Standing up she gently began pacing the small and somewhat claustrophobic hospital room. The rain outside pounded the single glazed window akin to an avid drummer beating a worn out skin. Looking haggard, weak, and vulnerable; far from the beauty queen that once proudly wore the crown. Knowing she was in hospital she just did not know why, the memory was a mere haze, the last twenty-four hours nothing but a blur.
Hobbling over to the window, she knew that she would be discharged this evening but how it quite got to this point only fate knew. This was Eleanor, a twenty-one year old university student from Oxford. If you looked at her life from an observational perspective, you would not see anything too unusual. But inside Eleanor was a whirlwind of emotions.
Her life up to then had been one that most women her age would not survive if they had their lifetime to experience tenfold. Beauty queen, model and musician. Many stayed clear of her, they were unsure about her persona, yet deep down Eleanor knew that her feelings had caused her life so far to be one of total isolation. Eleanor simply did not belong in this time.
Each day that Eleanor awoke she would shudder at the mere observation of any modern-day mentions. The posters on her wall were of centuries past artists, her books were copies of literature at least half a century old. Yet surrounded by the modern-day technology that many took for granted, Eleanor was just a mere spectator in a world she did not belong.
Rolling her dressing she rubbed her raw wound with her hands and watched the rain lash against the window pane. Somehow she had wound up in hospital, feeling giddy, weak almost yet even though the machine in the room that was monitoring her heartbeat played a beat akin to a medieval drum and knew time here was short. Glancing at the clock on the wall; it was five minutes to noon.
Damned agitation was providing a continual cramp in the back of her neck.
Sighing she turned to face the bed that had been her sanctuary Eleanor had spent at the last fifteen hours in, just like her bed at home it was cold, hard, unwelcoming and relatively barren in any form of comfort. Slumping into her chair Eleanor looked into the mirror, the gaunt face that stared back at her bore nothing to the resemblance she once knew. Yet even though the fake glow of the beauty queen had long left her face she knew that in this shadow pale reflection she looked more radiant and beautiful than ever.
Her gaze was broken by the chimes of the church bell opposite. Each one echoed within her heart, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, and eleven.
Eleanor never heard the twelfth and final chime. Maybe it was the weakness, maybe it was the lack of fresh air. Somehow she slumped to the floor, twice in the same day her head had hit the floor hard. Yet this time, this moment the fall would not land her in the hospital.
No
This time it would land her in a place where her heart would feel at home but her mind would not belong. An eternal place where love exists and dreams come true. Her eyes were closed yet her heart was so open.
The journey had just begun. A journey of love, hope, pain, irony and above all despair.
Sitting down her mind began to pace the room. The muscles in her neck were strained, and her body was unable to move at all. She felt like an entombed Egyptian mummy, beautiful to look at but at the same time too wrapped up to move. It had been four days since leaving hospital, and now even through her pain she was taking a short flight to the Highlands of Scotland, needing to get away, needing time to think.
Moving past the windows of Heathrow airport she took a deep breath and watched the world go by, the plethora of people from all walks of life, oh how different it felt, like she was in her own little world and that nobody could understand or relate to the person that she was.
The business men rushing around like mad penguins, trying to impress the people they worked for yet likely to crumble into an early grave. The young women as fake as their tanned bodies, void of any sense of individuality yet still believing they were so unique. Finally, the mothers, the hardest working of them all, dedicating their lives to ensure that the hard working business men and aspiring fame seekers of tomorrow are given a decent start in life, yet they are cast aside like leaves into an autumn wind. Eleanor fell into her own individual category; she was just simply different even to those who knew her most.
Rubbing her stiff neck her period of observation was momentarily shattered by the announcement that her plane to Edinburgh was boarding. Looking out of the window Eleanor noticed that it was still raining, a continual torrent that seemed to have lasted forever. Even if it was raining in Scotland at least she would soon be above the clouds, into the vacuum between the sky and eternity. That often felt like her life, it was not on earth but somewhere “above the clouds”.
Moving through the queue the passengers lined up like sheep in a pen, all being guided to their little place, it felt too claustrophobic which is something Eleanor despised. She, like her soul, craved freedom that is all she ever desired, an outlet to express her creative genius and not be bound by the shackles of life and all the problems that it seemed to bring. Sitting down she noticed the usual plethora of safety information leaflets and chuckled as she imagined going down the inflatable stair slide with a pair of gothic stiletto heels.
Yet once again the damned impatience was creeping into her back. Easing back into her chair she closed her eyes but the roaring sound of the planes engines meant that she could get no sleep and why should she, I mean after all it was only an hour’s flight. Sighing she reached into her back, pulled out her I-pod and drifted off into a world of an electrical symphony.
