Here's mine, with the italics intact. Bloody blood I forgot how long this was.
Plunge
Shot … see the bandage? … look … who did it?
We don't know … we will.
Your luck … my luck … your luck lost.
Wake up … the woods are lovely, dark, and deep … don't want to … who shot me? … we don't know … we don't know … right, we've said that before, mate.
Laughing hurts the stitches … the stitches aren't … no, don't pull at … stop … when did you get here?
What happened? Shot. Shot, shot, shot, stop losing that … why does that sound familiar? … told you, told you … heard you, heard you … don't let it fade again.
Please why is this happening stop it … spirits … it hurts it hurts it hurts stop--!
It's dragging you away … don't let it … but I have promises to keep … can I show you something sure what is it oh wow … it's good to make you smile smile at what?
Why is there a bandage? … shot … we're trying, we're trying, please … you're allowed to cry now, just make sure you find your smile again … why is there a bandage? … arrrgh, Jay! How many times … how many times have you told me?
We will find who did this to you, I promise … remember this … we will find him, we will … we will bring him to justice … no matter what happens, we will find who did this to you … miles to go before I sleep ... we're looking for him right now.
I'll look after her … you need to remember this … she’ll be ok … I'll look after her … we both will … remember this.
I love you … don't forget that … I love you too.
Don't forget them … don't forget them … don't forget … don't.
…A miracle is….
….
….
He was cold.
There was a pressure all along his side, pressing, it felt like he was sinking into it, like it was sinking into him. Unrelentingly it pressed and bit by bit he could feel the rises and falls under his arm, his side, his leg. He was half curled, he realised, bit by bit. The pressure was along his cheek too. The pressure was along his side too. He felt like he was sinking, into it. Sinking. There was a pressure all along his side, mirroring the other side, both sides, all sides.
He clawed at the pressure. His head tilted back, a groan pried free of his teeth and startled his ears. Startled into life they leapt and screamed at him. He heard water fall in echoes, water fall in echoes, his breathing sharp and ragged, rumbles sound in the distance, a sudden squeak of metal brakes and horns, he heard them all in echoes.
Like sound was an electric shock his body jump started into shivers and quakes. Cold, cold, cold ice poured down his limbs into his bones across every cell and never stopped. He gasped. The cold seeped into his lungs in that rush of air, but he felt alive. It pulled-- pushed-- pulled him away from the empty pressure at his sides. Not empty.
Again, again, he forced air into his lungs, the sound grated against his ears, but he did it anyway and he forced his eyes open. They fought back. Nails hammered them shut but he had to pull them free. Blurry grey flickered in a line then faded, then flickered, then faded. Spiraling orbs -- strange hexagons, octagons, and more besides -- caught and twitched among the grey. Light. Colour. Colour in yellows, blues, greens, and whites. The sight felt wet. It was a watery sight that he had to see, he had to, see, it was right there.
In the dark of his eyelids splotches of expanding purple and green pulsed, but it was black at the same time, only being banished whenever he managed to pull his eyelids partially apart. Electricity danced at his fingertips, or was that at the rising ache of the pressure at his side? His head rolled and his chin tucked into the ground. He felt the rough surface scrape against skin. Blurry grey widened and he could make out vague eddies and dips in the grey surface below him. He latched to one hill and held it. He couldn't let go. He saw it, it was there, it was real, and he could open his eyes.
Stop drowning. Teeth ground together, a hiss like a oxygen tank broke free. Focus, focus, and he swung his weight backwards. A thump reached his ears, echoed through the pressure rolling from side to back, and he couldn't stop the exhausted huff that left him. Far above, far ahead, a white glow was fixed to a grey backdrop. Clouds, sunlight. Gravity was stronger than the nails, or maybe he had just broken through the stitches tying his eyelids together. He was awake.
He felt….
Shivering, he tried to sit up. The world swung and blurred around him and he found himself right back on his back, now with a sting of impact against his shoulder blades.
A pained wheeze stung him, more startled than true. The sting faded quickly. The fall had been braced by short distances and fabric working in tandem. Slowly, slowly, he rolled himself into a sitting position, kept barely propped up with his hands. Bit by bit he steadied, though the shivering kept casting aside his balance. He eventually tried removing one hand, then the other. He held upright. Thank goodness. He scrubbed at his eyes to clear the water, blinking hard enough for spots to curl across his vision.
Car park, he thought. He blinked rapidly, then took in the cars in their two dimensional pens all in their neat rows. Sharp reflections caught and stung at his eyes and left splotches where he looked. Streetlights, off now. A street further away, a road with cars roaring back, forth, back. Buildings loomed down at him, shrinking him, from nearly every side. He had to crane his neck to find their tops. Car park. This is a car park. The thought sluggishly rolled from one side of his skull to the other, half heartedly cross referencing into dust.
No one was around as he dragged himself into a crouch, then onto his feet. The shivering had dissolved into solitary shudders. They only appeared randomly, with gaps in between that didn't give him the pleasure of a timetable. He adjusted, braced from them, prepared for them, and then had to scramble to grasp at the side of a car before shivers could throw him to the concrete.
He felt cold. His bones were chilled ice, the weak sun barely melting him.
Cautiously he stumbled his way from the carpark to the footpath surrounding it. Objects in the distance seemed fuzzy. The cars nearby felt like his eyes were imagining them rightwards of where they were. It was disorientating. His footsteps felt loud, though they were muffled by the cars shrieking in the road.
When he hit the footpath he was thankful that his balance was back. He could walk. He was walking, one step, two, and he was going to walk without falling over.
The sound of cars jumped closer.
He blinked rapidly and pressed himself against a building’s wall. It felt wet at his back. He felt dizzy again. Where was he? A car shot past the footpath and he blinked again.
Wasn't he in a car park? He shook his head slowly, feeling the weight of a headache roll from side to side. A gaggle of teenagers strode past, giggling and laughing to one another, but before he could look up at them they had crossed the road and were a million miles away.
Something felt… something was wrong. What was wrong? Work it out, he had to work it out, he had promises to keep… didn't he?
When he shook his head again, the roll of the headache was too swift. It hurt. He pushed off the wall and kept walking, kept searching.
Searching?
He paused again and the crowd parted around him. Some turned up their noses, others were too busy to care. What was he searching for? He thumbed his chin and got out of the crowds’ way. There was an archway into a park and he slipped inside.
He stalled again. Why had he stopped walking? Was there something in the park? There were rivers and trees and grass and someone walking their dog, but nothing like what he was looking for. Looking for? What was he….
Something was wrong, here. What was wrong?
Ugh, his head hurt. What was going on, what was wrong with him? There was something wrong, he was sure of it. His legs felt like they were seizing up on him, so he found a bench and sat. His legs swung in the freezing air. That was wrong.
Huh? Why was that wrong?
He scanned the park around him. The dog and the man were gone. He couldn't recall what way they were walking, but they must have vanished into the trees or slipped out of the park. With a sinking rock in his stomach, he realised he couldn't recall which way he'd come from either.
He should go back to the carpark. How long had it been since he woke up? Which way had he come from?
How did he get to that carpark in the first place?
His head hurt.
He absently ran his hand through his hair. It didn't feel like a head injury, and he couldn't feel blood stiffening his hair. But if he had been bleeding, someone would have stopped him as he walked. He should go back to the carpark, somehow. Someone had to be looking for him--
The park was empty. Wind curled the grass around him, and for a moment he couldn't breathe.
He needed help.
Something was wrong with him.
He passed out of the park without a second thought. Think, think, think, find something, anything, and get back to that carpark. Retrace steps. Something might be there, something might be there to help him work out what was wrong, other than everything.
Which way was the car park? There had to be a landmark he could find. Once oriented, he could find it. He could find a clue. He couldn't rest until he found the answer. Maybe a car hit him, and all the dizzy feelings were from that impact?
Maybe.
Which way to go?
He stopped walking.
Which way was the park?
‘Not again,’ he groaned. Nobody heard him, or nobody cared. They were too buried in their hurry, their race from point A to B and need to draw ruler-sharp lines between.
What he needed was a landmark. He needed something big enough to keep himself oriented from a distance, no matter how far he went. He seized the thought and held it. He had a plan. He just had to remember it this time. What would work as a landmark? Instinctively he looked up.
The sun wasn't going to work. It was behind too many clouds. Many of the buildings looked identical from memory, so even if he picked one of those he wouldn't be able to remember which it was.
He just had to pick a direction, then keep walking until he found a unique building.
That wouldn't be too difficult, if he stopped forgetting which way he had been walking each time he stopped. His head swiveled. Streetlights hung far above, extinguished. All around were the rhythmic thudding of footsteps, which never paused but parted around him.
He should have stayed in the park and checked through each exit.
Again, he walked. And he walked. Walking.
Walked, until he stopped.
Towering from around the corner were several buildings, shorter but spread and sprawling. Between buildings were several car parks. It wasn't the large network he had woken in, but small cubbies meant for two or three at once. The tone of the crowd was... different. There were less worries about moving from point to point, and he could see backpacks casually slung on backs. Above the doors of one building were words: Oak Ridge University.
This place would work! It worked better than wandering the city again. He could find a library and find a map, or a computer with a map. Then once he had his hands on a map, he could find the car park by retracing… oh, right. The problem was he couldn't remember where his steps were, so he couldn't retrace them.
No, he should look for a map anyway. It was a step in the right direction.
The crowds seemed to be thinning as he waited. He lingered by the doors until a large group sauntered their way inside, then slipped in after them. His attempt at sneaking failed as a few sniggered down at him, then quickened their pace and left him behind.
Somewhere, a door slammed shut.
The thinning crowds thinned into nothingness. On one wall, he spotted a clock. A few minutes past eleven. If this was a university, the students must be going to their classes. What was he doing…? Map! He paused by a wall, trying not to grab for it. Map. He was going to the library to find a map so he could… so he could… car park? Something about a car park. Where was the library? It could be anywhere.
He needed a map to find the library to find a map to find somewhere. So long as he didn't forget even more of that plan, he would be fine.
The problem he found was that he couldn’t find the first map. The university halls were completely deserted. Any footsteps he heard were muffled and distant, with the bare warnings of doors blocking their way. He kept checking the walls. No map appeared, but he did see several hundred advertisements in loud colours declaring this thing and that.
300 or History? Debate Every Week @ 201 010G! 5PM Every Thursday! | FOR SALE: One (1) Toyota Mini | Pool 1 closed for maintenance; direct inquiries to Paul Noodle. | We Send Employers To You! Sign up for the Employee's Initiative TODAY. | 300 or History? | We Send Employers To You! | Wanted: Participants for a Psychology Study. Win: $100 gift voucher. Contact for details. | We Send Employers To You! | FOR SALE: One (1) Toyota Mini | Save for the things you love -- get student discounts for transport. | 300 or History? | We Send Employers To You!
The repetition was unsettling. If he saw one more gaudy rainbow poster telling him about employers, he was going to find a shredder.
What do you know, he laid eyes on one faster than being plowed by a car. He crossed to the wall and tried to tear it down. No luck, he needed to be another hand taller to reach the ugly wannabe light show--
‘Are you alright?’
Startled, he jumped back from the wall and shoved his hands in his pockets. No, sir, he was not doing anything to the posters. Behind him, there was a man. Tall, just like everyone, pushing some sort of cart in front of him. The cart was covered in a white sheet, so he couldn't work out what it was.
The man wore glasses, and he adjusted them as he peered downwards. ‘I'm sorry, didn't mean to scare you,’ he said. The man wasn't quite looking at him. He was looking beyond, down the hall stretched by endless repetition. ‘Ah, are your parents anywhere around?’
He… parents?
Never mind how his legs not touching the ground had felt weird -- that was wrong. He just had to work out why.
‘I'm, I'm Walter,’ the man said. He was smiling, but it felt like a performance. ‘...This is the part where you introduce yourself?’
He didn't say a word.
‘Never mind then. Stranger danger? Right, um….’ Walter looked to the cart, then pushed it against the wall. ‘Stay,’ he told it, then abandoned it and made his way to him.
Walter wore a tweed jacket, a bright blue tie nestled among it, and he only noticed that because he had a hand-sized button pinned to it. It was also bright blue, with a lopsided pink heart in the middle. It didn't fit at all with the rest of Walter. He didn't seem to notice his stare.
‘Could you come with me, please? I mean, ah--’ He glanced down the hall ‘--If your parents are right around the corner I'd like to just, ah, lead you back to them. But if you’re actually lost and they're nowhere then I really don't want to leave you here?’ As if they were weights, the more words Walter spoke the more Walter’s shoulders hunched. ‘Are your parents here?’
‘No?’ he said.
Walter muttered, ‘Definitely shouldn't leave. Could you come with me, just a little way? There's an office with a chair, and there are some windows facing the student parking so you can give a shout if you see your parents?’
It was a tempting offer. The thoughts raced and bobbed around his head like a dolphin at a zoo. On one hand, he could refuse and keep looking for the library or a map to the library. But Walter wouldn't likely leave. On the other hand, he could go to this office. If on the way he saw a map, he could try remember where it is… but with his memory, he might take a wrong turn. He might find something to help in the office itself. Plus there was a car park. Maybe that could jog his memory.
Wait, wasn't he trying to find the car park so he could find help? This was help. Wasn't it? No, wasn't it to try find out what happened…? He was confusing himself.
Walter led the way down the hall. No maps lept into view. It wasn't long before Walter opened a door and stepped in, holding it open so it wouldn't snap shut on him.
‘Hey, Helen,’ Walter said.
It was cluttered. There were two desks, with a narrow window on one wall, and papers stacked on both desks and the windowsill. Between two stacks, a narrow and rat-like face peered back at them.
‘Falls, what the hell are you wearing?’ she said.
Walter beamed. ‘Clothes?’
‘You know that wasn't what I was talking about. Is that-- even the paint’s still wet!’
He made his way to the window. There were boxes as high as his waist, each filled with even more paper. Some looked half shredded from the force of their printing, be it ink or pen. Out the window, there was a car park. Cars like giant beetles lay in their rows, and it wasn't the car park he had woken in. At least, he thought it wasn't.
‘I see, you mean this?’ Walter was saying. ‘Dawn painted it this morning. She's going to be an artist when she grows up, I just know it.’
Helen snorted.
‘Ok, be an ah-- bad person. Could you do something for me?’
Their voices lowered as he leaned his arms on the stack of paper, watching the cars below. Most were statues. As he watched, one car pulled in. It was bright red against the sea of cool greys, with sunflowers in the windows.
He could catch a few words from the conversation behind him. Police, wait, find, search. He couldn't tell if he wasn't hearing them, or wasn't remembering them.
This car park wasn't helping. He should've kept looking for the lib--
Where did Walter go?
The office’s other occupants had been smoothly sliced in half. Helen he could hear, a pen scratching away behind the towers of paper and occasional whipsy breath. The rest of the office was deserted, and there wasn't a single computer in sight. No luck getting a map off of one. He glanced at the carpark. Nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing.
He unclasped his hands. He wrinkled his nose -- nervous sweat was making fingers stick and slide against one another.
The towers worked in his favour, as they neatly hid any movements from the corners of Helen’s eyes. He took it slow. He waited, making sure that he was below Helen’s line of sight, and then just like that slipped out the door.
That was easy enough. He pulled the door to behind him and set off down the corridor. Right. Which way was… was….
Wait, why did he do that? He trawled backwards like a bear, rummaging through his memories and tossing them in every direction. What made his decision? He recalled the time before, the time doing, the time after, but the “why” was melted away in the fog of memory.
Officially, his memory was a sieve.
And he had kept walking and the office was out of his line of sight. Well done, him, for doing the exact thing that made him lose the car park and the grass park in the first place. Truly, he was the epitome of the human race.
The endlessly repeating advertisements were not helping matters. He paused. A door was open a crack, just like he had left the office door. He sighed. Thank goodness, he had accidentally given himself a landmark.
Bad feeling the first came when he had to dig in his heels to push the door open. The office door hadn't been weighted. The thought crossed his mind a second too late, then his foot struck something and he yelped.
The world spun around him and threw him to the floor. His chin hit something solid. The door clicked shut. That was bad feeling the second.
It wasn't the office.
The room was all shadows and a vague, waverly light. Benches rose into the tall roof, spreading backwards, and he recognised them as bleachers. Indoor bleachers? They were facing a large window, and from the floor it looked like a perfectly clear sky pressed to the glass.
Behind him, abandoned on the floor, was a wedge. He had tripped on that.
Rubbing his chin, he used the nearest bench to help him stand. It stung under his fingers, but he couldn't feel any torn skin or wet ooze. Even the sting was fading with time. He could see long lights on the ceiling, but none were on. The only light came from out the window.
The window faced into a pool.
A good few metres above the top of the window, the surface of the water waved. The light danced through the waters and caused odd patterns to flex and curl in the walls of the room. The floor of the pool was level with the floor of the room. He could even press his head to the glass and see the pool length extend into the distance. The dark blue “T” line of the lanes stretched into the water’s fog. If there were swimmers, he would have had a perfect view. As it was, both pool and room were empty.
All in all, an interesting diversion. He reached up to the door handle and pulled it open.
...And pulled it open.
Open.
Oh dear.
The wedge looked innocently up at him. At least he knew why the door was open a crack.
No matter! On the other side of the bleachers there was another door, so all he had to do was--
--feel crushing disappointment.
Beside the door, at about double his height, there was a keypad. There was also a card reader beside it. He wasn't getting out through either door. And, the dark wasn't hiding any trap doors or hidden panels, there was just darkness and the pool. He was stuck.
Looking on the silver lining, he wasn't going to get himself lost again. There were loose chairs as well as the benches, and he pulled one next to the door to wait. People had to be using the room. Why else would they keep the door open? He just had to wait for them to open it, and then ask them where the library was.
Oh! He had left the office to find a bathroom and wash his face. He let his head hit the wall. He needed a pen. If he wrote things down, maybe he would stop forgetting what he was doing.
11:58
Directly above him, there was a clock. Nearly twelve. He had to lean forward to see it, but see it he did. That meant he had been here for what, an hour now? It hadn't felt like an hour. But his memory had more holes than a broken teapot. It clearly wasn't fit for purpose. Was there a money back guarantee for me--
Movement.
11:59
A shape had plunged into the water.
Shadows thrashed through a curtain of bubbles. Like a curtain they rose. A hand, an arm, a face screwed up and struggling, emerged. They dropped quickly. They dropped downwards. They dropped inevitably. He didn't hear a sound, but saw when the shape hit the pool floor. The remaining bubbles splayed and played outwards. Rising, they revealed the shape.
Chains were wrapped around their arms. Chains were lashed around their waist. Chains were choking them, and the second the sight registered he screamed.
He grabbed the chair. It hurt. The window! That was the quickest, that was easiest, all he had to do was get through it--!
BANG!
The world tumbled. He tumbled. The chair, himself, everything was felled in moments and he reeled. The room was too warm. He stood too fast but he could feel the earth spinning, throwing him instead of the chair off balance. The force of his throw, surely, surely something--!
12:00
No, not even a dent. Get it again, get it again. This time he kept hold of it and slammed the seat into the glass. Sharp. His arms screamed. His hands howled. Get it again! Use the corner, hit it, do something!
The person was grasping, yanking at the chains, eyes screwed shut. Their legs planted like trees, yet they failed to lever themselves upward. Little flecks of pink drifted in the water. Brown looked like black from the wet.
12:01
It wasn't working. No matter how hard he hit the window, no spiderweb cracks appeared.
He dropped the chair. It was loud when it crashed but he ignored it. It was loud when he crashed into the door.
‘Help! Someone, someone’s drowning!’ he screamed. His throat tore. He slammed his fist into the door. Twice. Thrice. Again, again. He kept screaming, someone, anyone, go into the pool, save him.
12:02
Nothing, nothing. The other door was like running into a wall, and surely the sound was loud enough for someone to notice.
‘Please!’
12:03
Again, the chair, the chair, he bashed it into the door. He wasn't even sure what he was saying. It didn't matter. What mattered was the sound. What mattered was someone hearing and helping.
12:04
Maybe running the other way--?!
12:05
Battered and bruised, black and blue, but he had to! Someone had to help! Someone had to--
The chair was in the way.
The floor was in his face.
12:06
He gasped. The impact had knocked the air out of him. The air… dammit, dammit. He grabbed it again, ready to throw.
Oh.
Fresh screams faded before one could form.
They had worked an arm free of the chains and it now hung loose. It was raised as if grasping for an invisible ladder. As he watched it sunk and all too soon it was resting on the pool floor.
The man’s face had gone slack. Water swayed his jacket, but the chains kept it pinned to him. They were a coil of rope. The man had fallen backwards. His head had rolled to the side, blankly gazing with slack eyelids. The paint had flaked off the blue button. His glasses were gone and his eyes were too small.
Walter was dead.
Emoticonius, when did you submit yours? I don't think they ever stated a time, so maybe that's why?
