Mr. Hancock.

Mr Hancock has led no ordinary life.

Entry for History Fiction Competition:
Write a story where your character travels through several time periods #MovellasThroughTime


1. Waking up.

I can slowly feel my ears beginning to tune into what sounds are around. My vision is slightly blurred, but it begins to focus. The room is white. A clinical white. Is this a hospital?  I go to shift my body, but I haven’t the energy to push myself up. I’ll just wait, and hope for the best. 


It’s definitely been half an hour, and not a single form of life has entered my world. I shall wait a few minutes and then…well…I can’t really go anywhere. What is the year? A sharp pain slithers through each vessel in my brain. I bring my hand to my head and see dry blood on my palm. the skin is grazed, and bruised. How did this-


“Mr Hancock?” I look up and see this figure standing in the doorway. She seems to be frozen. A small lady, with brown hair pulled into a pony tail, a blue uniform on, and shock written across her face. “When did you wake up?” She asks, not moving from the door. I look at her and suddenly, I forget how to speak. She bites her lip, and nods, as though she understands that I am unable to speak. She looks on the outer side of the door, trying to get someones attention. I hold onto my palm, and wait. She nods at something, and comes into the room, closing the door behind her. She seems…on edge? She walks to the foot of my bed and picks up a brown rectangular board. She fumbles through the paper, but remains silent. I watch every move she makes from the blink of her eyes, to the parting of her mouth. She must have seen something in my eyes, or body language as she takes a deep breath and shakes her head. Placing the boards on the frame work of my bed, she comes over to the side and sits on the small red chair beside me. I purse my lips as does she. We both have something to say. I find it might be best to wait for her to go first.


She brings her hands together and looks at me. I look at her, and neither of us speak. Even though she is nervous, her presence makes me calm. Seeing another human that seems to care about my state of mind by not speaking makes me feel at ease. This being said, I wish she would just say something. 


The silence is driving me mad. I will have to say something, otherwise I’ll truly forget how to speak. 

“I don’t…”Her eyes lock on mine. I sense she wants me to continue, so I do. “I don’t … know…where I am… but …” Where do I begin? I’m going mad. It can’t have happened. I bite my lip, and shake my head, releasing eye contact and focusing on my palm. After a moment, I feel her small fingers wrap around my hand. I look up and see her brown eyes look further. She isn’t looking at me, she’s telling me something… Her soft voice filters the room “Go on.” I continue to let her hold my hand, and I begin.

“January 30th 1933, Germany.” She frowns, as though she wasn’t expecting that to come from my mouth.  I don’t care if I sound crazy, it is crazy, but I need to tell my story.

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