Startin' to write something.
======================
I approached the coach quickly. The horses reared at the sight of my hooded figure. The rain poured heavily down on my black cloak. As I stepped in, a strange sense of foreboding became prominent within me. The man inside greeted me with a cold smile. I waved coldly back. He too bore a hooded cloak. His hood obscured his features, making him difficult to identify. "Mr. Tensal, glad you could make it. I was beginning to think you wouldn't show up," said the hooded man. "Well, here I am," I replied. "There you sit." The driver started the horses. With a lurch, the coach moved steadily forward. "Have you ever been to Chrevlmoore?" the hooded man asked. "This would be my first time," I said. "Might I make a suggestion?" he said, "Keep your distinctions between reality and the macabre very clear." I looked quizzically at the man. "For now, though, I wouldn't pay that much mind."
Time seemed to slow down as the castle grew in the horizon. The sky appeared to darker than it was when we first set out. I fell asleep, hoping it would make the remaining trip go by faster.
"Get up," the hooded man said with conviction. I rubbed my eyes and turned my head to face the coach window. It was still pitch black outside. The hooded man was the first to step out. I followed after him, boots sloshing in the mud below. He gestured for me to come near. I obliged. "Julius," he said, "quickly, go back to the coach and fetch my lantern. There are things that I need to discuss with you on out walk over." I went fast as I could, grabbed the lantern from beneath the man's seat, and ran back over. the hooded man pulled a match out from one of the folds in his cloak, and in one swift motion struck it and dropped it into the glass compartment. Under the dim glow of the lantern, he set off down the damp dirt road. I followed close behind.
The distance to the castle looked to be roughly a couple leagues. "We couldn't have taken the coach all the way there?" I asked, "The path looks smooth enough." The hooded man came to a stop. He extended his arm and pointed to the north. The wet cobblestone of a massive stone bridge glistened in the moonlight. "Too narrow to cross by coach. This leg of the trip must be done on foot." And with that, he began walking again. And again, I followed. "What brought you here, Julius? What compelled you to come to Chrevlmoore?" asked the hooded man. "My father," I began to explain, "was a pioneer in every respect. He moved the field of anatomy further than anyone else with his research. Chrevlmoore was like his home away from home. He spent most of his years living in that place. I only ever saw him when I was in primary school; he walked out the door without even a goodbye to Mother. I was under her care for most of my life. I suppose the father I once knew has been long dead, and whatever research he left in that castle will help me find out everything else about him."
Highwire's short stories/microfiction/script center
Forum rules
This subforum is here for you to post up your poems or any creative writing based doodles or short stories you may have written.
This subforum is here for you to post up your poems or any creative writing based doodles or short stories you may have written.
Re: Highwire's short stories/microfiction/script center
by Highwire » November 4th, 2010, 8:48 pm
1st chapter is complete (albeit undergoing a bit of editing)!
==============
I approached the coach quickly. The horses reared at the sight of my hooded figure. Rain poured heavily down on my black cloak. As I stepped in, a strange sense of foreboding became prominent within me. The man inside greeted me with a cold smile. I waved coldly back. He too bore a hooded cloak. His hood obscured his features, making him difficult to identify. "Mr. Tensal, glad you could make it. I was beginning to think you wouldn't show up," said the hooded man. "Well, here I am," I replied. "There you sit." The driver started the horses. With a lurch, the coach moved steadily forward. "Have you ever been to Chrevlmoore?" the hooded man asked. "This would be my first time," I said. "Might I make a suggestion?" he said, "Keep your distinctions between reality and the macabre very clear." I looked quizzically at the man. "For now, though, I wouldn't pay that much mind."
Time seemed to slow down as the castle grew in the horizon. The sky appeared to darker than it was when we first set out. I fell asleep, hoping it would make the remaining trip go by faster.
"Get up," the hooded man said with conviction. I rubbed my eyes and turned my head to face the coach window. It was still pitch black outside. The hooded man was the first to step out. I followed after him, boots sloshing in the mud below. He gestured for me to come near. I obliged. "Julius," he said, "quickly, go back to the coach and fetch my lantern. There are things that I need to discuss with you on out walk over." I went fast as I could, grabbed the lantern from beneath the man's seat, and ran back over. the hooded man pulled a match out from one of the folds in his cloak, and in one swift motion struck it and dropped it into the glass compartment. Under the dim glow of the lantern, he set off down the damp dirt road. I followed close behind.
The distance to the castle looked to be roughly a couple leagues. "We couldn't have taken the coach all the way there?" I asked, "The path looks smooth enough." The hooded man came to a stop. He extended his arm and pointed to the north. The wet cobblestone of a massive stone bridge glistened in the moonlight. "Too narrow to cross by coach. This leg of the trip must be done on foot." And with that, he began walking again. And again, I followed. "What brought you here, Julius? What compelled you to come to Chrevlmoore?" asked the hooded man. "My father," I began to explain, "was a pioneer in every respect. He moved the field of anatomy further than anyone else with his research. Chrevlmoore was like his home away from home. He spent most of his years living in that place. I only ever saw him when I was in primary school; he walked out the door without even a goodbye to Mother. I was under her care for most of my life. I suppose the father I once knew has been long dead, and whatever research he left in that castle will help me find out everything else about him."
“Ahhh,” said the hooded man, “so this isn’t just a simple scientific expedition, eh? No, this is a son’s journey to find his heritage.” “You could phrase it like that.” In our chatter, we had lost track of time. We hard arrived at the foot of the bridge. The sky cracked open, and thunder pounded at the valley. Rain began to pour down. “We should stop here,” said the hooded man, “we’ll set up camp for the night and start off for Chrevlmoore in the morning.” He took his pitching equipment off his back and began pitching our tent.
Once inside, the stranger removed his hood revealing the face of a firmly built old man. He had the appearance of a clean, well-kempt man, but his finer features suggested that he was an avid outdoorsman. What stood out in particular were his eyes. The left was a bright green, and the right blood red. “I don’t believe I’ve formally introduced myself. Robert. Robert Waters.” He extended his hand to shake mine. “Jul-“ I began to say. “I’m already familiar with your name, Mr. Julius Tensal,” Robert interrupted. “A pleasure,” I said, and I grasped his hand and shook it.
The lightning and thunder kept us up through the night. Neither of us could get to sleep with the ruckus around us. “I knew Arthur – your father – quite well. We worked together in that castle for years. He was brilliant, no doubt, but as with any man, he had his flaws. And his biggest…” Robert paused for a moment before continuing, “…was his ambition.”
I stared up at the roof of the tent for the next couple of minutes, thinking about what he had just said. “Mr. Waters, what do you mean, ‘ambition’?” I tried to say, but he was already fast asleep.
==============
I approached the coach quickly. The horses reared at the sight of my hooded figure. Rain poured heavily down on my black cloak. As I stepped in, a strange sense of foreboding became prominent within me. The man inside greeted me with a cold smile. I waved coldly back. He too bore a hooded cloak. His hood obscured his features, making him difficult to identify. "Mr. Tensal, glad you could make it. I was beginning to think you wouldn't show up," said the hooded man. "Well, here I am," I replied. "There you sit." The driver started the horses. With a lurch, the coach moved steadily forward. "Have you ever been to Chrevlmoore?" the hooded man asked. "This would be my first time," I said. "Might I make a suggestion?" he said, "Keep your distinctions between reality and the macabre very clear." I looked quizzically at the man. "For now, though, I wouldn't pay that much mind."
Time seemed to slow down as the castle grew in the horizon. The sky appeared to darker than it was when we first set out. I fell asleep, hoping it would make the remaining trip go by faster.
"Get up," the hooded man said with conviction. I rubbed my eyes and turned my head to face the coach window. It was still pitch black outside. The hooded man was the first to step out. I followed after him, boots sloshing in the mud below. He gestured for me to come near. I obliged. "Julius," he said, "quickly, go back to the coach and fetch my lantern. There are things that I need to discuss with you on out walk over." I went fast as I could, grabbed the lantern from beneath the man's seat, and ran back over. the hooded man pulled a match out from one of the folds in his cloak, and in one swift motion struck it and dropped it into the glass compartment. Under the dim glow of the lantern, he set off down the damp dirt road. I followed close behind.
The distance to the castle looked to be roughly a couple leagues. "We couldn't have taken the coach all the way there?" I asked, "The path looks smooth enough." The hooded man came to a stop. He extended his arm and pointed to the north. The wet cobblestone of a massive stone bridge glistened in the moonlight. "Too narrow to cross by coach. This leg of the trip must be done on foot." And with that, he began walking again. And again, I followed. "What brought you here, Julius? What compelled you to come to Chrevlmoore?" asked the hooded man. "My father," I began to explain, "was a pioneer in every respect. He moved the field of anatomy further than anyone else with his research. Chrevlmoore was like his home away from home. He spent most of his years living in that place. I only ever saw him when I was in primary school; he walked out the door without even a goodbye to Mother. I was under her care for most of my life. I suppose the father I once knew has been long dead, and whatever research he left in that castle will help me find out everything else about him."
“Ahhh,” said the hooded man, “so this isn’t just a simple scientific expedition, eh? No, this is a son’s journey to find his heritage.” “You could phrase it like that.” In our chatter, we had lost track of time. We hard arrived at the foot of the bridge. The sky cracked open, and thunder pounded at the valley. Rain began to pour down. “We should stop here,” said the hooded man, “we’ll set up camp for the night and start off for Chrevlmoore in the morning.” He took his pitching equipment off his back and began pitching our tent.
Once inside, the stranger removed his hood revealing the face of a firmly built old man. He had the appearance of a clean, well-kempt man, but his finer features suggested that he was an avid outdoorsman. What stood out in particular were his eyes. The left was a bright green, and the right blood red. “I don’t believe I’ve formally introduced myself. Robert. Robert Waters.” He extended his hand to shake mine. “Jul-“ I began to say. “I’m already familiar with your name, Mr. Julius Tensal,” Robert interrupted. “A pleasure,” I said, and I grasped his hand and shook it.
The lightning and thunder kept us up through the night. Neither of us could get to sleep with the ruckus around us. “I knew Arthur – your father – quite well. We worked together in that castle for years. He was brilliant, no doubt, but as with any man, he had his flaws. And his biggest…” Robert paused for a moment before continuing, “…was his ambition.”
I stared up at the roof of the tent for the next couple of minutes, thinking about what he had just said. “Mr. Waters, what do you mean, ‘ambition’?” I tried to say, but he was already fast asleep.
-
Highwire - As Ninja As Myst
- Posts: 166
- Joined: August 5th, 2009, 9:37 am
- Thumbs Up given: 2 times
- Thumbs Up received: 7 times
Re: Highwire's short stories/microfiction/script center
by Highwire » November 14th, 2010, 2:54 pm
Looking back at it, my writing really has improved over the years. I wrote this in January this year, and I'd say my writing's come pretty far.
Far From Utopia
Chapter 1
Jents Riley was a chamber man. So was his father, and his father before him. Jents knew his boundaries, knew where he was and wasn't supposed to be at whichever given time. He, like every other chamber man or chamber woman, knew his place, and lived by routine and linearity. It was by this unexciting code, this beaten path through time, that him and everyone else were expected to follow.
Out of bed by 6:30 A.M.
Breakfast at 7:00 A.M.
Testing preparation from 7:30-7:45 A.M.
Physical testing from 7:50-11:15 A.M.
Lunch at 11:20 A.M.
Mental testing 11:50 A.M.-2:15 P.M.
Exercise break 2:20 P.M.
Learning period 2:50-7:00 P.M.
Dinner 7:05 P.M.
Rest 8:00 P.M.
Every day, at those exact times, a plain white intercom would announce which event was to come next. Not that it ever needed to. Knowledge of their schedule had become generational knowledge for most of the test subjects. Jents' chamber clock struck 6:30. A small white intercom in the corner of his room turned on.
"Good morning, subjects!" the intercom announced, "We hope you had a pleasant night's sleep. It is now time to report to the central dining hall for breakfast. Thank you for listening, and have a wonderful day!" The intercom promptly shut off.
Jents opened his sleeping pod and stepped out, on the exact same spot he had stepped on since he had first started testing. As he walked over to his wardrobe, songs from the public domain blared throughout the room, the intercom's alarm music used to wake up sleeping test subjects. No subject groaned, or rubbed their eyes, or covered their heads with their pillows. Almost as if in unison, each test subject in Jents' chamber opened and stepped out of their sleeping pods and walked over to their wardrobes. Jents' opened his and put on his uniform, a bright blue, one-pieced, freshly washed and ironed uniform with the letters "SPL" printed neatly on the breast pocket.
One by one, each of the test subjects made their way out the chamber and into Corridor 5A, which they would follow until they reached Corridor 5, a direct route to the Central Dining Hall.
If one were looking through the eyes of one of the subjects, they would open the latch in the door to be looking at the corridor wall, with a small box with clouds in it that read "Sky Patch Labs". What you would not expect to see, however, is a mangled corpse lying on the ground before you. If you were to see this, you would most likely be in the body of Dimitri Wells, who found such a thing lying outside his chamber at 6:31 A.M. that morning.
================
"All our knowledge merely helps us to die a more painful death than animals that know nothing."
-Maurice Maeterlinck
Chapter 2
No sooner had Jents stepped out the door than a blood-curdling scream echoed throughout the corridor. It is important to note that the average Sky Patch Labs test subject does live by a routine code, but they are still human, and subject to human emotions such as fear.
Jents and his chambermates ran over to the now mortified Dimitri, whose face had gone a deathly pale. "W-w-who... W-w-when..." Dimitri stuttered, looking at the bloody mess in front of him, "I thought... they said... this wouldn't happen, couldn't, can't... Impossible..."
"Calm down, Dim. We're not getting anywhere by just standing here. I'll alert SWEEP," said Thomas Larson, one of Jents' chambermates, "just hang tight until I get back." Thomas ran off down the corridor, towards Corridor 4B. Jents, Dimitri, and the rest of the group stood there, staring at the body with looks of shock and disgust on their faces.
"Jents, you heard them! When we first started testing, they told us we were under the utmost protection! They said that no one would be harmed under their surveillance. What a load of crap..." said Dimitri.
"Don't upset yourself over this, Dim. Everything's going to be fine. They'll sort it out," Jents said with a tone that exclaimed most assuredly that everything was not going to be alright. A faint alarm could be heard from the distance. Thomas came running back, with a waist-high robot trailing behind him. On its shining white exterior, there were five black letters evenly spaced across the mid-portion: "S W E E P".
It should be noted that SWEEP doesn't actually stand for anything in particular, but was just an name that the creator came up with as a way of trying to sound professional by using fake acronyms. SWEEP had been Sky Patch Laboratory's robotic custodian for as long as the facility had existed. Higher management had thought about replacing him several times, but it went against budget concerns. SWEEP knew the building inside and out, and could even narrate to you the entire labelled electric grid from internal memory. The only one piece of equipment that knew more than him was METIS, the Man-made Electronic Testing and Intelligent System.
In the entire 346 year period that Sky Patch Labs had existed, not a single murder had taken place. This body went against testing protocol and corridor cleanliness policies, and did not please SWEEP at all.
"NO, NO, NO. THIS WON'T DO. MESSY, MESSY, MESSY. CLEAN UP AT ONCE," said SWEEP with a frantic tone, "SUBJECT 17598-CH, WHY WAS THIS NOT ATTENDED TO EARLIER?" he said to Thomas.
"SWEEP, you don't understand, this man was mur-"
"17598-CH, PROTOCOL STRICTLY DICTATES THAT ANY AND ALL BLOOD OR MESS CAUSED BY INJURY BE DEALT WITH USING RUBBING ALCOHOL AND FRESH SPONGES. ARE YOU SUGGESTING THAT I GO AGAINST PROTOCOL? A FOOLISH STATEMENT INDEED, SUBJECT," SWEEP interupted. "IF YOU HAVE AN ISSUE WITH PROTOCOL, PLEASE CONSULT MANAGEMENT. I AM ONLY DOING WHAT I HAVE BEEN INSTRUCTED TO DO. NOW IF THE RESIDENTS OF CHAMBER 1678 AND 1680 WOULD PLEASE REPORT TO THE CENTRAL DINING HALL, YOU ARE ALREADY EXCEEDINGLY LATE FOR BREAKFAST."
Thomas looked intensely at SWEEP for a few moments. He turned to his chambermates. "The rest of you go on. I need to spend a bit more time here."
With that, Jents, Dimitri and the group set off to go to the Central Dining Hall. They didn't touch their food that breakfast.
================
"Computers are useless. They can only give you answers."
- Pablo Picasso
Chapter 3
"You look a bit discolored today, Jents," said Jared Terrin—Jents' lab physician—as he put a test tube Jents' daily urine sample into a large cylindrical tube attached to his computer labelled PROCESSING, "did anything happen this morning that I should be aware of? You do know that stress can alter your test results."
"Yes, Dr. Terrin, I am aware of that. I think it may have just been lack of sleep," said Jents.
The computer that the processing tube was attached to made a pleasant ringing sound, and a green box with the word "CLEAN" written inside flashed on the monitor. "Alright, I'll take your word for it," said Dr. Terrin, sounding mildly concerned. "Your urine checks out clean, as expected from such a fit man as yourself. Thank you Jents. Your daily physical examination is over."
There were still traces of the events from earlier that morning clouding Jents mind as he went through his physical tests. On the treadmill, he was deep in thought. 'I AM ONLY DOING WHAT I HAVE BEEN INSTRUCTED TO DO.' Who the hell in higher management instructed SWEEP what to do if there's a damned corpse outside a chamber? If this is supposed to be 'The safest test facility in the world,' then how come other test facilities don't have murder victims strewn over their floors? Jents kept repeating questions, questions, and more questions in his head, trying to find some sort of thing, some sort of memory that would help him get to the bottom of this.
Well, thank God it wasn't me, or any of my friends for that matter. Jents pressed the "Increase Speed" button on the treadmill, and the pace gradually increased. His heart rate kept astonishingly level, even as the treadmill went to a 20 mile per hour pace. THUMP THUMP. As his heart began to beat louder, Jents thought deeper, determined to find that one memory.
Wait, there was something I caught... THUMP THUMP. Something the others didn't catch while they were looking at the body... THUMP THUMP. There were numbers. Numbers written on the wall! God... What were they? Wait, no! I do remember! 5... THUMP. 2... THUMP. 7... THUMP. 0... THUMP. 6.
Jents looked down at his uniform. The letters "SPL" were printed neatly across the breast pocket. Below them were—printed equally neatly in shining white print—were the numbers "52706".
Far From Utopia
Chapter 1
Jents Riley was a chamber man. So was his father, and his father before him. Jents knew his boundaries, knew where he was and wasn't supposed to be at whichever given time. He, like every other chamber man or chamber woman, knew his place, and lived by routine and linearity. It was by this unexciting code, this beaten path through time, that him and everyone else were expected to follow.
Out of bed by 6:30 A.M.
Breakfast at 7:00 A.M.
Testing preparation from 7:30-7:45 A.M.
Physical testing from 7:50-11:15 A.M.
Lunch at 11:20 A.M.
Mental testing 11:50 A.M.-2:15 P.M.
Exercise break 2:20 P.M.
Learning period 2:50-7:00 P.M.
Dinner 7:05 P.M.
Rest 8:00 P.M.
Every day, at those exact times, a plain white intercom would announce which event was to come next. Not that it ever needed to. Knowledge of their schedule had become generational knowledge for most of the test subjects. Jents' chamber clock struck 6:30. A small white intercom in the corner of his room turned on.
"Good morning, subjects!" the intercom announced, "We hope you had a pleasant night's sleep. It is now time to report to the central dining hall for breakfast. Thank you for listening, and have a wonderful day!" The intercom promptly shut off.
Jents opened his sleeping pod and stepped out, on the exact same spot he had stepped on since he had first started testing. As he walked over to his wardrobe, songs from the public domain blared throughout the room, the intercom's alarm music used to wake up sleeping test subjects. No subject groaned, or rubbed their eyes, or covered their heads with their pillows. Almost as if in unison, each test subject in Jents' chamber opened and stepped out of their sleeping pods and walked over to their wardrobes. Jents' opened his and put on his uniform, a bright blue, one-pieced, freshly washed and ironed uniform with the letters "SPL" printed neatly on the breast pocket.
One by one, each of the test subjects made their way out the chamber and into Corridor 5A, which they would follow until they reached Corridor 5, a direct route to the Central Dining Hall.
If one were looking through the eyes of one of the subjects, they would open the latch in the door to be looking at the corridor wall, with a small box with clouds in it that read "Sky Patch Labs". What you would not expect to see, however, is a mangled corpse lying on the ground before you. If you were to see this, you would most likely be in the body of Dimitri Wells, who found such a thing lying outside his chamber at 6:31 A.M. that morning.
================
"All our knowledge merely helps us to die a more painful death than animals that know nothing."
-Maurice Maeterlinck
Chapter 2
No sooner had Jents stepped out the door than a blood-curdling scream echoed throughout the corridor. It is important to note that the average Sky Patch Labs test subject does live by a routine code, but they are still human, and subject to human emotions such as fear.
Jents and his chambermates ran over to the now mortified Dimitri, whose face had gone a deathly pale. "W-w-who... W-w-when..." Dimitri stuttered, looking at the bloody mess in front of him, "I thought... they said... this wouldn't happen, couldn't, can't... Impossible..."
"Calm down, Dim. We're not getting anywhere by just standing here. I'll alert SWEEP," said Thomas Larson, one of Jents' chambermates, "just hang tight until I get back." Thomas ran off down the corridor, towards Corridor 4B. Jents, Dimitri, and the rest of the group stood there, staring at the body with looks of shock and disgust on their faces.
"Jents, you heard them! When we first started testing, they told us we were under the utmost protection! They said that no one would be harmed under their surveillance. What a load of crap..." said Dimitri.
"Don't upset yourself over this, Dim. Everything's going to be fine. They'll sort it out," Jents said with a tone that exclaimed most assuredly that everything was not going to be alright. A faint alarm could be heard from the distance. Thomas came running back, with a waist-high robot trailing behind him. On its shining white exterior, there were five black letters evenly spaced across the mid-portion: "S W E E P".
It should be noted that SWEEP doesn't actually stand for anything in particular, but was just an name that the creator came up with as a way of trying to sound professional by using fake acronyms. SWEEP had been Sky Patch Laboratory's robotic custodian for as long as the facility had existed. Higher management had thought about replacing him several times, but it went against budget concerns. SWEEP knew the building inside and out, and could even narrate to you the entire labelled electric grid from internal memory. The only one piece of equipment that knew more than him was METIS, the Man-made Electronic Testing and Intelligent System.
In the entire 346 year period that Sky Patch Labs had existed, not a single murder had taken place. This body went against testing protocol and corridor cleanliness policies, and did not please SWEEP at all.
"NO, NO, NO. THIS WON'T DO. MESSY, MESSY, MESSY. CLEAN UP AT ONCE," said SWEEP with a frantic tone, "SUBJECT 17598-CH, WHY WAS THIS NOT ATTENDED TO EARLIER?" he said to Thomas.
"SWEEP, you don't understand, this man was mur-"
"17598-CH, PROTOCOL STRICTLY DICTATES THAT ANY AND ALL BLOOD OR MESS CAUSED BY INJURY BE DEALT WITH USING RUBBING ALCOHOL AND FRESH SPONGES. ARE YOU SUGGESTING THAT I GO AGAINST PROTOCOL? A FOOLISH STATEMENT INDEED, SUBJECT," SWEEP interupted. "IF YOU HAVE AN ISSUE WITH PROTOCOL, PLEASE CONSULT MANAGEMENT. I AM ONLY DOING WHAT I HAVE BEEN INSTRUCTED TO DO. NOW IF THE RESIDENTS OF CHAMBER 1678 AND 1680 WOULD PLEASE REPORT TO THE CENTRAL DINING HALL, YOU ARE ALREADY EXCEEDINGLY LATE FOR BREAKFAST."
Thomas looked intensely at SWEEP for a few moments. He turned to his chambermates. "The rest of you go on. I need to spend a bit more time here."
With that, Jents, Dimitri and the group set off to go to the Central Dining Hall. They didn't touch their food that breakfast.
================
"Computers are useless. They can only give you answers."
- Pablo Picasso
Chapter 3
"You look a bit discolored today, Jents," said Jared Terrin—Jents' lab physician—as he put a test tube Jents' daily urine sample into a large cylindrical tube attached to his computer labelled PROCESSING, "did anything happen this morning that I should be aware of? You do know that stress can alter your test results."
"Yes, Dr. Terrin, I am aware of that. I think it may have just been lack of sleep," said Jents.
The computer that the processing tube was attached to made a pleasant ringing sound, and a green box with the word "CLEAN" written inside flashed on the monitor. "Alright, I'll take your word for it," said Dr. Terrin, sounding mildly concerned. "Your urine checks out clean, as expected from such a fit man as yourself. Thank you Jents. Your daily physical examination is over."
There were still traces of the events from earlier that morning clouding Jents mind as he went through his physical tests. On the treadmill, he was deep in thought. 'I AM ONLY DOING WHAT I HAVE BEEN INSTRUCTED TO DO.' Who the hell in higher management instructed SWEEP what to do if there's a damned corpse outside a chamber? If this is supposed to be 'The safest test facility in the world,' then how come other test facilities don't have murder victims strewn over their floors? Jents kept repeating questions, questions, and more questions in his head, trying to find some sort of thing, some sort of memory that would help him get to the bottom of this.
Well, thank God it wasn't me, or any of my friends for that matter. Jents pressed the "Increase Speed" button on the treadmill, and the pace gradually increased. His heart rate kept astonishingly level, even as the treadmill went to a 20 mile per hour pace. THUMP THUMP. As his heart began to beat louder, Jents thought deeper, determined to find that one memory.
Wait, there was something I caught... THUMP THUMP. Something the others didn't catch while they were looking at the body... THUMP THUMP. There were numbers. Numbers written on the wall! God... What were they? Wait, no! I do remember! 5... THUMP. 2... THUMP. 7... THUMP. 0... THUMP. 6.
Jents looked down at his uniform. The letters "SPL" were printed neatly across the breast pocket. Below them were—printed equally neatly in shining white print—were the numbers "52706".
-
Highwire - As Ninja As Myst
- Posts: 166
- Joined: August 5th, 2009, 9:37 am
- Thumbs Up given: 2 times
- Thumbs Up received: 7 times
23 posts
• Page 3 of 3 • 1, 2, 3