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Thread: [Fiction] The Unstable

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    Tom Paine's Avatar Mr Common Sense
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    Default [Fiction] The Unstable



    Author: Libertine
    Original Thread: The Unstable

    The UnstableAs he sat at his desk listening to an American band shout about Prisons and Crack and thinking about how to win the writing contest he rolled up a joint, he had had the gear for a bit but had never had the time to actually smoke it....

    He lent back and the world turned,

    The book he had picked up earlier on that day was sitting on his desk - The Salmon of Doubt by Douglas Adams...the cover was a picture of space with a fish on it, actually the fish was a Salmon which is a good thing when he considered the fact the book was named after the Salmon.

    while he ran down a corridor,

    The purple light faded from sight, his head swirled as he sat up. A rat sped out of the way as he tried to step forward but to no avail, with a colossal crash he toppled onto his back and lay there, trying to catch his breath. He tried to remember how he got into such a strange position..he never normally got drunk enough to get into the condition he was in, and it definitely wasn't the weed - he hadn't had enough for one - thinking, lying on the ground. It was warm but still he shivered. Now that the purple light was gone he was left in darkness.

    lights flashing behind him,

    He groaned, still not sure of his surroundings he tried the obvious plan - find the light-switch. As he rose he felt a lot steadier on his feet this time round. One step at a time he traversed the room, the darkness was cloying, the air stifling him. It wasn't that he was afraid of the dark, it was that he was afraid of this dark.

    he stumbled but kept on running,

    As the lights flicked on he recoiled in surprise; he was in his house but it was different somehow, the stains on the wall were new but the sofa was definitely his, as was the television and the carpet.....but the stains, the colour of the walls and the ashtray were not. He realised he had been lying on the sofa, and that the staines on the wall were identical to the one on his sofa. On closer inspection the sofa stain was a dark dry colour that could have been black - but in the dim light provided by the energy saving light bulb - it had a faint red tint. Blood. Were the hell had it come from?? what happened to his house?! As he panicked he a thought flashed into his head "He lent back and the world turned" - his chair and the dope he had....after having a drag he had lent back and collapsed into unconsciousness.

    he tripped again, catching his foot on the sidewalk,

    The thought that he was in a place that was almost certainly his room, but the walls were stained with what could only be described as blood dragged him down into the morass of emotions that circled his mind, panic kicked in, followed by extreme depression..what the hell had actually happened.....there was blood on the walls but he had no cuts....his outline was imprinted on the stained sofa and he was sure that he was ok.

    he panicked

    He walked into the next room, his bedroom, the walls were also caked in the supposed blood...apart from one patch which was still white, the clear patch spelt out a sentence. He approached the wall and studied it, the words from a song he had been listening to were scrawled onto the wall -"He's gone so far to find the truth, he's never coming home.."- this puzzled him. He could remember listening to it but there was no importance to the song, at least not to him.

    and pulled out his cell phone,

    He ran downstairs, the door was open..he could of sworn that he had left it closed and locked, but then he was absolutely positive he had not covered his walls in blood - strange things were happening, his mind caved in and he couldn't cope.....

    he tried to call his partner but he couldn't get through,

    Bright lights flashed on, the walls of his mental prison were purely white, a clinical white but there were no doctors there, there was no one, no nothing there......just him and himself. The whiteness pounded at his eyes, so bright, so white..he couldn't think and he could not cope. He tried to will himself to sleep but it wasn't possible, he pinched himself but he could feel it....something was horribly wrong here. There was no source for the lights but they were reflected a hundred fold by the shade of the walls. As his mind swirled he felt the ground lurch and rumble. He tried taking a step and the ground shook even more violently than before. It was past the stage of shaking, now it was a tremor....it grew in intensity and he felt himself collapse and roll over..........

    the cell phone flew from his hand but not from any exertion of his


    And over. A huge smashing noise above his head alerted him to his surroundings - wherever the hell he was he had to escape, and he had to do it quickly. Colours coalesced in his mind and whenever he tried to clear it he only succeeded in making them more vivid and painful. He stood and ran, he didn't know from what he was running - or from whom - but all he knew was that he had to run, to break free of his chains and leave this piece of hell that was inhabited only by the very thing he feared the most - his imagination.

    he ducked and rolled off to the left


    The Whiteness was fading, becoming less bright one would even say dull, but the shade also changed to dark red - still he ran. the whiteness of his consciousness disappeared as he gained momentum and the walls took on the shade of the house that could have been his. Suddenly he stopped and flew back three feet, as if he had hit a patio door......he was back in the room. Stains on the wall and sofa, the TV on a pay-per-view S&M channel. With the sick and sordid noises emanating from the TV he found it harder to concentrate than he had thought possible with the experiences of the last ten, twenty minutes? he didn't know how long he had been out for, it was all a bleak memory, strong, but painful. He lurched over to the TV and switched it off, the quietness settled like a blanket around him. The room was still a mess.

    something shot past his head as he tumbled


    He woke up sweating, there was something in his arm.....it was a drip...he must be in a hospital, how did he get there? there were 3 other people in the ward with him, all were asleep. His other hand was bandaged and he couldn't move it even if he had wanted to.
    He tried to get up but the pain in his right arm pushed him back to the ward bed. He lapsed back into a troubled sleep.

    picking himself up he continued to run


    The ward bed was rolling down a corridor, his hand still firmly bandaged - the bed as being pushed by a couple of nurses and the doctor in front didn't once turn around and look at him. As the doctor neared his destination his pace quickened as did that of the nurses.

    he stopped and turned, preparing to go down fighting

    The elevator descended, the doors slid open and the bed was wheeled out. He wanted to speak but he didn't know what to say, he wanted to run but he didn't know were to run to, he wanted to cry but he could not show any kind of weakness. They approached the operating theatre.

    he lost his breath as the punch connected with his stomach

    He had time to see the needle go into his arm before the knock-out effect kicked in. He had time for one last silent scream as he realised what he had done.

    his reflexes kicked in, and he pulled the trigger of his gun, shattering the silence of the fight with an ear splitting roar. The cop lay dead, a bullet through his forehead. He realised what he had done.....he stopped, dropped the gun and started to cry, the other cops circled him and closed the gap quickly and professionally.......he knew his fate.
    Last edited by Sir Adrian; December 25, 2013 at 05:45 AM. Reason: updated author name

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