Prologue

“No, please stop!” Emilia yelled. “Please!” Her pitch rising.

“Sit still or this will hurt more than it needs to.” The man in the lab coat said calmly as he held her arm.

Emilia continued to squirm but the more she squirmed the more the guards who were holding her squeezed on her small skinny arms. Emilia was only eleven years old, and very trim for her age. She continued to wail as the needle went so far into her arm it hit the bone. Three more went in the same way and then the pressure on her upper arm released and she fell to the floor.

She knew what would happen next, the older girls told her what would happen but she didn’t want to give up.

She tried to crawl away from the table, but she couldn’t. Her arms and legs betrayed her and her vision was turning to black. She couldn’t even see her limbs to scold them for their blatant disobedience at her commands.

A cold darkness engulfed her completely and she was lost in it.

********************

When Emilia woke, she could feel the pain in her neck and in her abdomen from the surgery. She huddled in the foetal position in agony. Her cot dug into her bare shoulder as she whimpered quietly.

All that was in her room was a small toilet, a sink and the white tiled floor all enclosed in Emilia’s little barred cell. Behind the barred gate of her prison, she cried, cried for the childhood she had, cried for the future she would be forced to have and cried for the pain she felt in that moment.

After some time and after her tears had run dry, she heard the bars rattle. She knew it would be her nightly meal, a can of tuna with broccoli and rice. Same every day. She didn’t even look up as the guard dropped the contents on to the edge of her cot like he did every night. She waited to hear the bars slam but instead she heard only silence.

She lay as still as she could wide eyed and waiting for something to happen. Then she felt a hand touch her bare back as she lay facing the wall. It was warm and large and welcome on her cold body.

She knew she should have been frightened, she should be trying to defend herself, but she felt no malice in the gesture, instead she felt loved in that second and it bought new tears to her eyes.

“There, there little one. The worst is over.” He said.

Her whimpers softened after another few minutes, his soft touch comforting her.

As he stroked her back, he told her stories about his home in a suburb of Melbourne, about his daughter who was just a bit older than Emilia, and he told her of the opportunities she would have in the future to travel and experience amazing things.

Emilia knew that the night guard was right and she should feel a sense of privilege at having these opportunities because otherwise she would be rotting in an orphanage or worse - a group home. The barracks had saved her from the system when her parents had died and Emilia was grateful most days, but right now, she couldn’t think of anything but the pain and her loneliness.

“I want my mum and dad.” Emilia whispered, interrupting the guard’s monologue.

“I know honey.” He said warmly. “But they died over a year ago.”

She started to sob again. “I know but it is not fair.” She choked out through broken breaths. With that, he leaned in and hugged the girl, holding her as she rocked from her sobs.

“It sucks, but life is not always fair baby girl. It’s best you learn that now.” He said as he hugged her closer.

She whimpered slightly from the pain but she craved the physical contact so much that she didn’t even care that she was bleeding from her stitches.

“Be brave now, I have to go. Eat up, you will need your strength in the morning.” He replied, and with that, he was gone.

Emilia fell into a fitful sleep, dreaming of needles and operating room lights.

She woke to the sirens sounding the start of a new day.

It was 4am, she had not slept more than 20 minutes all night. She knew she would come to regret the lack of sleep because she knew that Wednesdays were boot camp day, she knew that even at her best she struggled with these training sessions.

Emilia turned over on her cot and as she sat upright, her head felt like it was spinning uncontrollably. She fell back down and closed her eyes to try and stop the overwhelming feeling of vertigo. She focused on evening out her breathing and counted to 100 before trying to sit up again. This time, she felt more even, nauseas, but not spinning anymore.

She struggled to pull on her uniform, and when she did, the shirt she was wearing seeped red from the stitches that had ripped opened during the night on her belly. She knew she would get into trouble for that by the drill sergeant, but she didn’t have the supplies to clean herself up.

Soon Emilia stood by the barred doorway at attention, swaying slightly from the wooziness. She stood as still as she could and waited for her cell to be opened as it did everyday at exactly 4.30am.

Emilia heard the barred gates from either side of her cell open and close with the drill sergeant yelling commands. But they didn’t come to her. Emilia waited and waited for the drill Sargeant but her cell remained undisturbed. No one came to the cell except for a small woman, one that she had not seen before in a pristine white lab coat and a small headscarf.

“Hello Emilia, my name is Dr Singh. I am here to check your stitches and to give you a few tests.” She said with a kind smile on her face.

Emilia always trusted a smile. Captain Drummond always said she was a gullible fool for trusting so easily. She could be the best, he would say, but her biggest weakness is her trust. He had always said that he needed to break that trust, and it made Emilia wonder if this was a test.

“Hello Doctor.” Emilia replied with hesitation.

If this was a test, she didn’t want to betray too much about herself or about how she was feeling. Emilia wanted Captain Drummond to be proud of her and the only way he would be is if she is able to resist the kindness of this woman.

“Come and sit down on the cot will you?” the Doctor asked.

Emilia obediently followed. She had already sized up her competition by the time the doctor landed on the cot, Emilia felt confident she could take her out. For now, she played along. Captain Drummond always said paranoia will keep you alive and obedience with scepticism is the way to become the best soldier, so Emilia played the part.

The doctor unbuttoned her top to see the weeping wound on her belly and checked the bandage on her neck. Her touch was gentle, stitching gently to fill the missing stitches that had popped apart and using numbing cream to save the little girl from feeling more pain than necessary.

“You have to be careful with your movements for the next few days. You are exempt from training until after the weekend so that you can heal.” She ordered.

“And…” Doctor Singh paused.

“Yes doctor?” Emilia asked.

“And…I’m sorry for what we have done to you.” She said and walked quickly out of the cell. From the other side of the bars, Emilia could see the doctor’s kind smile, and tears rolling down her cheeks.

For the rest of the day, Emilia laid prone on her uncomfortable cot and read some books that were left for her at the bars by her friendly night guard who finished his shift just after breakfast that morning.

He had left her books every week or so since she was transferred here through the department of human services at age 10. Emilia didn’t know it was him that dropped off the books until this morning when he had smiled at her through the bars as he dropped them off.

First he started with primary school books, but Emilia quickly graduated to adult books. She learnt quickly, that was one of the things that Captain Drummond had liked about her, “The girl picks up quick” he would say as he observed her during IQ testing and when she would learn new skills within hours rather than days, anything from combat, to how to handle weapons, Drummond would pat the little girl on the head praising her intelligence.

Today, the night guard had left the Iliad, The Bell Jar and The complete works of Charles Dickens. “The classics”, he said, “the only things worth reading”. Once Emilia had gotten through the Bell Jar and was half way through the Iliad, she was bored. The days seemed so long when she had nothing to do but to stare at her ceiling or read.

Emilia fell asleep with a book across her chest some time during the day.

Careless mistake.

She felt the book being ripped off her chest, waking her suddenly.

It was Captain Drummond checking on her healing.

“What is this?” He yelled. He was only centimetres from her face.

Emilia jumped up to stand at attention for her Captain.

“Sorry sir. I was just passing the time.” She shouted back monotonously as a good soldier would.

“Who gave you these?” He asked aggressively, with his spit flying onto her face.

“No one sir…I stole them from the library the last time I was there.”

“You are lying.” He continued.

“No, sir I am not.” She yelled back defiantly. She was not going to let her only saviour and friend, the kind night guard, get in trouble for her carelessness at hiding the book.

“Did you just speak back to me, Soldier?” He asked.

“No sir, I am just admitting fault.” She replied, softer now, losing her resolve.

“If you weren’t hurt, I would put you in the punisher right now.” He yelled, his hot breath forcing her eyes closed.

Emilia shuddered at the thought. She was terrified of the punisher, a small metal box that the Captain left out in the field with a lock only on the outside. The box was not long enough for a person to lie down, so instead you are forced to huddle in half. Depending on the crime, you could stay in there all day.

“Your emotions always betray your bravery Soldier 357. I can see fear all over your face.” He said softer now. “Trust will be the death of you.” He warned.

“Yes, Sir. I will try harder Sir.” She replied.

“Good.” He smiled. “Are there any more books I should know about?” He asked.

“No Sir.” She answered, staring straight ahead to ensure that her eyes did not give away her hiding spot.

“Good. At ease soldier.” He responded and walked out of the cell.

Emilia immediately slumped down back onto her cot as soon as the Captain was out of sight.

She scratched at the cut on her stomach, the abrupt movement she made, going from lying down to standing had aggravated the wound. She peeled back the bandage and to her surprise, she saw that there was barely even a pink line left on her skin. The stitches on her stomach were now useless; she had already healed underneath them.

She was shocked. How could this happen so fast? It was bleeding this morning! She asked herself internally. She tried to remember back to the lessons in Biology that she had had as part of the school program here at the barracks. She remembered the immune system was made up of B cells and T cells, they help with the healing process, but they usually took days to work. Maybe the cut was not as deep as she had initially thought? Maybe the operation happened more than a day ago? They had been giving her medications, and the doctor put on some sort of cream today, could it be possible that she had slept for more than a day and didn’t know it?

She ripped the bandage away from her neck wound and felt the stitches. Again there was no open cut, and the stitches on her neck were already growing out. One of the stitches fell out from her neck as she touched it. Emilia held it in her hand and examined it. It was still circular, as if the skin had pushed it out of the way so that it could seal the cut.

She quickly put the bandage back over the cut and she did the same with her stomach wound. She was confused, how could this be when all her education told her that this type of healing was not possible?

She suddenly missed the creature comforts that she used to have when her parents were still alive. She desperately wanted her phone with a data plan and Google at her fingertips. She wanted to search what could cause accelerated healing but she had no way of doing that from her cell.

She felt tears surging up again when she thought of the good old days. Emilia shook her head violently dissolving the thoughts of the past. She forced her mind to stop thinking. She counted backwards from 100 and by the time she had hit 40, she was dead asleep.

Working as a secondary school teacher, I don't really get a chance to be too creative in my work, especially in the realm of science teaching.

This year, I found that I had more time due to being more prepared at school and also because I finally learnt how to manage my time better. But that meant more time for my anxiety and my overthinking nature to take over. Time is my natural enemy. I complain daily that I don't have enough of it, but then when I have it, it sets off some sort of primal fear in my brain, phrases like "You're wasting time!" or "You're not doing enough with your time, that's why you're bored" or even "You're not working hard enough if you have time to do nothing!"
So instead of drowning in my own thoughts and fears which I have done so many times before, I took on meditation.

I don't mean sitting on the ground saying "Ommmmmmmm" and remaining deathly silent and still, but instead, I decided to write as my form of meditation.

I've always been creative, ever since I was young and I enjoy using my creative energy as much as possible. As I grew older however, I stopped having this creative outlet because the "real-world" told me to be serious and to work hard and put away childish things. So I did...and I suffered for it.
I truly believe that a lot of my clinical anxiety that I've had since I was a child was a result of limiting my creative energy and forcing it to stay within me. So this year, I decided to stop doing that and I started to write.

Now the interesting part is that English is not my first language. Having been born in Hong Kong and knowing no English until age 8, I have always been told throughout my whole life that I am not good at English and that I never will be because I am not a "native-speaker" (Even though I feel more confident with English these days than my so called "native tongue").

So when I decided to write, a terrible self-doubt overwhelmed me and I nearly didn't start. Instead of allowing my negative self-talk to take over, I decided to look on the bright side instead, I mean what is the worse thing that could happen? That no one reads my book? That people laugh at my horrible English? So what? Why was that so bad? At least I tried!

And you know what? I'm damn proud of myself!

So this book came out of a strange dream I had...it's about a town called Omen, a mystical town...

Clearly I am a novice writer and this is a hobby of mine rather than a serious profession, so I hope you enjoy it, I'll release a little Chapter each week or so and any feedback would be great :)

Let me know what you think, any criticism welcome and I look forward to hearing from you all!

Original Scribe by Mojo S

Pages

Monday, 20 August 2018

Update

Thursday, 3 May 2018

IT IS LIVE!!!!

Hello All!

Wednesday, 18 April 2018

Sneak Peek!!

Prologue

Exciting news

Thursday, 30 November 2017

Origins of my book

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