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Medders Thesis: pt 7 - Cells for the Insane
§ Cells for the Insane §
One time at night, the hospital came alive with shrieks and howls. My master was not there but I heard what had happened from the other doctors. It was the Frank again. Only this time the Christian proved just how much of an animal that he was. At first it was quiet, the patients residing there silent and sleeping until the screaming of the Frank broke through the night. I saw the attendants run past and out of sight to tend to the man’s wailing. The animal noises coming from him woke up everyone in our hospital it seemed for soon enough, they were calling for doctors. The other patients sought answers or attendance of the workers.
The workers struggled to subdue him, for despite the Frank’s small size, he managed to require several orderlies and a doctor to drag him to the cell. His body shook violently and he could not stand on his legs. It was though he had suddenly been gripp
Medders Thesis: pt 6 - Lesions of the Face
§ Lesions of the Face §
The Frank did not leave the hospital. It was though God (Glory be to him) had to punish my master. Under his bindings, the Christian’s face festered a lesion that grew red and swollen in a matter of hours. The eye that had been cut from his head did not start to heal itself, instead it kept weeping pale liquid that slowly became yellow. My master was not happy when it started leaking yellow. He asked the nurses what they had been doing and he was not pleased that they did not seem to be tending the wound as often as he would have liked.
My master frowned deeper than usual when he came to the Frank that morning and checked to see how his face had swelled up like a ripe fruit. He brought me along and a bottle of ointment to sooth the lesions.
“Please,” The Frank begged, “Do not cut off my head, I assure you it still works quite well.”
My master shook his head, “Your head is no
Medders Thesis: pt 5 - Unwanted Apprentice
§ Unwanted Apprentice §
Rarely did my master shake when he performed an operation. If it did, I did not notice it for his cuts and lesions were always so clean and well placed. When he came back the next morning, he looked as though he had not slept. My master’s hands were shaking as he carefully brought me and my colleagues along to check on the new patient he had. I was surprised, as was my master. It seemed, that the man was still in his bed in the morning and not spirited away by some of his own kind. The Frank was up and sitting on the edge of his cot, his toes scraping against the ground.
“Good morning,” My master said. The strain was on his voice. My master’s wife must have taken to yelling at him last night.
The Frank did not raise his eye.
Clenching me in his fist alongside clean wraps of tightly knit cloth, my master strode over to the infidel, “May I please check your wound?”
Again, the Christian did nothing. I felt u
Medders Thesis: pt 4 - Eye
§ Eye §
There was the sound of scraping and the door to the practice was thrown open. In staggered an old proprietor carrying a Frankish crusader across his shoulder. The Frank had one hand covering his face, the red of blood seeping through his boney fingers. Unlike others of his kind that had been brought in here, screaming over nothing but bruises as though they had their bones broken, this one was as quiet as the desert evening.
“What is happening here?” my master spoke when he came to meet them.
“This man was in a fight, he has an injury to his eye.”
“Bring him to the bed.”
The old proprietor brought the Christian to an empty cot in the corner of one of the rooms. With that my master thanked him for bringing the other Frank in and let him return to his shop.
The Frank remained stoic on the bed, his hands clenched tightly at the blankets. So tightly, that his boney knuckles were turning white.
Medders Thesis: pt 3 - The Master
§ The Master §
My master’s name was Akil ibn Ghalib al-‘Attar. He was not a very tall man, and his skin was more light coffee colored than bronze or copper. His beard of deepest black was always meticulously groomed. He always bathed. H always kept his hands clean. He was always sure to patch his clothes should a tear appear at his robes or a loose thread appeared at his head wrap. Most everything on him was meticulously taken care of. Everything he did was meticulous.
His cheeks made valleys on his face and his brown eyes were normally tired looking as the dark lines hung below them. My master always seemed tired, caught in a constant battle with sleeplessness.
My master was also a very careful man. He was careful with his patients, he was careful with his work, he was careful with wielding me in making lesions and draining sores. He was careful with the other doctors at work, sometimes he was almost too careful. Timid is what he was sometimes, sometimes
MercyOh sweet God how the grassland
ignites in moonlight tonight
I must thank you for creating
her tangled fingers' slow pace
through the handsome rain Her
trochaic kinesthesia to rhythms
in Stravinsky's The Rite of
Spring Is this how you meant
for us to love you Yahweh
Tumbling clumsily down hills
of sheets into perpetually
immutable silence I could love
you like that I think I've been
practicing on this Savanna
for days and months Lost in
her crystal canvas Rolling crests
and troughs And when she touches
me Oh fair Lord I'm dragged into
your city past Gethsemane's
pulsing green and gold
Please hold us together
under this luminous stretch
Oh Father We are live
unclothed Our reflections awash
with the skin of your sun
Blood BrothersBrookie always holds my hand when we cross the street. She's never given a reason for it, she just does it. It's become this unspoken rule with us that whenever we cross the street together, she slips her hand in mine and I lace my fingers through hers and we walk hand-in-hand until we reach the other side and she drops her hand and we both wipe our palms on our jeans. Brookie's a little scared of crossing the street. Her poppa died in a car crash when we were six. He was a pedestrian. She's never gotten over it.
Brookie is my best friend going on sixteen years now, which is pretty impressive considering we're both sixteen. We don't have some cute little story about how we were born in the same hospital on the same day or about how our mothers were best friends long before they were pregnant with us and somehow passed on that bond while we were still in utero. No, Brookie and I met the same way ever
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A two-time Community Volunteer for the deviantART Related category, Anne is well-known as a positive, helpful force. She is the community's resident expert when it comes to CSS (Cascading Style Sheets), and her personal gallery offers a wide variety of tutorials for new and experienced coders alike. In addition, each winter she hosts a calendar project encouraging members to create Journal designs for all to use, bringing more creativity to the community.
It is with immense gratitude that we acknowledge Anne as the recipient of the Deviousness Award for October 2014. Read More