Aeolia 02

Parallels may be drawn where they may. Some choices cannot be made, they just Are. There exists the possibility for anything to happen; and Parallels? They remain nevertheless.

Aeolia, The City, dominates most of the landscape of Aeolia, the Land. A vast, conical, conglomeration of buildings of every size and shape inhabited by some thirty million souls, of which a full half live within the central core where it is doubtful that they ever see any ‘real’ daylight or feel the rain on their faces, but they endure it for the sheer quality of life associated with the technological wonders of the metropolis.
I have difficulty with describing Aeolia because it is so different. I come from out under the stars where the wind blows and the rain soaks the ground. Except that now I learn that what I thought was the wild blue yonder is in fact a mirage, a figment of a designers imagination and a computer program.
Allow me time to explain what Aeolia is really like, and how I came to be here.

I was born in a small, bare room on the farm belonging to Dale and his family. My parents were workers for him along with a number of other families all of whom shared a block of apartments Dale had specially built for the purpose. Mother did the cooking for the whole farm-community while my father was retained as the carpenter. So the first few years of my life were spent hovering between kitchen and workshop. I can remember that we were happy and that is about it really because at the age of five I became an orphan. I then went to live with my aunt and uncle (my fathers brother) in the village (Riverdale) where I stayed until the age of fifteen. Aunt Iris ran the bakery shop in the village square. She worked strange hours and enjoyed her work to the full always giving time to the customers, she had set up a table in the corner of the shop and would encourage people to have a cup of tea and take the weight off their feet. She had time for me also, she taught me the basics of right and wrong along with reading and writing.
Uncle Jerald had charge of the smithy that sat in the corner of the square across from the bakery and the locals brought along their wheels and horses, carts and cooking pots for shoeing or repair. It was here I learned many of the skills that stood me in good stead in later life. Jerald was a practical man and instilled in me a simple understanding that if something needs doing then it is best to get on and do it to the best of your ability. It is not a lesson I learned at the time though.
Life was good and I had many friends in the boys and girls of the other shopkeepers and traders of the village. I have vivid memories of the high-days and holidays and it is those festivals that make up most of my early memories, mainly because of the adventure of being away from the village.

Riverdale has evolved over a hundred years or so and has settled down into a market town with thriving farm communities all around and it sits in the south-east corner of Aeolia. To the South and West the Blue Mountains dominate the skyline and the whole district nestles in the shelter of their foothills.
Crops grow on the plains to the East and dairy herds, cattle and sheep, graze across the hills to the South and during long summers Karl and I along with a few of the younger children would venture out into those foothills as far as the river that flows fast through the gully it has carved out in the rock over time. In places sheer drops of twenty-five or thirty metres make access to the river impossible without ropes but further downstream it is possible to clamber down the bank and fishing becomes an option in the more placid waters. It was during one of these trips that my interest in what might lay beyond the mountains ridges first planted itself in my mind.
We had been engaged in a wrestling match and Kaarl had gained the upper hand due to his extra weight and I lay on my back and saw the mountain loom upside-down above me. It made me feel dizzy, the sheer scale of it filled me with a feeling of being so very small and in danger of being overwhelmed. I was also in danger of being overwhelmed by Kaarl so I called a truce and he released me from the hold. I recalled the incident later that night as I gazed at the stars from my bedroom window.
The size of the mountain had been big enough to fill my mind but coupled with the idea that there was also room out there for all those stars was making my head spin and I went to bed and dreamed strange dreams of rooms with no doors that had no walls and seemed to go on forever.
The thought that there might be more to the world than I could see became a constant companion from then on. It was awakened again during my first trek to Central Fayre.

I looked out of the bedroom window to behold another sunny day. A sense of excitement came over me as I remembered what day it was; today the trek to Central began.
These treks occurred twice a year in spring and autumn. In spring the cattle are driven across the plains to Central, where they are slaughtered and despatched to the city or north to Lakeside who, in their turn trade fish and furniture, furs and feathers. The autumnal trek is the time of the harvest and a caravan of carts and wagons loaded to the top with produce creak and groan their way along the trail. Central is not a town or village in the accepted sense, it only exists for the time of the fayre. The rest of the time it lays dormant and consists only of a series of roped off areas for the vendors to erect their traditional tents with a few more permanent structures dotted about to house cattle and the drinking dens.
Hurriedly I dressed, ate breakfast then I grabbed the pack that had been lying in wait for nearly a week and fled out into the square.
Aunt Iris called me back before I had got very far and gave me a parcel of bread to deliver to a customer on the opposite side of the village. With a sigh I took the package and ran all the way there and most of the way back. I had slowed to catch my breath when I heard footsteps behind me and I turned to see Kaarl puffing loudly to catch up.
“I called at home for you,” he gasped, “your aunt said where she had sent you, I did not think I would have to do a lap of the village to find you. Where are you going?” He said all this as he slowed and fell in beside me.
“I wanted to see the horses being harnessed, uncle Jerald said he was going to let Keet handle the harnessing for the experience, so I came this way.” I looked at my friend whose cheeks glowed in the still cool morning. “You’ll have to lose some weight, you have gone very red.”
“My father thinks this trip will help me lose some weight, he has threatened to make me walk all the way if I don’t behave!”
I laughed at the idea Kaarl of walking five hundred kilometres, even though’ I had no concept of the distance.
When we reached the square we found a scene of mild confusion. Keet, not at all sure of himself, was not having a great deal of success with the team of horses in his charge and a couple of the beasts where snorting and stamping their feet alarmingly. The other stable hands were shouting advice and dashing about trying to grab the loose reigns and only served to make matters worse.
Jerald was a big man with a loud voice that belied his normal gentle manner. His face was dark as he restored order, none to pleased at Keets lack of confidence. He restored order and ticked-off the lad then calmly talked to the horses and picked the loose traces off the ground and backed the still snorting animal into place. Within a short time thereafter he led the first of the many wagons out into the square where many people had gathered to see them off and hand over last minute gifts and food for the journey.
The trek takes some time and is achieved in stages, stopping off at established staging-posts along the way. A week before the trek begins an advance party set out to provision the staging posts in anticipation of their arrival then they make their way onto the fayre to begin trading.
Kaarl sat on the tailboard of a wagon that was heavily laden with giant barrels filled with the juice of grapes grown on the lower slopes and now deemed fit enough to trade, and he munched on an apple.
I walked alongside chiding him. “That is the third apple you’ve eaten since we left. At this rate there will be none left to sell. Besides you should be walking, I saw your father coming down trail, I imagine he is looking for you.”
“All right. I’ll walk for a while.” He jumped down and joined me, “Do you think we will get to the first stage before dark?” he asked.
“I don't know, perhaps we should go and ask uncle Jerald, he’ll know. Let’s wait for him.”
We walked off the trail and sat down by the roadside, waving at the wagon drivers as they passed. Eventually Jerald came by riding a huge grey mare, he pulled over to where we sat.
“You’ll not get far like that.” He gazed down at us from on high.
“Kaarl is worried that we won’t make shelter before nightfall.” Said I, reaching up to stroke the neck of the mare. I produced an apple of my own from my pocket and fed it to the animal who nuzzled at my shoulder. “Hello Ash, have a quick munch.”
“Hold him Daevy lad, I’ll stretch my legs with you for a while.” He flung a long leg over the head of the horse and slid to the ground.
I held the reigns and walked the grey and Jerald placed a hand on each of our shoulders, “So you think we’ll be out in the dark do you?” He said smiling. “No fear of that. we should be able to see Firstpost from the top of this rise. It’ll not take long after that.”
“Can we ride on Ash please?” I asked.
“Of course you can, I’ll go and have a word with the Warden while you do.” So saying he hoisted the two of us onto the back of the big grey handed me the reigns and wandered across the road to wave down the Warden who rode along in the company of the following cart.
From the back of the horse we had a fine view and in the far distance the blue smudge of the mountains caused me to ask how far away Kaarl thought they were.
“Farther than I want to go tonight, thank you,” he replied, “I’m looking forward to supper.”
Jerald returned and Kaarl voiced my question.
The man paused while he gazed at the mountains in question. “How Far? Well if you take account of the fact that from one end of Aeolia to the other is four thousand kilometres, then you think that it is nearly two thousand wide and you remember that we are travelling more or less straight down the middle; then I would say that over there is about three hundred and fifty kilometres. Would that be far enough for you?”
“What is beyond the mountains?” I asked, my mind still trying hard to grasp the idea of four thousand kilometres. I had know idea things went so far. Even Firstpost was a lot further than I had imagined.
“Nothing.” Came the short answer.
“How can there be nothing.”
Jerald sighed heavily as he always did when confronted with a difficult question. “Well I cannot say how the nothing came to be, but I can tell you that at the top of the mountain Mikel and I climbed there was nothing. I have spoken to others who have made the climb and they are in agreement, there is nothing there.”
“But what sort of nothing?” I persisted.
“Mist. A grey mist that goes on forever, we reached the top and started walking into it and got completely lost and giddy and eventually we ended up back where we started. It was not a nice experience. And now, if you don’t mind, I would like my horse back so I can go about my duties.” He lifted us from the horse and remounted. “Don’t get lost, supper won’t be long.”
He rode off leaving us to trudge down the hill toward the string of camp fires that shone brightly in the gathering evening and giving promise of hot food and a welcome mug of wine. By the time we reached the staging post the food was being served and we took our places quickly and tucked in ravenously.
Later when supper was eaten and I had taken a walk with Jerald to check the horses I came across Kaarl eating yet another apple as he leaned against the wheel of a wagon gazing out across the plains to the east. I sank down beside him and accepted an offered apple, took a bite and followed Kaarls stare.
Stars shone brightly in the deepening gloom and I automatically started naming them to myself, running through the list in my mind. “What do you make of it then?”
“What?” Kaarl looked round at me.
“All that out there. What do you think?”
“I don’t know what I think. I was wondering whether I ought to have another apple or save it in case I get hungry in the night. I’m off to bed, you coming?”
I chuckled. “No, not yet. I’ll finish this first. See you in the morning. Goodnight.”
I returned my gaze to the stars. I didn’t care what Jerald said, I was sure there must be something out there.

Aeolia 1

Brother Jon had not been amused when I told him of my plans. He had plonked the plate down in front of me and spilled gravy into my lap. A lecture on the wicked ways of the world and a few tips on how to take care of myself and that was it. I had expected full- blown wrath, but instead I got a whimper. It was almost disappointing until I realized he had spent the greater part of my life in trying to enforce a way that was not of my calling. He was giving in gracefully. Twelve years I had spent among the Brothers, most of them very happy. Just the occasional hiccup along the way like anyone else but now it was time to leave. I had given Brother Jon a chance to change my mind but he just wanted me to do whatever I decided. He gave me a backpack as a final farewell
So within the week I left. Brother Edd gave me a stout staff to help me along the way and Brother Jorge had given me a small but highly detailed map of Aeolia. I still have it and very useful it has been.
I wandered around the local vicinity for about a week getting used to the idea that I was out and about in the big wide world all on my own. Survival was not difficult as I had been hunting ever since I could remember and the area was rich in wildlife. I popped back to the village a couple of times for a few items; a knife and small axe, a length of rope and the like but I didn't go and see Brother Jon, I had closed the page on that chapter of my life.
I will always be grateful to the Brothers for their care and comfort when I became orphaned at the age of three. A fire had taken my parents and the last thing my father had done was to throw me out of the window into the arms of the helpless villagers below. Now it was time to sever the ties and go out into the world by myself.
I wandered far and wide. Stopping here and there at various villages and townships, I would make myself useful by being a hunter-gatherer and exchanging my efforts for a resting place or a meal. Mostly I prefer to live by myself and camped out, self-sufficient and alone.

Outside in the crisp night air a vixen gave voice and I heard another answer from across the valley, the cry echoing in the stillness. Frost penetrated into the makeshift tent and bit the end of my nose. I shivered and decided that there was little point in laying on cold ground shivering so I shrugged out of the sleeping-bag and dressed quickly. The few biscuits I had left were hard and the water I swallowed was coated with a thin film of ice which made me shiver again.
I crawled out into the pre-dawn night. The cold penetrated through to the bone and I started to run. The ground sloped slightly upward and within a few hundred yards I was breathing heavily but I kept going, determined to get the blood warmed up somehow.
At the top of the rise a copse of trees grew and I had to detour round them as they loomed up in the bright moonlight. The fox yapped again from away to my right and I answered with a whoop of my own simply for the hell of it.
I was beginning to enjoy myself. My heart pounded in my chest and the blood coursed through my veins and finally bringing feeling back into my limbs.
As the ground began to level out once more I slowed the pace to a gentle lope and bounded the rest of the way to the river with a series of giant, soaring leaps that seemed to keep me floating along the track with the minimum of effort. I swam naked across the river, raced round an old oak-stump and swam back to where I had left my jump-suit.
With this cold weather there was no point in staying out here looking for any more mushrooms so I might as well get back to a bit of comfort. While I still could.

The secret now it was out would not stay a secret for long and it might mean it was time to move on again. I did not really want to go because it had only been three weeks since my arrival and I had been hoping that I could stay until the end of winter before starting out again, it would be a lot warmer then.
The trot back to the tent, via the traps I had laid gave time to think it through and by the time campsite came into view I had made up my mind to go as soon as I had been shopping. The late Autumn harvest had been good and I reckoned I would get at least five hundred apiece, and I had managed to find thirty nice juicy, fat ones! There were also a couple of Coney in the bag that would make cooks eyes light up. At least I could afford to buy some essential supplies if it came to it.
It did not take long to gather my few bits and pieces; a bedroll and a canvas bag do not take long to put together and the mushrooms I had been gathering were already inside the bag, carefully covered with duck-down gathered from a few dozen nests to keep them warm.
Problems always arrive if you keep secrets, I wondered sometimes if I should adopt a forthright manner and look and dress a bit more girlish but the result is the same eventually; sooner or later some dirty old sod will want to take liberties. So I just don't say much. I have a fairly deep voice so people generally assume that I am a young man and I try to do nothing to make them think otherwise.
Deceitful? Maybe but I don't care really, people will be what they are no matter what and I am not in a position to change them. They can take me or leave me, I don't mind as long as they don't get any funny ideas.
It took a full days of hard walking before I got back to the village and as I made my way up the hill beside the stream I could see that the wattle fencing had grown considerably during my three week absence. There had been a lot of talk of wolves over the last few months and I would be expected to report to the Elder of the village about how many I had seen. I did not relish this task.
Jerald who was the current Elder, was a big man with a loud voice who had more than once broken a mans jaw for not telling him what he wanted to hear and somehow he had got it into his head that wolves were all around us and we must do what we can to protect ourselves. Load of hooey if you ask me, I get about quite a bit and I have never seen wolves this far south in all my days of wandering and this latest mushroom-gathering trip was no exception. I suspect that his advisors had a lot to do with it but I try not to get involved with village politics because it always leads to trouble. Whatever, he was not going to be pleased if I said he was wrong. As it turned out I would have to wait for my audience with him as he had gone hunting.
Determined to make the best of things I headed for the Trade square to see how much I could get for my harvest. The answer was good, six-fifty each, and the highest price for a long time probably due to nobody wanting to go out into the wild with all those wolves about. The cook was delighted to see the rabbits, paid well and gave me a good handful of dried jerky as a reward.
I picked up a few essentials on the way round the square and was well laden by the time I got back to my room where I dumped everything before heading off for supper in the eating house. Halfway through the meal Jerald returned and it was instantly apparent that he was in a bad mood, his hunting had been poor.
The heavy door flew open with a crash and he bellowed for mulled wine as he stomped to his table near the fireplace. Those of us that were still eating tried to make ourselves invisible as he cursed about the cold, the meagre heat from the fire, the lack of wine and anything else that came to mind. His wine arrived and was not to his liking and he hurled it into the fire and cuffed the server round the ear and tore at the meat on the plate placed before him in the hope of finding something wrong with it, luckily it was as delicious as the meat I had been eating and with a grunt he tucked in.
While he ate his eyes darted around the room looking for something that he could find fault with and my luck was out as his gaze settled on me. He chewed a few times then called me over.
So, you are back. I thought perhaps the wolves had eaten you. He laughed at his little joke and one or two others joined in. Well, what news. He demanded.
Should I tell him the truth? To do so would not improve his temper. "Well sir, the southern wood seems clear at the moment but the northern fringes have signs of their presence and I think I saw a pack of them heading toward the lake near Flathill." It was nearly true, I had in fact seen a herd of deer ambling across a clearing without a care in the world. The only wolf near here was the skull of a vagabond that had been killed five years earlier and hung on the door of the herbalist across the main street.
"Huh! You didn't pay much attention. I have been told of plenty of them in the south wood. You will go out tomorrow and search properly. What else did you see? Any sign of deer or boar?"
"None sir."
"You are a useless hunter. It is time you started making some sort of contribution here or else find a home in other parts. Do you understand?"
"Yes sir." It was definitely time to leave this place.
I made my escape as he called for more food and headed off to find somewhere quiet to digest the heavy meal. I begged a jug of ale from cook then made my way to the rear of the smithy. A shed that had once been used as a stable backed onto the main building up against the forge and the end wall was always warm and it had become a favorite spot. It provided a warm shelter in the dark and with a sigh I leaned back and closed my eyes.

At some ungodly hour before daybreak I was rudely awakened by a guard. "Get up, Jerald wants to go hunting and you are leading. So Move!" He emphasized the order with a prod from his spear.
I mumbled curses under my breath while I struggled to wake up and move at the same time. The damned ale had addled my brain, I hadn't heard the guard coming. I pushed him out while I shrugged into my jump-suit and then joined him out in the cold morning.
There was little point in argument, it would only bring out the dogs involving a long chase. In my current state that was not something that appealed.
Wild boar! That's what he wanted and I had been chosen. It would 'show my worth to the village'. I wanted to argue but I couldn't. he was intent on it and ready to go.
In no time at all I found myself on horseback and galloping out through the main gates. He was quite a good horseman for a big man but I saw a couple of times that he used his weight only to bully the horse into submission.
"Did you have somewhere in mind Sir?" I asked as there did not seem to be any particular direction to the mad flight across the pastureland that lay around the village.
"What? What do you mean?" he spluttered drawing slightly on the reigns.
"I mean sir, that I have no idea where we are going. Do you?"
He drew sharply to a halt. I reigned in and circled back to join him.
"I thought you said you were a hunter." The snarl on his face was not pretty.
"I am sir. But not like this." I waved a hand. "If you want boar we are in the wrong place."
I thought he was going to hit me. His face turned purple and he spluttered a bit before taking a deep breath and yelling for the column to halt. He turned to me and asked where exactly we should be going.
"The forest would be a good start. Preferably in silence when we get close." I looked him in the eye and saw them narrow. Perhaps I had pushed a bit too far.
"Very well. The forest it shall be." He spoke through gritted teeth. He called for his attendant and gave a few crisp orders. "Perhaps you would care to lead the way." His sarcasm wasn't lost on me.
We approached the outer fringes of the trees a couple of hours later. Jerald called for silence and motioned the column to spread out. We slowly made our way into the thicker cover. I hadn't been paying attention to what was going on around me, my mind was focused on the idea of getting this bunch of rabble into the thickest part of the forest and leaving them there whilst I made my escape. I doubt that I would have done such a thing but it gave me comfort inside to think about it.
I was aware of the rustling in the undergrowth and I saw a brown blur come in from the right and take out both Jerald and his horse. The commotion that followed caused the boar to swiftly about-turn and trample Jerald again, this time to deadly effect. I lifted my spear and threw with all my might at the drooling creature.
The business end caught in his flank and he twisted round in agony, his bone shattered. One of the followers let loose an arrow swiftly followed by another. Both found their mark and the beast dropped to the ground, the arrows jerking less and less as the life disappeared from the beast.
Our return was slow and silent. I was horrified, a man had died and I had supposed to be leading the hunt. Losing the chief of the village was not the ideal way to encourage good relations.
Messages must have sent ahead because as we approached the gatehouse it seemed the whole population had come out to watch our passing. They removed their caps and hats as we rode through and lowered their eyes to the floor in silent respect.
We came to a halt outside the main hall where the Chiefs body was immediately taken inside and almost as quickly out again and carried across the intervening space to what passed as the village square. Here his body was laid. Orders were given by the Accountant and people ran off in all directions. The Elders gathered together and whispered amongst themselves for a while before calling to me and and few of the attendants who had witnessed the events.
It became clear that I really had outstayed my welcome in the village. Whilst I was not entirely to blame it was felt that I could have done more to prevent this awful tragedy and I was asked to leave.
Having delivered the verdict on me the Elders then went away to elect a new Leader. When it came to political shenanigans I have always kept myself apart and whilst I now had no choice but to leave I was glad to be away from it.
Within the hour I was on the road.

The Strain of it all

It used to get busy on nights and I daresay it still does. Not all nights are composed of sitting around or just getting up to mischief, some nights we had to work. Depending on the shift-mates this can be a blessing…
On some nights we talked a lot.
On some nights alcohol was consumed.
On some nights strange concoctions were burned.
On some nights – nothing happened.
On some nights we just had fun.
On some nights we read books.
It all depends on the shift.

There is a Laundry-Chute on every floor. Laundry bags are provided to put dirty laundry into. The Nurses know that a Red bag is for Infected stuff while White bags are for general stuff. OK, sometimes they forget and infected stuff gets put into the chute-room which means you get the chance to go back into the ward armed with the offending article and SHOUT really loud at the Nurses. This can be fun.
Mostly, we simply put it into the container provided for such bags and said nothing.
The chute should by rights have claimed lives. On the wards it is located in a tiny alcove that will allow the storage of about half-a-dozen laundry bags. At about waist height is a trap door which, when opened, allows the easy dispersal of bags into the chute. The air pressure at the basement compared to any of the floors above is considerable. Lifting the trapdoor is perilous, getting the darn thing halfway open and then dropping it makes for a LOUD bang. It is hard work because you have to fight the weight of the door and the air pressure and then, when it is fully open, you can feel the air pulling at you and papers in far away offices lift from desks, trolleys move along corridors toward the tugging draught and nurses uniforms are ripped off in spectacular fashion… well no, not that; that was a dream I had. But the chute is a Heath & Safety nightmare.
At one time we played host to the Psychiatric Unit. They have a place all of their own now but then it was the first floor. More than one of the patients tried (without success) to hurl themselves down the chute. One, more enterprising patient, actually managed to gain entry to the locked door and climb into the chute and then drag himself up the floor above!
In the basement (where else?!) is the receiving room. About ten feet along each wall and beside the door that provides entry, the metallic chute does a dramatic turn through ninety degrees in order to eject the falling laundry bags, dropped from high above. The bags give a loud thud as they hit the turn and are spilled across the room to hit the opposite wall and there they pile up and await clearance. (The safety implications here I leave for you to consider...)
One of the chores that befalls the night-shift is to clear the floors of all laundry and then empty the chute. The clearing meant loading up a trolley (gurney?) with the nasty, sometimes very smelly, bags and wheeling them out onto the bay ready for the collection mid morning.

Trolleys. In a Hospital they come in many shapes and sizes. The ones used for patient transport can vary and old ones get put ‘downstairs’ and become general purpose. Two people, one at each end, can handle them well enough but if alone it is a different matter. Some, like the ones used in A&E, are easy to handle, others tend to have a direction of their own that needs to be countered continually.
Porters look at things in a different light. Well, that is - WE looked at things differently, I cannot speak for the new wave. Where others saw just a trolley, we saw a potential race. When others asked for the collection of a body, WE saw Death-Race!
Not something to be undertook lightly. Let only a trusted workmate take charge of the steering. Not really dangerous but it can lead to slight disorientation.
A Death-Race was not a race at all. It was merely someone laying on the Mortuary Trolley (empty), and a second person pushing said trolley.
No great shakes you might think. A ride on an empty trolley, so what?
OK. I admit it. The very idea of using a mortuary trolley can sound a bit gross. But, hey we did a job of work that could get tedious. Only human. It is just a trolley.
For the squeamish I could explain that the bodies went ‘inside the trolley. The top and sides provided a lid for the tray upon which the actual body would lay. A clean sheet draped over the whole thing gave it a less mundane look and leaned toward the “we are here to collect …”, look. And we never ever tried the same thing when the trolley was occupied. We had standards!
Now. The ride itself… Some may come away from the experience with nothing to show for their pains, tho’ these people are, frankly, dull. To truly appreciate a Death-Ride you have to just go with it. And go with it we did, on most occasions.
You lay on your back and let your head fall just over the leading edge (just so the world appears upside down, and it is possible to see where you are going.) Once in position it is best to grip firmly onto the sides of the trolley, tho’ this is not easy as it has nowhere to hold onto. You need to trust fully the driver, this is what makes the Death Ride all the more interesting. A novice driver can turn the hair grey.
When the trolley starts to move all dimensions cease to exist and there is only ceiling as floor speeding past at an alarming rate and with all the pipe work and ducting and wires it feels like you float amongst them and then you come to a corner and direction changes and the walls come into view from the wrong side and you wince and cringe but you still hang on because the thought of slipping brings horror to mind and so you cling to the sides and hope that it will end soon but it doesn’t and corners come and go and walls flash past and the ceiling as floor moves up and down and doorways seem like giant steps as you flash through them and your life follows and then you stop inches from the lift door and you realise that you have been holding your breath and you let out a scream and slide off the trolley and onto the floor as ceiling and try to stand and the legs turn to jelly and you collapse in a gibbering heap onto the floor. After a while normality returns and life gets better.

Loki earned his spurs by beginning working-life with the biggest bunch of degenerates that the Hospital has seen or indeed will ever see again. (I can say that now. Some of the protagonists are deceased, some have moved on, very few still remain.) He started work straight from the Work Experience Program. This was a ill-fated attempt to manipulate the figures by sending youngsters straight from the classroom into places of work on a sort of slave-labour basis. The theory then being that they would be offered the job as soon as they left school. This of course enabled the Men in Suits to delete the numbers from the “how many people are unemployed” list.
That is NOT to say that Loki is a statistic. Not to those of us that shaped him into the man he is today…
The three other starters fell by the wayside. – Actually, after a few months one of them set himself up as a patient. He was found on an empty ward used to store beds. There he had laid out some ampoules of some drug he had pinched from another ward, a syringe, his clothes (he had donned pyjamas) and a colourful display of tablets that he also purloined. He lay himself on the bed and covered himself with a blanket and played at ‘Being a Patient’, until Lunchtime when he was discovered by the Sister in Charge who was looking for a bed to replace the old one in the ward next door. He left suddenly. - The two remaining starters lasted a few years before going, though neither in such remarkable style. One of them went on to open a market stall and was last heard of as doing - very well thank you very much.

Loki was introduced to Death Rides quite early. He was tough tho’ and after the event he decided to show us that he could still perform to the same level as before and he began to prance about. Moving with the grace of a walrus he gave us a few balletic flights as he jumped around. As a finale he decided to leap into the lift from a good distance. He ran and leapt high, high into the air to gain the distance. In his disordered state he forgot to take into account the height of the open lift. His forehead met the steel frame of the lift with a very loud crash that reverberated up the lift shaft. He fell into a heap of tangled limbs. We rushed forward to help him up but he beat us to it and scrambled to his feet and ran up the corridor toward the loading bay shouting that he was alright. We followed behind and as the loading-bay doors crashed behind him we heard the almighty scream he gave in pain and anguish. The doors opened and he stood before us with hands on hips and said. ‘I’m ok now.’