Another You, part 1
12 August 2013 16:25![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
pielcanelatitle is very, very tentative. my inspiration song of the moment is "There Will Never Be Another You" but i might change it. in my head, Ed's radio program opens with this theme song. but something more awesome might come along later.
there's also a section i've put a placeholder in. my prior experience writing radio scripts refuses to cooperate for now. sorry for being impatient.
Some writers elected not to use computers, to save on electricity. They'd agreed that the city's power was better used for other, more important things, like medical research, or the life-support devices.
At any rate, there was plenty of ink and paper.
Ed actually preferred this method. At the start he found he was more inspired if he had a pen in his hand. Ten years ago, when he wrote for a living, he was always in front of a computer, or fitted with a transcribing device close to his lips - those were dark days, best kept behind him.
But even with the pen, these days, drawing words out of himself felt like drawing blood.
There was a knock on the door. Ed turned.
"You're up in three hours, Ed." Neri, station manager, was a big man, who took up most of the doorway space. He also had a gruff and intimidating voice, which was why he was never an announcer, in spite of the constant lack of manpower in that department. "Tell me you've got something."
Even if he knew it was going to piss Neri off, Ed threw his hands up. "Dunno what to tell you. Might go on air without a script."
Neri looked so grim so suddenly, it actually took Ed by surprise. "That's a joke."
"I know." He was exhausted.
"If you're having trouble, get someone to pick up the story for you," Neri instructed. "Get Reba or Mike. They've said they want to give it a shot. But you better do it now."
"No." Ed turned away, waving Neri off with one weary hand. "Leave me alone. I can do this."
After all, he said to himself, it was his story. No one else could tell it.
No one.
"No one here is a one-man show, Ed," Neri said. From any other lips those words might have come out with more kindness. "You know how important it is not to disrupt operations. Do your job, get some help, or let someone else take over."
Ed was somehow able to resist the violent urge to throw something at Neri's back as he left. All he had at his disposal was his pen, and he wasn't about to waste that. There was so little of everything going around, already.
He forced himself to calm down. Neri was right, he only had three hours to air time. And the day's script wasn't even done.
It shouldn't have gotten to this point.
Nothing was Neri's fault; he didn't know how it felt. He wouldn't, of course. He might have been station management, and good at it, too, but he was more a tech guy than anything. In his spare time, he helped out a team of four other people who wrote the news.
If anyone could understand being blocked like this, Ed guessed, it would be Kim, who used to work on the eighth floor. Kim was a one-person team writing frickin' sports commentary, for god's sake, when hardly anyone played sports anymore.
When just thinking of sports depressed the other writers during his time, Kim invented athletes, plotted out whole games in his head, and faked enthusiasm. It was a job no one else stepped up to do, and Kim did it well. The torment in his eyes before and after each broadcast was all the reminder Ed and the others had that Kim used to love sports with a passion.
Kim was no longer working at the studio. In fact, Ed was told he had left Horace.
Ed had no idea what lay for writer/announcers outside the city. Where would he go?
It was a bad time to remember Kim. It disturbed Ed to realize that, in spite of the complete lack of common sense, he felt Kim had the right idea.
He would have to dwell on that later. In the meantime, he had to write a new thirty-minute episode. He had two hours to finish it, and then the station needed at least one hour for the psychiatric specialists in Washington to look over the episode before airing. That was already asking for too much.
He picked up the pen.
...
[placeholder bob marley quote. temporary. please don't rag on me or sue. will be replaced with an original and less awesome radio script excerpt later]
Only once in your life, I truly believe, you find someone who can completely turn your world around. You tell them things that you’ve never shared with another soul and they absorb everything you say and actually want to hear more. You share hopes for the future, dreams that will never come true, goals that were never achieved and the many disappointments life has thrown at you. When something wonderful happens, you can’t wait to tell them about it, knowing they will share in your excitement. They are not embarrassed to cry with you when you are hurting or laugh with you when you make a fool of yourself. Never do they hurt your feelings or make you feel like you are not good enough, but rather they build you up and show you the things about yourself that make you special and even beautiful. There is never any pressure, jealousy or competition but only a quiet calmness when they are around. You can be yourself and not worry about what they will think of you because they love you for who you are. The things that seem insignificant to most people such as a note, song or walk become invaluable treasures kept safe in your heart to cherish forever. Memories of your childhood come back and are so clear and vivid it’s like being young again. Colours seem brighter and more brilliant. Laughter seems part of daily life where before it was infrequent or didn’t exist at all. A phone call or two during the day helps to get you through a long day’s work and always brings a smile to your face. In their presence, there’s no need for continuous conversation, but you find you’re quite content in just having them nearby. Things that never interested you before become fascinating because you know they are important to this person who is so special to you. You think of this person on every occasion and in everything you do. Simple things bring them to mind like a pale blue sky, gentle wind or even a storm cloud on the horizon. You open your heart knowing that there’s a chance it may be broken one day and in opening your heart, you experience a love and joy that you never dreamed possible. You find that being vulnerable is the only way to allow your heart to feel true pleasure that’s so real it scares you. You find strength in knowing you have a true friend and possibly a soul mate who will remain loyal to the end. Life seems completely different, exciting and worthwhile. Your only hope and security is in knowing that they are a part of your life.
...
After every broadcast, Ed went out for a walk. He stepped out of his studio. Then he stepped out of the station.
The silence in the streets was always unnerving at first, after speaking for almost 30 straight minutes... but after his ears had adjusted, it was only ever comforting.
The streets were wide, but never busy. Horace might have been labeled a "city," but it didn't look like a city at all, not as Ed remembered cities.
It had been countryside, and most of it had been farmland.
Many years ago, it became a network of hospital wards, and stayed that way.
All the commercial and public establishments had been converted into hospitals, new facilities had been created, roads had been built to expedite the transfer of medical equipment and personnel. It was a large, quiet, makeshift machine that barely even resembled the skeleton of a city. A small power station provided additional energy besides what the establishments could get off the national grid. There was an airstrip far to the north which was always busy, as new patients were always getting flown in.
On the other side of the mountain range that bordered Horace to the east, was Lunden, a massive graveyard. It was younger than Horace - but then Horace itself was quite young at ten years old, established long before local governments saw the need to mandate the presence of a burial ground near every city-sanatorium.
Ed had never actually been to Lunden. Staying in Horace was depressing enough.
There was always a need for more hands at the wards, so when Ed found extra strength in him after the end of an episode, he picked a wing and headed for it.
Gone were the days when "wings" were parts of buildings. The West Wing was the entire hundred acres of ground where they kept the fairly low-risk patients: the area where Horace's only radio station was located.
The West Wing was only a twenty-minute walk to the ward that Ed frequented. There was no need to waste gas on a drive over.
The building Ed was heading to was a former high school; Glen was working there at the moment. Glen was an old friend. He was in building maintenance at the paper Ed used to write for. They used to take their daily smoke breaks together.
Now Glen was active in helping with the electronics in the wards, doing what he did best.
And neither of them smoked. Neither of them could afford to.
Ed found Glen at the back entrance, carefully rolling a portable machine three feet high out of a truck. He was with a few other people, all performing the same grim task.
"Anything for me today, Glen?" he greeted. Glen looked up at him and forced out a smile; the other workers looked away disinterested.
"You're just in time," he greeted back. "Little help with these? Getting a new batch today from the north and we're scrambling."
Ed didn't need to be asked twice. Seeing that Glen could handle his own load, he stepped into the truck and picked out a unit to drag. New generation life-support systems, or LSSes, were not as heavy as they used to be, but one still had to be careful.
"These need to be at the second floor," Ed said. "But put them in the elevator first. Let's take 'em all up in batches, save power."
Ed nodded. Glen had done this a hundred times since he Woke, he knew what he was doing. Saving and managing electricity in the city was his job.
Like Ed, Glen was a native of the state, born in a small farming town near Horace. A year ago, he Woke to a world that was completely different from the one he fell asleep on. The shock was almost too much for him. But seeing Ed and another familiar face (it was his girlfriend's sister, with whom he had never really gotten along, as Ed recalled) helped him settle.
Soon, Glen was even ready to learn that all of his loved ones in the same state had already died from the Great Sleep, still hooked up to machines in their ward beds.
Ed, on his part, had Woken to no one holding his hand. No one held his hand, either, as he discovered that many of the people he knew had already died, as Glen did.
At least Glen had him at his bedside. In that, Ed considered Glen very lucky.
Inside the building, on his way into the elevator, Ed noticed that some of the nurses standing in a corner were glancing over at him and whispering. They must have been new, otherwise they would've greeted him with a bland "Hi, Ed" or half-heartedly returned his " 'Sup". But they stood and stared well out of earshot.
He decided to ignore them. But one of them approached him, started walking beside him as he slowly dragged the machine along.
"Excuse me," she said, and he stopped so they could face each other. He saw she was a small woman, who looked like she was in her mid-thirties, but was probably younger. There were telltale tube holes and puncture marks in the exposed parts of her very thin body that told him she had been hooked to an LSS for a very long time. Her face, though drawn, glowed with a childlike delight.
"Hi. I'm Claudia. I just Woke three weeks ago - now I'm working here as a nurse."
She extended her hand, and Ed took it. She grasped his hand with both of hers, and Ed stifled a groan.
"It's so inspiring to meet you," she started gushing. "Ed de Guia, in the flesh!"
Ed knew that pressure in the fingers, that deferential stoop, that tone of voice. A fan. Such a strange thing for a radio announcer to encounter, with all the other diversions that Wakers had, like television and the Internet - on the other hand, the Sleepers, poor bastards, only had the radio.
And yet, Ed encountered fans at least once a week. Which was perhaps not so strange, since he went to different wards, and sometimes there was a Waker or a new medical staffer there who just desperately had to shake his hand.
"You must've heard this a thousand times," the girl named Claudia continued, "but your program is really helping turn things around. Patient responsiveness goes through the roof when 'Another You' comes on."
She was building up to say she was certain 'Another You' was going to cure everyone from the Sleep. Ed knew. She wouldn't have been the first one to do it. If he let her talk long enough, it was a sure thing.
"They say my own PR spiked when I heard that theme song come on." Suddenly bashful, she averted her gaze. "I'm afraid I don't remember. But I can believe it! For real! I don't need to anymore, but I still listen to your show, you know. We all do! At the nurses' station..."
"Okay." He shook her hands. She had not let go of him yet. "It's very nice to meet you, Claudia." Gently, but firmly, he pulled away.
She was a bit taken aback, he could tell. He made sure to flash her an apologetic smile, which she duly returned. Then he went on his way, and she let him.
She must have been offended at being brushed off so easily, Ed said to himself. She must have been treated with care, and rightly so: Wakers were rare and celebrated. Horace had an average of one Waker and six deaths every month - deaths were far more common than recoveries. Every Waker was precious, psychologically frail, and needed to be carefully guided back into life among the living.
But Ed was sick of being reminded of his importance to Horace. He was tired of the responsibility. The best he could do for Wakers was be courteous as he left them in the dirt.
The meeting left him a little numb. He almost forgot why he had gone to that ward in the first place. He stood staring at the row of LSSes in the elevator, until one of Glen's colleagues brushed past him to wordlessly deposit a new unit onto the platform.
there's also a section i've put a placeholder in. my prior experience writing radio scripts refuses to cooperate for now. sorry for being impatient.
Some writers elected not to use computers, to save on electricity. They'd agreed that the city's power was better used for other, more important things, like medical research, or the life-support devices.
At any rate, there was plenty of ink and paper.
Ed actually preferred this method. At the start he found he was more inspired if he had a pen in his hand. Ten years ago, when he wrote for a living, he was always in front of a computer, or fitted with a transcribing device close to his lips - those were dark days, best kept behind him.
But even with the pen, these days, drawing words out of himself felt like drawing blood.
There was a knock on the door. Ed turned.
"You're up in three hours, Ed." Neri, station manager, was a big man, who took up most of the doorway space. He also had a gruff and intimidating voice, which was why he was never an announcer, in spite of the constant lack of manpower in that department. "Tell me you've got something."
Even if he knew it was going to piss Neri off, Ed threw his hands up. "Dunno what to tell you. Might go on air without a script."
Neri looked so grim so suddenly, it actually took Ed by surprise. "That's a joke."
"I know." He was exhausted.
"If you're having trouble, get someone to pick up the story for you," Neri instructed. "Get Reba or Mike. They've said they want to give it a shot. But you better do it now."
"No." Ed turned away, waving Neri off with one weary hand. "Leave me alone. I can do this."
After all, he said to himself, it was his story. No one else could tell it.
No one.
"No one here is a one-man show, Ed," Neri said. From any other lips those words might have come out with more kindness. "You know how important it is not to disrupt operations. Do your job, get some help, or let someone else take over."
Ed was somehow able to resist the violent urge to throw something at Neri's back as he left. All he had at his disposal was his pen, and he wasn't about to waste that. There was so little of everything going around, already.
He forced himself to calm down. Neri was right, he only had three hours to air time. And the day's script wasn't even done.
It shouldn't have gotten to this point.
Nothing was Neri's fault; he didn't know how it felt. He wouldn't, of course. He might have been station management, and good at it, too, but he was more a tech guy than anything. In his spare time, he helped out a team of four other people who wrote the news.
If anyone could understand being blocked like this, Ed guessed, it would be Kim, who used to work on the eighth floor. Kim was a one-person team writing frickin' sports commentary, for god's sake, when hardly anyone played sports anymore.
When just thinking of sports depressed the other writers during his time, Kim invented athletes, plotted out whole games in his head, and faked enthusiasm. It was a job no one else stepped up to do, and Kim did it well. The torment in his eyes before and after each broadcast was all the reminder Ed and the others had that Kim used to love sports with a passion.
Kim was no longer working at the studio. In fact, Ed was told he had left Horace.
Ed had no idea what lay for writer/announcers outside the city. Where would he go?
It was a bad time to remember Kim. It disturbed Ed to realize that, in spite of the complete lack of common sense, he felt Kim had the right idea.
He would have to dwell on that later. In the meantime, he had to write a new thirty-minute episode. He had two hours to finish it, and then the station needed at least one hour for the psychiatric specialists in Washington to look over the episode before airing. That was already asking for too much.
He picked up the pen.
...
[placeholder bob marley quote. temporary. please don't rag on me or sue. will be replaced with an original and less awesome radio script excerpt later]
Only once in your life, I truly believe, you find someone who can completely turn your world around. You tell them things that you’ve never shared with another soul and they absorb everything you say and actually want to hear more. You share hopes for the future, dreams that will never come true, goals that were never achieved and the many disappointments life has thrown at you. When something wonderful happens, you can’t wait to tell them about it, knowing they will share in your excitement. They are not embarrassed to cry with you when you are hurting or laugh with you when you make a fool of yourself. Never do they hurt your feelings or make you feel like you are not good enough, but rather they build you up and show you the things about yourself that make you special and even beautiful. There is never any pressure, jealousy or competition but only a quiet calmness when they are around. You can be yourself and not worry about what they will think of you because they love you for who you are. The things that seem insignificant to most people such as a note, song or walk become invaluable treasures kept safe in your heart to cherish forever. Memories of your childhood come back and are so clear and vivid it’s like being young again. Colours seem brighter and more brilliant. Laughter seems part of daily life where before it was infrequent or didn’t exist at all. A phone call or two during the day helps to get you through a long day’s work and always brings a smile to your face. In their presence, there’s no need for continuous conversation, but you find you’re quite content in just having them nearby. Things that never interested you before become fascinating because you know they are important to this person who is so special to you. You think of this person on every occasion and in everything you do. Simple things bring them to mind like a pale blue sky, gentle wind or even a storm cloud on the horizon. You open your heart knowing that there’s a chance it may be broken one day and in opening your heart, you experience a love and joy that you never dreamed possible. You find that being vulnerable is the only way to allow your heart to feel true pleasure that’s so real it scares you. You find strength in knowing you have a true friend and possibly a soul mate who will remain loyal to the end. Life seems completely different, exciting and worthwhile. Your only hope and security is in knowing that they are a part of your life.
...
After every broadcast, Ed went out for a walk. He stepped out of his studio. Then he stepped out of the station.
The silence in the streets was always unnerving at first, after speaking for almost 30 straight minutes... but after his ears had adjusted, it was only ever comforting.
The streets were wide, but never busy. Horace might have been labeled a "city," but it didn't look like a city at all, not as Ed remembered cities.
It had been countryside, and most of it had been farmland.
Many years ago, it became a network of hospital wards, and stayed that way.
All the commercial and public establishments had been converted into hospitals, new facilities had been created, roads had been built to expedite the transfer of medical equipment and personnel. It was a large, quiet, makeshift machine that barely even resembled the skeleton of a city. A small power station provided additional energy besides what the establishments could get off the national grid. There was an airstrip far to the north which was always busy, as new patients were always getting flown in.
On the other side of the mountain range that bordered Horace to the east, was Lunden, a massive graveyard. It was younger than Horace - but then Horace itself was quite young at ten years old, established long before local governments saw the need to mandate the presence of a burial ground near every city-sanatorium.
Ed had never actually been to Lunden. Staying in Horace was depressing enough.
There was always a need for more hands at the wards, so when Ed found extra strength in him after the end of an episode, he picked a wing and headed for it.
Gone were the days when "wings" were parts of buildings. The West Wing was the entire hundred acres of ground where they kept the fairly low-risk patients: the area where Horace's only radio station was located.
The West Wing was only a twenty-minute walk to the ward that Ed frequented. There was no need to waste gas on a drive over.
The building Ed was heading to was a former high school; Glen was working there at the moment. Glen was an old friend. He was in building maintenance at the paper Ed used to write for. They used to take their daily smoke breaks together.
Now Glen was active in helping with the electronics in the wards, doing what he did best.
And neither of them smoked. Neither of them could afford to.
Ed found Glen at the back entrance, carefully rolling a portable machine three feet high out of a truck. He was with a few other people, all performing the same grim task.
"Anything for me today, Glen?" he greeted. Glen looked up at him and forced out a smile; the other workers looked away disinterested.
"You're just in time," he greeted back. "Little help with these? Getting a new batch today from the north and we're scrambling."
Ed didn't need to be asked twice. Seeing that Glen could handle his own load, he stepped into the truck and picked out a unit to drag. New generation life-support systems, or LSSes, were not as heavy as they used to be, but one still had to be careful.
"These need to be at the second floor," Ed said. "But put them in the elevator first. Let's take 'em all up in batches, save power."
Ed nodded. Glen had done this a hundred times since he Woke, he knew what he was doing. Saving and managing electricity in the city was his job.
Like Ed, Glen was a native of the state, born in a small farming town near Horace. A year ago, he Woke to a world that was completely different from the one he fell asleep on. The shock was almost too much for him. But seeing Ed and another familiar face (it was his girlfriend's sister, with whom he had never really gotten along, as Ed recalled) helped him settle.
Soon, Glen was even ready to learn that all of his loved ones in the same state had already died from the Great Sleep, still hooked up to machines in their ward beds.
Ed, on his part, had Woken to no one holding his hand. No one held his hand, either, as he discovered that many of the people he knew had already died, as Glen did.
At least Glen had him at his bedside. In that, Ed considered Glen very lucky.
Inside the building, on his way into the elevator, Ed noticed that some of the nurses standing in a corner were glancing over at him and whispering. They must have been new, otherwise they would've greeted him with a bland "Hi, Ed" or half-heartedly returned his " 'Sup". But they stood and stared well out of earshot.
He decided to ignore them. But one of them approached him, started walking beside him as he slowly dragged the machine along.
"Excuse me," she said, and he stopped so they could face each other. He saw she was a small woman, who looked like she was in her mid-thirties, but was probably younger. There were telltale tube holes and puncture marks in the exposed parts of her very thin body that told him she had been hooked to an LSS for a very long time. Her face, though drawn, glowed with a childlike delight.
"Hi. I'm Claudia. I just Woke three weeks ago - now I'm working here as a nurse."
She extended her hand, and Ed took it. She grasped his hand with both of hers, and Ed stifled a groan.
"It's so inspiring to meet you," she started gushing. "Ed de Guia, in the flesh!"
Ed knew that pressure in the fingers, that deferential stoop, that tone of voice. A fan. Such a strange thing for a radio announcer to encounter, with all the other diversions that Wakers had, like television and the Internet - on the other hand, the Sleepers, poor bastards, only had the radio.
And yet, Ed encountered fans at least once a week. Which was perhaps not so strange, since he went to different wards, and sometimes there was a Waker or a new medical staffer there who just desperately had to shake his hand.
"You must've heard this a thousand times," the girl named Claudia continued, "but your program is really helping turn things around. Patient responsiveness goes through the roof when 'Another You' comes on."
She was building up to say she was certain 'Another You' was going to cure everyone from the Sleep. Ed knew. She wouldn't have been the first one to do it. If he let her talk long enough, it was a sure thing.
"They say my own PR spiked when I heard that theme song come on." Suddenly bashful, she averted her gaze. "I'm afraid I don't remember. But I can believe it! For real! I don't need to anymore, but I still listen to your show, you know. We all do! At the nurses' station..."
"Okay." He shook her hands. She had not let go of him yet. "It's very nice to meet you, Claudia." Gently, but firmly, he pulled away.
She was a bit taken aback, he could tell. He made sure to flash her an apologetic smile, which she duly returned. Then he went on his way, and she let him.
She must have been offended at being brushed off so easily, Ed said to himself. She must have been treated with care, and rightly so: Wakers were rare and celebrated. Horace had an average of one Waker and six deaths every month - deaths were far more common than recoveries. Every Waker was precious, psychologically frail, and needed to be carefully guided back into life among the living.
But Ed was sick of being reminded of his importance to Horace. He was tired of the responsibility. The best he could do for Wakers was be courteous as he left them in the dirt.
The meeting left him a little numb. He almost forgot why he had gone to that ward in the first place. He stood staring at the row of LSSes in the elevator, until one of Glen's colleagues brushed past him to wordlessly deposit a new unit onto the platform.