Post by Drakz on Mar 10, 2008 13:56:22 GMT -5
In the darkness there is a mere glimmer, a reflection in fact. Normally the average eye would be forgiven for overlooking such a small detail but against the deep blue-black that is darkness it is very much a defining feature. The light causing the reflection creeps through the door's keyhole on the opposite side of the room but there isn't enough of it to even begin making out the room's contents. Then out of the silence a brief grinding is heard and a small spark dances momentarily on the spot before disappearing just as quickly as it came. Shortly after, the grind is heard again only this time the spark becomes a small flame. The room is instantly transformed and shadows are thrown against all of its walls, contorting and wavering along with the flame. The source of the flame is the lighter held in the hands of a hooded figure and the reflection 1st caused by the key hole is now far more distinguished. The reflected flames mimic their original perfectly, glowing in the dome like eyes of the mask worn by the anonymous. As hard as it is to see past these flames the plain whites of the figure's eyes can be seen. No distinguishable pupil, no hint of an emotion, no sense of identity. The figure wavers his hand through the flame as though to tease it but seemingly becomes bored of this game and the flame dies plunging the room back into darkness once more. A voice from deep inside the unknown's head speaks, but only to himself.
“All this darkness, you'd think it would be enough to get a man down, if a man is what I am, I'm not sure anymore to be honest, not that I'm a tranny or anything like that, it's more that I've forgotten myself. Why is it everything I say comes off like I'm a acne ridden teenager with only his d*ck to play with? The thing is though I physically mean what I say, I don't mean it in any sort of post modern ironic sense or any of that crap. At least there's only me in here to hear it.”
The lighter sparks and ignites again and the reflections return, just as vivid as before. The masked man doesn't move an inch, just continues to stare into the light.
“Don't “I” know that all this staring into flames has gotta be bad for “my” sight? Not that “I” care that much I shouldn't think. It's a shame these damn limbs don't do what I say any more cause I'm sure I could find a million and one things that are far more creative than sitting here waiting for the gas in this lighter to run out. Maybe if I scream loud enough “I” might let myself have a go, even if it's just for a quick walk down the road and back, “I” could seriously do with stretching “my” legs.”
“OI!”
The figure continues to stare at the flame
“OI!”
Again the figure doesn't respond
“I don't even know if I'm trapped in here or if I was just dreamt up in here. Either way things are looking pretty bleak, that might have something to do with this dump of a room “I'm” sat in though. I wouldn't go as far as labelling this whole situation depressing but it sure as hell doesn't make me wanna sing and dance, not that I could even if I wanted to.”
The hooded figure now moves for the first time, leaning over (lighter in hand) toward a book shelf. He uses the glow of the flame to see what he is reaching for before snatching it up in the palm of his hand. He sets the tea light from the shelf down on his knee and proceeds to light it, the already singed string in the centre brings itself back to life again and provides such a light that almost all of the room, small as it is, is visible now. The room, although lit now, still hides its identity in terms of its use as the only important furnishings of the room are the bookshelf, the wooden crate the stranger sits on and an old wooden chest that has laid seemingly untouched for years. The figure now reaches to the shelf once more causing the precariously balanced candle to slip almost right off his leg. However he is well aware of this and grabs the sides of it with his index finger and thumb. The bridge formed by his hand over the flame remains there while he re-adjusts the candle's position. The heat from the flame burns his skin but he neither flinches nor makes any noise that would indicate that he is in any pain. Once the candle is steady he reaches once more for the folder that sits on the shelf. The elastic strap that holds it closed comes off easily in his hand and he begins to flick through its contents.
“What do we have here then? This looks very official and important. At least while I'm in here “I'm” making money. Or could I be working to sabotage a large corporation that has wronged me? This could be some real life comic-book vigilante sh*t. HAHA I only wish that was true, it might make watching through these eyes that little bit more bearable.”
The figure turns a few pages before stopping briefly on one.
“What the hell is this? Kurt Burton? This looks like some kind of biography. It's got all his details written down here, it's even got a polaroid.”
The page is turned.
“Obo? Who are these people? This seems a little more sinister than I first thought. Am “I” a stalker of some kind? Man that's low, even for me. Plus so far all I've seen is guys in here, which leads me to wonder................yuck that doesn't bare thinking about.”
After a few more pages have been quickly examined the figure stops on one.
“Big Mike? What a f*ck of a name. His parents should be shot. I still don't understand what these files are though, more importantly I don't understand why “I've” got them. Hang on has this t*t got his name written on his sunglasses?”
The figure snaps the folder closed almost on the word “sunglasses” before holding his head with both hands.
“Why must you persist with all of your talking?!”
An unfamiliar voice hammers inside of the stranger's head in response to the investigative chatter.
“You can hear me?”
“Eurgh! On occasion I wish I couldn't”
“On occasion?”
“Your careless banter with yourself reminds me why I'm in control. It reminds me that I am far superior to you. It reminds me that I AM you!”
“All this time! All this time I've been here talking to myself about anything and everything you have been listening in?”
“Not the whole time. There was a point where I didn't have to worry about you at all. When I 1st arrived that is.”
This voice dominates its opponent with ease and even though the other tries to continue it is drowned out.
“Before I thought I had rid myself of you! I thought I had driven you so far inside that you wouldn't get out. I was right, because you still haven't and will never get out!”
“But you can hear me now?!”
The more aggressive of the two voices does not respond and the figure now pushes his thumb onto the flame, squashing it down into the liquid wax and extinguishing it. The blinds that previously smothered the window now flash open and the moonlight pours into the room filling it with an almost magical glow. The figure's hand moves away from the blind's chord and he turns to look out of the newly revealed opening to the outside world. Out of the window the winter clouds fill the night sky, enveloping a great deal of its stars but keeping the earth's temperature at a comfortable cool. The figure's mask can be heard almost wheezing as he takes a deep breath, and then as he lets it out again the warm air that doesn't escape through the breathing apparatus mists up the goggles.
“Beautiful isn't it? Freedom.”
“I wouldn't know. Even if I did at one point, I must be choosing not to think about it. So I'm gonna say no. Freedom is ugly as sin.”
Instantly the figure snaps the blinds shut again almost as punishment. It is done with such ferocity though that one of the bottom boards of the the blind loses a corner. It splinters off and a tiny stream of light re-enters the room. The more sinister of the two voices no longer chooses to speak and the figure turns away from the window.
“The first chink in your armour my friend.”
“All this darkness, you'd think it would be enough to get a man down, if a man is what I am, I'm not sure anymore to be honest, not that I'm a tranny or anything like that, it's more that I've forgotten myself. Why is it everything I say comes off like I'm a acne ridden teenager with only his d*ck to play with? The thing is though I physically mean what I say, I don't mean it in any sort of post modern ironic sense or any of that crap. At least there's only me in here to hear it.”
The lighter sparks and ignites again and the reflections return, just as vivid as before. The masked man doesn't move an inch, just continues to stare into the light.
“Don't “I” know that all this staring into flames has gotta be bad for “my” sight? Not that “I” care that much I shouldn't think. It's a shame these damn limbs don't do what I say any more cause I'm sure I could find a million and one things that are far more creative than sitting here waiting for the gas in this lighter to run out. Maybe if I scream loud enough “I” might let myself have a go, even if it's just for a quick walk down the road and back, “I” could seriously do with stretching “my” legs.”
“OI!”
The figure continues to stare at the flame
“OI!”
Again the figure doesn't respond
“I don't even know if I'm trapped in here or if I was just dreamt up in here. Either way things are looking pretty bleak, that might have something to do with this dump of a room “I'm” sat in though. I wouldn't go as far as labelling this whole situation depressing but it sure as hell doesn't make me wanna sing and dance, not that I could even if I wanted to.”
The hooded figure now moves for the first time, leaning over (lighter in hand) toward a book shelf. He uses the glow of the flame to see what he is reaching for before snatching it up in the palm of his hand. He sets the tea light from the shelf down on his knee and proceeds to light it, the already singed string in the centre brings itself back to life again and provides such a light that almost all of the room, small as it is, is visible now. The room, although lit now, still hides its identity in terms of its use as the only important furnishings of the room are the bookshelf, the wooden crate the stranger sits on and an old wooden chest that has laid seemingly untouched for years. The figure now reaches to the shelf once more causing the precariously balanced candle to slip almost right off his leg. However he is well aware of this and grabs the sides of it with his index finger and thumb. The bridge formed by his hand over the flame remains there while he re-adjusts the candle's position. The heat from the flame burns his skin but he neither flinches nor makes any noise that would indicate that he is in any pain. Once the candle is steady he reaches once more for the folder that sits on the shelf. The elastic strap that holds it closed comes off easily in his hand and he begins to flick through its contents.
“What do we have here then? This looks very official and important. At least while I'm in here “I'm” making money. Or could I be working to sabotage a large corporation that has wronged me? This could be some real life comic-book vigilante sh*t. HAHA I only wish that was true, it might make watching through these eyes that little bit more bearable.”
The figure turns a few pages before stopping briefly on one.
“What the hell is this? Kurt Burton? This looks like some kind of biography. It's got all his details written down here, it's even got a polaroid.”
The page is turned.
“Obo? Who are these people? This seems a little more sinister than I first thought. Am “I” a stalker of some kind? Man that's low, even for me. Plus so far all I've seen is guys in here, which leads me to wonder................yuck that doesn't bare thinking about.”
After a few more pages have been quickly examined the figure stops on one.
“Big Mike? What a f*ck of a name. His parents should be shot. I still don't understand what these files are though, more importantly I don't understand why “I've” got them. Hang on has this t*t got his name written on his sunglasses?”
The figure snaps the folder closed almost on the word “sunglasses” before holding his head with both hands.
“Why must you persist with all of your talking?!”
An unfamiliar voice hammers inside of the stranger's head in response to the investigative chatter.
“You can hear me?”
“Eurgh! On occasion I wish I couldn't”
“On occasion?”
“Your careless banter with yourself reminds me why I'm in control. It reminds me that I am far superior to you. It reminds me that I AM you!”
“All this time! All this time I've been here talking to myself about anything and everything you have been listening in?”
“Not the whole time. There was a point where I didn't have to worry about you at all. When I 1st arrived that is.”
This voice dominates its opponent with ease and even though the other tries to continue it is drowned out.
“Before I thought I had rid myself of you! I thought I had driven you so far inside that you wouldn't get out. I was right, because you still haven't and will never get out!”
“But you can hear me now?!”
The more aggressive of the two voices does not respond and the figure now pushes his thumb onto the flame, squashing it down into the liquid wax and extinguishing it. The blinds that previously smothered the window now flash open and the moonlight pours into the room filling it with an almost magical glow. The figure's hand moves away from the blind's chord and he turns to look out of the newly revealed opening to the outside world. Out of the window the winter clouds fill the night sky, enveloping a great deal of its stars but keeping the earth's temperature at a comfortable cool. The figure's mask can be heard almost wheezing as he takes a deep breath, and then as he lets it out again the warm air that doesn't escape through the breathing apparatus mists up the goggles.
“Beautiful isn't it? Freedom.”
“I wouldn't know. Even if I did at one point, I must be choosing not to think about it. So I'm gonna say no. Freedom is ugly as sin.”
Instantly the figure snaps the blinds shut again almost as punishment. It is done with such ferocity though that one of the bottom boards of the the blind loses a corner. It splinters off and a tiny stream of light re-enters the room. The more sinister of the two voices no longer chooses to speak and the figure turns away from the window.
“The first chink in your armour my friend.”