Tuesday, November 18, 2008

--Random start of a story that I didn't want to write but it wouldn't get out of my head until I wrote it. Might work on it some more, but I'm attempting to write something different and in the midst of writer's block it's good to just write for the sake of writing I guess.

Gordon couldn't think. He didn't have time to think. He didn't even have time to breathe because something was already breathing an icy cold breath from behind him, prickling the hairs on the back of his neck, sending tingles down his spine to the top of his forehead. Christ, he thought. You call this spring? It's fucking freezing out here. He thrust his fists into his coat pockets and began walking briskly down the deserted street–of course everything seemed deserted these days—and kept his head low, not daring to turn behind showing a flash of his white face to whatever lurks in the darkness. A move like that could be just the signal the creature needs to lunge and attack. He turns a few corners and slumps down beside an abandoned building and rests, watching clouds of his own steamy breath billow out of his mouth—strange for nearly the end of April in the South. A lot seemed strange to Gordon these past few days. Everything happened so fast; as though he were in a dream and someone had hit the fast forward button, then decided to spontaneously ejected the tape midway through without letting him view the ending. Why is everything so goddamn cold!? He wraps his arms around himself for warmth and slowly his eyelids get heavy while he sits on the almost-frozen concrete struggling to remember what had happened to him.

#

‘Where am I?’
‘Relax Mr. Eltiers. That is correct, isn't it? Gordon Eltiers?’
‘Yeah, that’s me. Why am I tied down? Who the fuck are all these people? Don’t you know who I am? Do you even know my family?? You know I could kill you all of you and break out of here in less than 30 seconds, right? You do know that, don’t you?’
‘Trust me Mr. Eltiers we know all about you. We have taken every precaution to ensure you cannot escape, so don’t bother trying.’
‘Bullshit, tell me who you are!’
‘You see Mr. Eltiers, you’ve been selected for a special project, mostly because of your… advanced abilities. Try not to struggle. This won’t hurt too much.’

A computer voice announces: Subject number thirteen, trial two-hundred forty seven; commencing DNA stabilization injection one of seventeen.

Gordon feels as though an axe is slicing through his entire skull, made of solid ice. His boiling blood chills in his veins and he struggles to scream before being frozen into a statue and his entire consciousness blinks out in a flash. A solid white smoke envelopes his now rigid body, entombed in a liquid nitrogen-induced coma, if you can call it that. The computerized voice reports: DNA stabilization complete. Suspended animation achieved.

#

Gordon snaps out of his dream when he hears a loud screeching sound coming straight at the left side of his head. He deftly manages to grab catch a fast-moving, furry animal out of mid-air, frothing at the mouth, seething and clawing towards at his face and hands. The rabid squirrel he's caught attempts to bite him and as a reflex he just tosses the mangy rodent as far as he can in the opposite direction. He stares at his left hand in amazement. Huh. I’m right handed too. He thought. Holy shit, how did I do that? He notices a few scratches on his hand and started thinking he might get rabies. He also thought he had gotten bitten, but didn’t see any marks.

It was morning now, not quite as cold, so he decided he would get up and explore a little bit and maybe find some signs of civilization. He still couldn’t figure out why just three or four days ago–Had it been four days?–he was hanging out with his buddies having beers and suddenly he’s tossed into some strange wasteland he doesn’t even recognize anymore. He did feel good though, a little strange and disoriented at first, but physically he felt surprisingly alert and full of energy. He was guessing that’d be a good thing since he may become short of food and water within the next few days if he didn’t come up with a plan, and soon.

After walking for hours and not finding much, Gordon managed to stumble upon what looked like a deserted main street of a small town. No people were to be found anywhere, the store windows where all broken open but nothing appeared to be looted or stolen. It looked just as though nature had taken its course and wreaked havoc over time, causing everything to appear weather-beaten. Instead of looking for a grocery store for some salvageable canned goods, Gordon was compelled to enter another shop across the street: an old army surplus store. He rationalized it to himself that he would most likely need protection from whatever is out there as well, so he should see what is in the store, but the draw to the store was almost as intoxicating as it was instinctual.

As he entered the store he was surrounded by all sorts of weapons of destruction, items for protection and of course some collector’s relics. Most seemed unfamiliar to him, yet he still felt like a kid in a candy store. He found a samurai sword and, having never held one before, he decided to wield it, just for kicks. Grasping the finely crafted steel blade, he swung it left and right with the dexterity of one of the finest samurai warriors. He spun around and sliced clear through a beam behind him, supporting an upper level of the building. The upper floor slightly caved down, creaked and looked as though it were about to give way. He decided to sheath the sword and tie it around his back, for safe keeping. As he went around the store, he noticed he had incredibly advanced skills with almost every single weapon in the shop, yet had no idea how he acquired such abilities, not that he was complaining. He properly unpacked and assembled a complicated sniper rifle complete with scope and laser sight, then repacked it into the briefcase it came in, knew the position of every safety, trigger, magazine clip, chamber, and perfectly sighted every weapon he held like a professional. He found a military issue backpack and duffle bag and loaded up with as much gear as he could carry. Various items from rope, to guns and knives, shuriken, grenades, trip wire proximity mines, night vision goggles, even a rocket-propelled grenade launcher (RPG), with scope. Most, if not all of these items would be foreign to most people but were second nature to Gordon and almost seemed to make him happy. He may have to visit his happy place a few times.

Gordon managed to find appropriate shelter a short distance from the surplus store—the street which also contained, as luck would have it—a rundown grocery store with old food that could still be eaten. He grabbed a big buck knife and a few shuriken and began throwing them at trees nearby and noticed he could hit almost anything from any distance with incredible accuracy. This was really starting to freak him out. He couldn’t figure out what was wrong with his memory or who he used to be. At almost 100 metres away, Gordon focused on the tree and then closed his eyes and laughed to himself. There’s no way I can hit this. He took a throwing star out of his pocket and threw it at the tree, and of course he missed. Hah. I knew it. Then he thought for a second. It’s a little windy out and those stars are kinda light, I didn’t account for that. Maybe I should try again. He looked at the tree again, then closed his eyes but this time he focused on the mental image of the tree 100 metres away, breathed in deeply and then out. He threw the shuriken upwards and to the right a little bit, as hard as he could. Without opening his eyes and in the same fashion, he threw three more as fast as he could. He walked down to the tree and all four hit the tree exactly at exactly his eye level, two in the same groove in the tree, and the other two about a quarter of an inch to the right from the first two. He just stared.

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