KingVoyeur
02-19-2006, 04:42 PM
Ok, here's the first part of a story I just started writing. I'd be interested in hearing some feedback, even if it's crap.
The Servants
The shrill howl of the alarm pierces my head. Shreds of dreams of light and air that had been filling my mind fled before the harsh reality of waking. I lie on the bed I was assigned when I got here, if you can call it a bed. A slab of cold metal, a thin mattress and a scrap of blanket. Who knows how many before me have slept here, died here? It smells, God it smells. I lie here, not opening my eyes, refusing to. Maybe if I don’t open them, don’t see the room I share with the others, this cell, maybe if I don’t see that, it won’t be real.
The alarm sounds again, relentless. It starts, it stops, never changing in pitch, ordering us out of our slumber. Every morning it’s the same. At least, I think it’s morning. There’s no way of telling time here, no days but the time between sleeping. I tried counting how long the alarm lasts once, just for something to occupy my mind. I counted to thirty before it stopped. Two alarms, each thirty seconds. Just one minute out of the thousands I’ve spent here. The hopelessness of that thought made me sick. I don’t try counting anymore.
I finally open my eyes, knowing if I don’t get up They’ll come. They’ll come, and They'll beat me, using whips and electric prods and their hands, beat me until I get up. I lie on my bed, letting my eyes wander around the room. The walls are metal and always seem to be wet, slimy. In the dim light from the single naked bulb, I can see dark-colored stains on the walls that could be blood, or simply rust. I try not to think about it. I turn my head to the right and look at the person sleeping in the bed next to mine. Richard is his name, he’s been here longer than I have. How long not even he knows, just longer. Like I said, time is hard to figure here. He’s got the blanket pulled up over his head so just that shock of red hair shows, what’s left of it anyways. He started showing signs of a sickness about a week ago. The hair loss is one of the effects. I hope he wakes up today. If They come for him, I don’t think he’ll survive.
There are seven other people in the room with me, four men and three women. One of the women was brought in two days ago. She hasn’t spoken yet, but I’ve heard her mumbling in her sleep, names of people and places that I can’t make out but that she must see vividly in her dreams. Dreams have a way of losing their luster here, like looking at your memories through a pane of frosted glass. I should let her dream while she can. The others, I don’t know if they dream or not. Their faces all have the hollow, pale look of the dead, no emotion betraying whatever thoughts flit through their heads. If you make eye contact with one of them, it’s like looking into a doll’s eyes, a mockery of the real thing. I’m sure if you looked into my eyes, you’d see the same thing.
I know all their names. Other than our dreams, it’s the last shred of humanity we’ve been allowed to keep, our names. I’m not sure why They’ve allowed us to keep them. Maybe it’s some kind of morbid curiosity, maybe They just don’t care. I don’t know. Just one more thing that would drive me insane if I thought about it too long.
There’s a hiss of air and murky water begins streaming from a faucet above a raised tub in the center of the room. I rub my eyes, stretch, and roll out of bed. I unfold my work clothes, which I’ve placed at the foot of my bed. I fold my clothes every night before I sleep, carefully pinching the creases between my thumb and forefinger to make sure they’re straight. Another thing to keep my mind occupied. Slipping them on, I lace up my worn, thin-soled shoes and make my way over to the tub. Some of the others have gotten there before me and are already splashing water on their faces, attempting to rub away some of the dirt and grime. I look at my reflection in the water. Light green eyes, lanky black hair, a growth of beard, all covered by a layer of dirt that’s been there so long it almost seems a part of me. I splash water on my face and turn away. I can’t look at my reflection too long. I can’t stand to look in my own eyes.
Sean, a young man with short blonde hair and a roguish mouth, looks around and says “Wonder what the weather’s gonna be like today? Hope it’s sunny.” No one speaks, what is there to say? None of us have seen the sky since we’ve been here. We just stare at each other, knowing today won’t be any different than any other day. Sean’s grin fades, and he turns back to the basin. He hasn't been here long.
Another alarm sounds, a short buzz this time, and a door opens in one wall. We shuffle into line and walk through. The last to leave, I look back into the room. Richard hasn’t moved, hasn’t even pulled the blanket down from his head. I hesitate, then walk through the door, which closes behind me with a hiss. They’ll come for him in a little while. What can I do? I’m just a Servant. We all are.
End of part (chapter? who can say how long this ends up being) 1. I'm a glutton for criticism. Bring it on people!
The Servants
The shrill howl of the alarm pierces my head. Shreds of dreams of light and air that had been filling my mind fled before the harsh reality of waking. I lie on the bed I was assigned when I got here, if you can call it a bed. A slab of cold metal, a thin mattress and a scrap of blanket. Who knows how many before me have slept here, died here? It smells, God it smells. I lie here, not opening my eyes, refusing to. Maybe if I don’t open them, don’t see the room I share with the others, this cell, maybe if I don’t see that, it won’t be real.
The alarm sounds again, relentless. It starts, it stops, never changing in pitch, ordering us out of our slumber. Every morning it’s the same. At least, I think it’s morning. There’s no way of telling time here, no days but the time between sleeping. I tried counting how long the alarm lasts once, just for something to occupy my mind. I counted to thirty before it stopped. Two alarms, each thirty seconds. Just one minute out of the thousands I’ve spent here. The hopelessness of that thought made me sick. I don’t try counting anymore.
I finally open my eyes, knowing if I don’t get up They’ll come. They’ll come, and They'll beat me, using whips and electric prods and their hands, beat me until I get up. I lie on my bed, letting my eyes wander around the room. The walls are metal and always seem to be wet, slimy. In the dim light from the single naked bulb, I can see dark-colored stains on the walls that could be blood, or simply rust. I try not to think about it. I turn my head to the right and look at the person sleeping in the bed next to mine. Richard is his name, he’s been here longer than I have. How long not even he knows, just longer. Like I said, time is hard to figure here. He’s got the blanket pulled up over his head so just that shock of red hair shows, what’s left of it anyways. He started showing signs of a sickness about a week ago. The hair loss is one of the effects. I hope he wakes up today. If They come for him, I don’t think he’ll survive.
There are seven other people in the room with me, four men and three women. One of the women was brought in two days ago. She hasn’t spoken yet, but I’ve heard her mumbling in her sleep, names of people and places that I can’t make out but that she must see vividly in her dreams. Dreams have a way of losing their luster here, like looking at your memories through a pane of frosted glass. I should let her dream while she can. The others, I don’t know if they dream or not. Their faces all have the hollow, pale look of the dead, no emotion betraying whatever thoughts flit through their heads. If you make eye contact with one of them, it’s like looking into a doll’s eyes, a mockery of the real thing. I’m sure if you looked into my eyes, you’d see the same thing.
I know all their names. Other than our dreams, it’s the last shred of humanity we’ve been allowed to keep, our names. I’m not sure why They’ve allowed us to keep them. Maybe it’s some kind of morbid curiosity, maybe They just don’t care. I don’t know. Just one more thing that would drive me insane if I thought about it too long.
There’s a hiss of air and murky water begins streaming from a faucet above a raised tub in the center of the room. I rub my eyes, stretch, and roll out of bed. I unfold my work clothes, which I’ve placed at the foot of my bed. I fold my clothes every night before I sleep, carefully pinching the creases between my thumb and forefinger to make sure they’re straight. Another thing to keep my mind occupied. Slipping them on, I lace up my worn, thin-soled shoes and make my way over to the tub. Some of the others have gotten there before me and are already splashing water on their faces, attempting to rub away some of the dirt and grime. I look at my reflection in the water. Light green eyes, lanky black hair, a growth of beard, all covered by a layer of dirt that’s been there so long it almost seems a part of me. I splash water on my face and turn away. I can’t look at my reflection too long. I can’t stand to look in my own eyes.
Sean, a young man with short blonde hair and a roguish mouth, looks around and says “Wonder what the weather’s gonna be like today? Hope it’s sunny.” No one speaks, what is there to say? None of us have seen the sky since we’ve been here. We just stare at each other, knowing today won’t be any different than any other day. Sean’s grin fades, and he turns back to the basin. He hasn't been here long.
Another alarm sounds, a short buzz this time, and a door opens in one wall. We shuffle into line and walk through. The last to leave, I look back into the room. Richard hasn’t moved, hasn’t even pulled the blanket down from his head. I hesitate, then walk through the door, which closes behind me with a hiss. They’ll come for him in a little while. What can I do? I’m just a Servant. We all are.
End of part (chapter? who can say how long this ends up being) 1. I'm a glutton for criticism. Bring it on people!