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So yeah, this has nothing to do with the project, whatsoever. I just had a bit of sleep-deprived inspiration and I thought I'd chuck it on paper real quick. Also I figured I'd post it here becuase sharing ideas is half the fun. But don't feel obliged to read it.

It could be a beginning, or an end, or a nothing. I dunno, it just felt like fun to write. I don't really think it came out right at all, to tell you the truth. Then again, it's only a couple of pages long, and has no context whatsoever. Maybe if I'm bored I'll add more stuff to it. It does, however, make a good case for me to sleep more.


******

Consciousness splits through my mind like a tomahawk; the blissful peace of sleep shattered by the bitter taste of reality.

Damn. I must have been sleepwalking again. I haven't woken standing up for years now, at least not since I was a kid. The air is cold and acrid (metallic); I must have made it outside this time. Slow, thick drops patter in the background, too fast to be a tap, but too slow to be rain (is it oil?). Just where the hell am I?

I rub my dreary eyes with the ball of my left palm.

"Shit!"

My palm is covered with something slick and greasy (oil again?). Am I in the kitchen again? Those pills were supposed to stop me doing this. It stings my eyes, so I rub my face with the sleeve of my jacket (I don't remember getting dressed).

"Run."

A strained, gargled voice rises from my feet, splashing against my ankles (more oil?).

"Huh?"

"Run."

Out of instinct, I go to wipe my grease-covered eyes again. Something hard and metallic drops from my hand, the clattering echoing down the tunnel (are there any tunnels near my house?) and back again, ringing in my ears. As the noise dies, it is replaced with rasping gasps for air.

"Who are you?"

No answer.

The breaths slow, and then stop.

Dim lights shine down the length of the tunnel, casting queer shadows as they bounce up and down to their own rhythm (One, two… no, more. Maybe a dozen?). They are still a way off, but I can now hear the heavy footsteps echo throughout the cavern.

Illuminated by the approaching lights, the scene before me takes shape.

At my feet lies the corpse of a girl (she can't be older than 16). Her innards lie in a puddle; a puddle that my boots have unceremoniously stepped in. Blood and ichor slick the walls in shades of red and black, and I soon find that I, too, am soaked in the stuff.

Memories press against my subconscious, but are unable to break into my working mind. Something important happened here. I scan my memories of the last few days, but I can find nothing. Images of a home, of a family, of work and of friends fill my brain, but they feel artificial, implanted. All that is clear is that I haven't had an episode like this since I was a child, before I was started on this experimental treatment.

I look again towards the approaching lights, examining the floor of this mysterious tunnel. The floor is awkward; odd shapes (is that an arm?) jut out at all angles.

Swinging my head to examine the opposite direction, a glint from the floor attracts my attention.
My knife lies on the blood stained concrete. If I leave it there it will rust up pretty quick…

"Freeze! Move another fucking muscle and it'll be your last!"

The lights have converged on me. Ten men or more, all carrying sub-machine guns, form a semi-circular cordon around me. The one in the centre holds up his hand as he barks at his companions.

"If he touches that knife, drop him."

I pause. I may not know what's going on, but I know well enough when to follow orders.

"Is there a problem, officer?"

"Problem? Problem? Just what the fuck is going through your mind, freak?"

The policemen shoulder their weapons, their fingers itching dangerously close to the triggers that will rain death upon me.

Their inexperience shows. Even with their balaclavas on I can see the tension and fear in their eyes (one of them is shaking, for crying out loud). I feel a little insulted that my fate is being entrusted to these amateurs. Amateurs are dangerous. Pros only shoot when they need to; but an amateur will pull the trigger at a gust of wind. It's important to stay calm in times like this.

At least their leader seems to have a good head on his shoulders.

"All right, you've got me, though I'm not sure for what."

"Just put your hands behind your head and step away from the blade. Slowly"

"I have no intention of rushing anything at this point, officer."

Following orders in confusing times often brings comfort. As I being my hands to my head I feel the confusion of this moment flow away from me (nothing to worry about). As ordered, I take a step away from the blade, and towards the semi circle of guns. The entire group flinches backwards, and for a moment I think I am done for.

"That's enough. Stay right there."

"Right you are."

The officer slings his weapon and pulls a set of handcuffs from his belt. He approaches me with guarded footing.

"Turn around."

I turn my back towards the policemen. From here, I get a better look at the corpse of the girl. Her eyes are locked on mine, but they do not carry the glazed emptiness of the dead.

She is starting at me in contempt, as if I were some kind of idiot.

"What's the matter?"

"What did you say, freak?"

"I wasn't talking to you, officer. I was talking to her."

Behind me, I hear the footsteps stop and the awkward shuffling of the policemen trying to see past me. A few of the torch beams stab the darkness ahead of me, but they only reveal bare concrete.

"I don't know what you're talking about, but shut the fuck up."

"Right you are."

Silenced thusly, I return to observing the corpse before me.

She blinks.

Without breathing, without moving another muscle, she blinks.

And then… a rasping inwards breath.

Her corpse shudders, her eyes never losing contact with mine.

"I…"

"…said…"

"…RUN!"

This time, I obey the girl's orders. I break into a standing sprint as I hear all hell break lose behind me, scooping up the blade as I pass it.

Slurping wounds and cracking bones overlay with the rat-tat-tat of gunfire. I don't dare turn to find out what is happening, nor do I need to know. Whatever is happening back there is enough for the police officers to turn their guns away from me.

A scream and a wet sucking tells me that someone, some thing back there is tearing limbs off bodies.

(Where have I heard that sound before? The question is irrelevant now, but I will have to think about it later.)

The tunnel ahead of me grows dark as the gunfire dies away, giving way to the tearing sound of flesh being ripped from bone. In the end, they were only amateurs.

Zombies?

Hell if I know.

Could be anything. This is why you should sleep regular hours.

I don't know why, but I find it terribly interesting. Wonder where it would go if not for you stopping.

Against all common sense, and acting on a thought I had on a drive today, I came up with another coupel of pages.
I didn't bother reading over any of this as I have work tomorrow, and if it is as crap as my usual late-night drivel, let me know and I'll keep it to myself.

PS I kinda now want the girl to be Misha. Yeah now I really know I need to sleep

****

With the immediate danger gone, I slow to a stop. Fumbling through my pockets to find something to illuminate the blinding darkness ahead of me, I fish out a mobile phone. It casts a dim blue light down the tunnel, illuminating approximately half a metre to my front.

The smooth (blood-free) concrete is covered in a coarse, grey grit. It would seem that no-one has come here since it was constructed, or if it was ever used for its designed purpose, whatever that may be. Regardless of the intended purpose, it doesn't take me long to find a ladder in an alcove.

Thankfully, the manhole cover is light enough for me to lift (or am I that strong?) and I emerge from the underground slaughterhouse in a dark cul-de-sac.

This skyline is unfamiliar.

Wherever I am, one thing is for certain. There is no possible way that I arrived here by sleepwalking. But exploring my shattered memory will have to wait. I can't afford to be seen like this (covered in blood), especially without my "backup". Pain shoots through my head as I recall the look on that girl's face. I squeeze the bridge of my nose in order to force it back.

I need to focus.

Stalking from shadow to shadow, I move quickly away form the manhole and into a niche between two buildings. An inventory check reveals my knife, a mobile phone, a wallet stuffed with $5000 and no ID, and blood-stained clothes. Whilst the cash is more than enough to buy new clothes and book a room for the night, in this state I doubt I will even be allowed near the front door of anywhere worth staying. Besides, without knowing where or when I am, appearing in public is not a good idea.

It does not take long for the high-rise dwellings to give way to smaller blocks of units, then town houses, duplexes, and finally, my target, fully detached housing. Skulking from one house to the next, I chance upon the perfect candidate. No car in the carpark, a letterbox stuffed full of letters an advertising material, and a fully-furnished home. The home of a vacationer (how do I know these things?); and a perfect place to collect myself.

Forcing entry into the house isn't hard. At this hour, the breaking glass only seems to disturb a dog in a nearby backyard, and even it seems to forget about it in short order.

My clothes hit the floor with a sopping thwack; the gore caking it clotted but not yet dried. The hot water of the shower numbs my skin as it touches it and then slowly starts to scorch as my body readjusts to the temperature. Rust-red rivers of ichor and blood swirl around the drain, slowly becoming clear as I wash myself.

I stand in the shower until the bathroom is so full of steam that I can no longer see the door. Helping myself to a towel form the hamper, I dry myself and fall onto a ready-made bed, naked. You don't get this kind of service even in the best hotels.

***


Sunlight trickles through the curtains, gently stroking me into consciousness.
(Where am I? Whose house is this?) A splitting headache prevents me from opening my eyes completely against the sun's onslaught, but it doesn't stop my curiosity. I vividly recall the events of the night before (well, everything after waking up), but everything before that is still fractured, as if my memories were roughly copied from someone else's mind.

"So you're finally up."

My hand grasps out, searching for the knife I left in the bathroom. Defying my natural instincts, I force my eyes open. If I'm going to be caught, I'd prefer to at least see my assailant.

(What the…)

Sitting on the end of the bed is the girl from last night. She wears a red ball gown, and shows no signs of the wounds that were so real last night.

"How…? you were…"

The girl cocks her head in the face of my confusion, as if I had just asked her why the sky is blue.

"Aren't you happy to see me? Even after I followed you all the way here…"

"But… I saw you…"

She leans closer to me, and I recoil in fear, pressing myself against the bed head.

"Are you feeling alright? Let me look at you…"

I frantically try to bat her away, but she deftly grabs my wrists with one hand whilst grabbing my head with the other, her thumb just below my eye. Her strength is incredible, and enough to let me know that resisting her is pointless.

"Look at me."

I instinctively react, and stare her right in her black-flecked auburn eyes. She moves her head around mine, as if she were looking for an errant speck of dust that had been trapped in my eye.

"Damn. Looks like you've been fried. Lemme guess, you can't remember shit right now?"

"Uh, yeah. Nothing since you told me to run."

She releases my head, and returns to sitting on the end of the bed, pouting.

"Damn. This is going to take some explaining. But first, get some clothes on. This place it packed full of neat stuff. Check out this dress! Cool, huh? You really know how to pick 'em, Mike…"

this is just about the third greatest thing ive ever read, please write some more.

This is great.

Baww! I want more! But it appears as this is an ancient thread, so it might not be....

Twas just a fancy when I was in a slump.

If I hit another one then maybe, but that's like asking Aura to write a sequel to Unsocratic Dialogue...

cpl_crud wrote: cocks

Hehe. Cocks.

Seriously now, I rather liked your story.

it sounds like a TM story, but i like it alot, btw i got a hunt jews captcha for this reply LOL

Really enjoyed this and noticed you posted it on your website recently =D.

This was a really cool story. It kind of reminded me of The Bourne books mixed with a little bit of some anime I watched once with this pink haired girl and lots of blood. I wish there was more!

BlackWaltzTheThird wrote:This was a really cool story. It kind of reminded me of The Bourne books mixed with a little bit of some anime I watched once with this pink haired girl and lots of blood. I wish there was more!

Yeah I think I might pick this up again on my blog.

MrDogsniper wrote:Really enjoyed this and noticed you posted it on your website recently =D.

Reduce, reuse, recycle.

It's very nice so far. I'm not usually a fan of the 'gripping horror' sort of thing but I found myself drawn in by this. Wordplay is very good.

I would certainly look forward to seeing more. May inspiration strike you.