaking his head slightly. "I don't know. I don't think anything happened..." He wouldn't tell his father that he panicked just because he was in the water. That was a stupid reason. Ridiculous! Something the young teenager couldn't accept.
"That's all right. Maybe you're still recovering. We'll try again later."
They tried a few days later. And the day after that. And a few more times during that month until his father began to lose his temper about it, especially after it became obvious that there was nothing really wrong with Malcolm--he just had this terrible fear of drowning. An understandable fear, but one that would do him no good.
After a while, he stopped trying altogether, to the annoyance of his elder, who forced it on him. He had never been so glad for school to start again when it did, when all he had to focus on were his studies.
His father always told him stories about heroic Reeds of the past from generations back. But one story he began focusing on his great-uncle, a man who shared similar fears but worked aboard a submarine where he died, locking himself in the flooding engine room in order to allow the rest of the crew to escape the sinking vessel. A fear of drowning that was faced with honour. And yet every attempt Malcolm was forced to make to merely swim a short distance was met with failure and splashing desperately to shore.
Aquaphobia, a phobia, a downright disorder--disgraceful to put it in such a way, therefore he refused to call it that. He could live with it. He was certain of it. His father needed him to. He needed to become the naval officer he was born to become. His father's harsh words and the tradition of the Reed family compelled him to face and overcome his fear--something he was as of yet completely and utterly unable to accomplish. He could hardly stand himself and his stupid, pathetic little fear.
And so he began to plan his revenge on the people that had caused it all.
Leicester, England, Friday, April 11, 2138
"Should we throw him in?" one of the older boys asked, and Malcolm could hear the unfettered, stupid glee in the other boy's voice.
"No!" Morris gasped through the blood and tears that stained his florid face. "I can't swim!" He struggled to lift his lolling head, involuntarily flinching at the blows that he knew were imminent.
Malcolm grabbed him by the hair and pulled his head up.
"Neither can I," Malcolm said, looking into Morris's frightened, darting eyes. "Not anymore."