Jolt By Paul Hurst
Why this book is different.
People who write books all have a few things in common. They think they have something that's worth saying and they also believe that it's worth reading too. For some it's a long technical manual, a book that collates knowledge and expertise gleaned over many years. For other writers like me, it's based on one of the oldest human characteristics. The art of story telling. For a long time, telling a story via a book meant getting it published. This has meant that many great stories have never made it past pen and paper or in some cases, the playful minds of daydreamers and wonderers. Peril fraught quests have been unexplored and magnificent heroes have never had their chance to shine. It's both obvious and inevitable that some wonderful stories have simply been lost. I must not go any further without saying that I don't think this is necessarily one such tale. The book you are now reading may of been born out of my mind and written by my hand (via an iPad screen...) but I decided that in this internet age, it should be possible to share my story without the need for a publisher. Whether it's content is actually worthy of any sort of publication is a matter for you to decide for yourselves. This is my first novel. It is dedicated to my Wife, Emma who puts up with all my crazy ideas and also to my Mother and Father who helped me to dream a few in the first place, in fact my father wrote seven books of his own (truly by hand), none of which were published. Paul Hurst August 2010
1. The car didn’t stop. Sean didn’t open his eyes, he didn’t even wake from his sleep but he became aware that something strange was happening to him.
It started in his chest. Right in the very centre of his body and it happened very quickly. He didn’t open his eyes or move but for a split second he left his body. There was no pain but an incredible sense of energy and release. He didn’t see any lights or tunnels, he didn’t hear any voices but as he awoke, he knew that he’d just experienced something that mere words could not describe. He looked around. Nothing had changed in the car.
The London traffic didn't seem quite as dense as usual as Dr Sean Roper made his journey hope from Imperial College Hospital. He was used to journeying in-between many hospitals in the south east as part of his work and it was for that reason that he'd been allocated a driver. Sean didn't usually sleep during the journeys but he'd been working for 17 hours as part of an operating team, trying to save a window cleaners life after he had fallen from his ladder and impaled himself upon the railings. His fall may of been unfortunate and he was unaware of his condition but he was now receiving care from some of the most skilled doctors and surgeons in the country. A fact that despite which, few would probably choose to describe him as lucky.
Dr Sean Roper had worked hard to get to where he was today. He'd been in the job for 16 years and had worked his way from general surgery through to trauma then on to gunshots and the military hospitals in Birmingham before taking up a consultancy position. He now helped to tutor and train newcomers to one of the most demanding surgical positions. Lesson one he would often point out was where not only injury but also time were the medial teams worst enemy.