Rough Draft - Gothic - Third person

	When Marc awoke he was surrounded by darkness. There was some sort of cloth covering his eyes and the stench of something most foul diffused into the scent of an overly sanitary room. There was a dull pain in his head. His mind was floating on the edge of consciousness. A man’s voice could be heard in the backdrop.

	“He’s stable, but he lost a lot of blood. He’s lost oxygen for a few minutes. We don’t know the repercussions of that”.

	“What were they talking about?“ he wondered. His mind was still in a deep haze and he couldn’t think clearly.

	As his mind began to clear, the voices became more audible

	“When will he wake up?”

This time it was a young girl’s voice. It was his younger sister, Nyra.

“I don’t know, could be days, weeks, months even,” the man said.

	Marc didn’t understand what was happening. He tried to get up, but there was a sharp pain shoot up his body from his chest.

	He screamed as he felt stitches shift.

“Brother!” she exclaimed.

Someone grabbed his hand.

	“You’re awake…” Nyra said.

	“It hurts. My chest, it hurts,” He said gritting his teeth.

	“Don’t try to get up,” she said gently pushing his back down on the bed, “you’ve been stabbed,”

	“S-stabbed?” He asked.

	“We think they wanted to get at Father through you.”

	“Their father? So it was political?” he wondered.

Their father was a man with many ties to political candidates and a major donor to different campaigns.

	“Where’s the old man now?” He asked. He wasn’t in the room with us.

	“Father… was too busy to come visit, but he sent flowers…” she muttered.

	He didn’t expect much from him anyways.

	“Nyra, take off these blindfolds, I can’t see,”

	“That’s not a good idea, there may be ocular dama-” the doctor said. Marc quickly undid the bandages in a hurry. The hospital light blinded him at first, but his eyes quickly adjusted.

	“I can see just fine, I’m alright,” He said, as he rubbed his eyes.

	“That’s a relief,” she said with a sigh.

	“You were slashed near your eyes as well as stabbed in the chest. It’s healed, but there may be a scar,” the doctor said.

	Marc took a look around the room. His sister was standing by the bed and the doctor was standing away from him next to a nurse, but something was wrong. Very wrong.

	“When will he be able to come home?” she turned to ask the doctor.

	“It depends. He’s in a stable condition, so after we run some tests, if there’s nothing wrong you can just continue your rest and treatment at home, given your resources.”

	“Nyra, what’s this black stuff?” he asked anxiously as he sat upright, gritting his teeth against the pain.

	“Huh?” she turned and asked, “What are you talking about?”

	“This dark mist…It’s everywhere, what is it?”

	The doctor and Nyra turned to look at each other and looked back at Marc.

	“There’s nothing here, brother,” she said looking around.

	There definitely was something in this room. It was like a black mist, permeating through the room. Just the sight of it terrified him.

	“I can see it right now, it’s everywhere. Is it smoke?”

	They’re faces grew increasingly concerned.

	“And what died in here? It smells like death,” he asked incredulously.

Her face had a look of confusion. One look told him they didn’t know what he was talking about.

The doctor turned to the nurse.

“Call the neurologist. It seems there was some brain damage, after all,” he whispered.

After running numerous tests and an MRI, the neurologist said he couldn’t find anything wrong with Marc as far as he could tell and sent them on our way.

“Call us if anything changes,” the doctor said to Nyra.

They walked the elevator as his younger sister had a hand around his opposite shoulder to help him walk.

He was quite relieved to be leaving this place. This place terrified him. This hospital was like a labyrinth that reeked of the stench of death. Each room I found myself being examined in had that same black mist poisoning the very air.

	When they got off the elevator, he found the house maid waiting for them carrying something. She handed them a pair of Ray Bans.

	“What are these for?” He asked Nyra.

	“Put these on. When we get outside, walk quickly and don’t say anything.”

	When he approached the exit, his questions began to find their answers, which only beget more questions.

	Through the glass doors he could see a large crowd had formed. As he went through the revolving doors, day turned to night, as the sanitary hospital lights changed to cloudy skies and bright camera flashes.

	“Mr. Grant, what is your comment on everything that’s happened so far?” one reporter asked.

	“Mr. Grant, what is your relation to-”

	“Mr. Grant-”

	“Nyra, what’s going on?”  he shouted over the rush of the people.

	“Don’t ask, just get in the car,” she shouted.

	They got into the black car and the began to drive away. Soon the crowd of reporters seemed to get smaller until they were out of view.

	They sat in the car for a while in silence, until he finally spoke up.

	“Are you going to tell me what just happened right there?” he said dryly at her.

	“I don’t want to talk about it right now. Let’s just go home first,” she said crossing her arms and looking out the tinted windows.

	Well, he did want to talk about it. Something happened. She wouldn’t be acting like this otherwise. Their family was fairly high profile in this city for their philanthropic actions, but this seemed more like a scandal had taken place while he was near dead.

	He turned his head and looked out the window as well. The gloomy afternoon skies had turned dark and began to rumble. A storm was coming.

	The rest of the ride of the home was filled with a gloomy silence.