I woke up this morning, for the first time. It was almost as if I was brain dead and with the flick of a switch I wasn't.
I found myself on a doctor's operation table, needles and pills spilled around the ground. After an hour or two I found the
strength to lift myself from the table, and moved towards the nearest thing that would given me any kind of reflection, the
screen of a dead montior. My face seemed familiar but I couldn't put a name too it. My face was moist as if I had just bathed
or had just cried myself to sleep like some builled child.
My head span, flipped or whatever you would like to call, the most painful headache imagitionable. And I moved away from the
monitor, I had, had enough of that for the moment. I turned to collect what little clothes lay around the small dark room,
but a sharp crash changed my plans. I moved to the origins of it but I found the strong wooden door, nailed shut, blocking
my way.
The noise accorded again, this time I shouted out calling perhaps to see if the noise was human or cause by one.
I waited but got no reply. So I felt it time to free myself from the womb. I quickly began to kick hard into the door, at
the latch mostly. After around half a dozen kicks, the door fell open and I catiously walked outwards, by this time I felt
it a good idea to put the clothes I had found on, they fitted perfectly, a present from my former self.
A lump to the side of the jacket aroused me when it smashed into my chest, I pulled open the pocket and found a large
dark black handgun, the light from one of the Cling lamps that was stuck to the wall above me, shone onto it. A small smile
appeared on the side of my face, for some unknown reason, it felt as if I had found an old friend in hell. I turned it over
and I found one of the sides read, "Desert Eagle mock 4". I checked my other pockets and found a small box of rounds for the
gun, they had some cheesey logo on them, "Kendo, Raccon city".
It was only a guess at the time, but I figured that I must be there, "Raccon city", as the box of ammo rounds, looked almost
brand new. I found little else in my other pockets, in the one on the left side of my trousers I found, small change, an old
can ring pull and a condom. In the other, the torn corner of a poetry book, it read;
"Did I request, Maker, from my clay
To mould me man ? Did I solicit thee
From darkness to promote me ?"
John Milton, Paradise Lost (1667),
On the other side, I found two words that intrested me, drawn out by a shakey hand, and a pencil, that was most likely blunt,
"Escape" and "Surive", the words haunted my mind as I took them in,
However I had gotten this, I decided to take it on board, my moto for the time being.............
I found myself on a doctor's operation table, needles and pills spilled around the ground. After an hour or two I found the
strength to lift myself from the table, and moved towards the nearest thing that would given me any kind of reflection, the
screen of a dead montior. My face seemed familiar but I couldn't put a name too it. My face was moist as if I had just bathed
or had just cried myself to sleep like some builled child.
My head span, flipped or whatever you would like to call, the most painful headache imagitionable. And I moved away from the
monitor, I had, had enough of that for the moment. I turned to collect what little clothes lay around the small dark room,
but a sharp crash changed my plans. I moved to the origins of it but I found the strong wooden door, nailed shut, blocking
my way.
The noise accorded again, this time I shouted out calling perhaps to see if the noise was human or cause by one.
I waited but got no reply. So I felt it time to free myself from the womb. I quickly began to kick hard into the door, at
the latch mostly. After around half a dozen kicks, the door fell open and I catiously walked outwards, by this time I felt
it a good idea to put the clothes I had found on, they fitted perfectly, a present from my former self.
A lump to the side of the jacket aroused me when it smashed into my chest, I pulled open the pocket and found a large
dark black handgun, the light from one of the Cling lamps that was stuck to the wall above me, shone onto it. A small smile
appeared on the side of my face, for some unknown reason, it felt as if I had found an old friend in hell. I turned it over
and I found one of the sides read, "Desert Eagle mock 4". I checked my other pockets and found a small box of rounds for the
gun, they had some cheesey logo on them, "Kendo, Raccon city".
It was only a guess at the time, but I figured that I must be there, "Raccon city", as the box of ammo rounds, looked almost
brand new. I found little else in my other pockets, in the one on the left side of my trousers I found, small change, an old
can ring pull and a condom. In the other, the torn corner of a poetry book, it read;
"Did I request, Maker, from my clay
To mould me man ? Did I solicit thee
From darkness to promote me ?"
John Milton, Paradise Lost (1667),
On the other side, I found two words that intrested me, drawn out by a shakey hand, and a pencil, that was most likely blunt,
"Escape" and "Surive", the words haunted my mind as I took them in,
However I had gotten this, I decided to take it on board, my moto for the time being.............