(Sorry, anyone who reads this, for the lengthy gap. School took over my life, but here is some prose that I wrote with no rhyme or reason)
He leaned against the wall. No sound penetrated the dank air less his own laboured breath and the incessant drip-drip of the blood from his elbow. He looked at the night sky—how long had it been night now? His watch ticked down; there was another week till the sun would rise again. Curse this planet and its 30-day rotation. They had told him he needed to stop thinking in terms of 24 hours, but his watch was Earth-made and that was all he had known for 19 years. Two years had passed since his arrival here. Two years to the day.
“I’m have 21 years today,” he spoke aloud. They said, back on Earth, that everyone is only half. That there is another half to make you whole, and you have to find that person. He wondered, at this time, if his other half was back on Earth. Maybe she was also feeling the pressure of age. What would she do now? Five years of searching gone to waste—he was not going back.
He shuddered involuntarily at the cold brick against his back. Despite the advanced insulation systems, the outside of the buildings began to get frigid towards mid-point. By the end, just before the sun rose again, touching them meant death of the flesh. He leant away from the wall. Always it was there, the urge to lean until the pain came, reminded him he was alive. But running was safer, no chance of irreversible epidermal damage. And so he ran.
The council met rarely; meetings were always so long, and the eldest members were hard-pressed to make the trip unless it was a matter of great importance. For some of them, this meeting seemed irrational and pointless. For others it held the utmost important. Shayla entered the room and felt overwhelmed by the tension in the air. Shee stood before the semicircular table where the other council members sat. As the youngest member, she felt the weight of intimidation pressing on his chest and he was momentarily dizzied. After an imperceptible sway, her stomach lurched and then resettled. She cleared her throat.
“I have asked you here today,” Shayla’s voice rang loud and clear, with no hint at the waves of nausea bombarding her, “because of the boy Mikarn.”
Whispering flooded the hall as the other council members commented amongst themselves.
“As I’m sure you know,” Shayla continued, “he has been noted as a possible candidate.” The council nodded its agreement. “But we have noticed faltering in his mental stability lately, and it is cause for a great deal of concern.” Shalya paused—the silence caused strange painful blindness. “He has taken to running for the equivalent of entire Terran days. He does not seem to notice this immense passage of time until he returns to his home, somewhat dazed and seeming to border on unconsciousness.”
“Do you mean to say,” interrupted one member, “that the boy runs for 24 Terra hours?” He seemed incredulous.
“Impossible.” Murmurs of ascent swept the table. A few members though sat silent pressing their hands to their lips.
“It is not,” Shayla continued. “It is especially not impossible for Mikarn. Though his pace slows to an occasional jog, his movement is without rest. Upon his return his body shows signs of great suffering, but has returned to its previous state if not a healthier one within three Terran days.”
“You make the boy sound like a deity.”
Shalya nodded towards the adolescent boy who stood hunched in the shadows by the hall’s entrance. The boy strode forward—meek, but powerful in his carriage. He delivered a pamphlet to each of the council members and then returned to his submissive stance in the shadows.
“As you know, the Mikarn’s vital signs are under constant surveillance due to his candidacy. You will find before you his daily medical reports for the past four cycles.” Shayla paused while the council member’s deliberated over their pamphlets. When the chattering had begun to recede, she spoke again.
“As you can see, these reports are above and beyond anything we have ever seen before.”
One of the eldest council members stood, leaning heavily on his staff.
“He is the one.”