Post by odh on May 5, 2005 13:29:09 GMT -5
James Says: I'm not copying Dupin. This is what my sig's about. I came up with the idea first. Dupin posted it first. : P Also, "_____ Says:" © Dupin 2005
And then her eyes opened. She gasped. The dimness was overpowering, so she retreated back to behind her eyelids for a few seconds. With immense power, she opened her eyes again, aware of the darkness around her. Her vision, however was still blurred/ She could hear the branch of a tree tapping lightly on what she could only assume was a window. She raised her head, and then the rest of her upper body, supporting herself with her arms. She looked to the side of her, and saw the outline of a pair of glasses. Sure enough, when she put them on and when she looked over to where a square patch of light was on the floor, above it was a window, with a branch of an oak tree tapping it ever so gently. She continued to look around her: she could hear beeping, buzzing, humming and ringing, among other things. She could see that she was in a hospital room (Not a very nice one, she thought, I could have at least have had more than one window.) but why she was in there, she couldn’t remember.
She swung her legs around the bed, with immense strength, and found they were dormant. They felt like two weights at the bottom of her torso. She shook her arms: they worked. She rolled her neck: it too was in good condition. Just her legs … they felt like anvils. She dropped herself onto the floor, a loud thud resonating through the room. Her body felt as though it had just been hit by cold water, as the fall had awakened every nerve in her body. She looked at her legs, cursing them for being useless. She dragged herself forward towards the door. Just then, she heard voices outside of it. She felt paralysed. She had to hide; she wasn’t doing anything bad, of course she wasn’t, but she felt the need to hide. She could still hear the tree.
She ran – or dragged herself – to under the bed: it was roomy, and gave a perfect view of the door. The voices continued as the door opened, but two figures stayed outside. She could hear her heart pounding in her ears, she could feel the sweat dripping from the forehead, down her nose, and falling on the floor. One of the two people told the other to go, quickly. The other walked in the room, shut the door, and turned to the bed which had previously held his patient. He gasped, swore and then ran over to the gurney. He searched the sheets in vain, hoping that she would be under there. She, however, was hidden under the gurney, breathing so deep and loud that she feared that her male nurse would hear her and find her. The branch was still tapping the tree.
Her worries were correct. The nurse squatted down, tilted his head and pulled the hanging sheet away to reveal her. She was shaking, and sweating, and numerous other nervous-related traits. He asked her to come from under there, offering a hand, which she accepted. He led her from under the bed, dragging her slightly, but not enough to hurt her. She lay on the floor, and as soon as the nurse stood up, he lifted her onto the bed. She thanked him, but the faux smile that rested on her face would soon vanish. During a conversation about how she woke up, how she fell, and how to get walking again, unbeknownst to the nurse, she was reaching over to the table near her bed. On the table lay various and copious different pieces of medical equipment; a stethoscope, a syringe, a scalpel to name a few. She, however, was reaching for the scalpel in particular. She reached it! She grasped it, maintaining eye contact with the nurse. She started sweating again. salsa!, she thought, he’ll notice!. He asked her what was wrong. She twitched. He asked again. The sweat, the noise, that damn potato ing branch!
The side of his head was bleeding, where a thin, metal blade was protruding from, or protruding too – she wasn’t sure. She had swung her arm around and plunged the scalpel into the nurse’s head. He was talking about rehab classes for the temporarily disabled when the scalpel penetrated the skin and skull. He paused mid-sentence. He shook ever so slightly and then it seems as if he had been frozen, as though every atom in his body had stopped vibrating, stopped working. A tear rolled down his face: a tear of blood. Blood. He wobbled slightly, and then fell, with a thud that would echo at the back of her mind with every kill she made from here on in. She froze too. She couldn’t move. Partly for the fact that she couldn’t walk, and partly for the fact that this was her first kill. Human, anyway.
She fell onto the floor again, crushing the nurse’s body. She felt abhorrent. Before she moved, she rummaged through the nurse’s pockets. Jackpot! He had a car. A Beetle? Hell, it was stylish. She liked it! She dragged herself to the door, and reached for the handle. With a mighty stretch, she reached it, and turned it. The door opened inwards, causing her to move out of the way. Getting into the hallway, she saw opposite her a door labelled STORAGE. Crawling over to it, she opened it with a huge effort, and then entered.
When she exited, she was upright, though she was supported by crutches. Not being able to ‘bounce’ off of her feet, so to speak, she found the experience horrid. The trip to the car was to be wobbly, shaky and nervous. In short, she would hated it but she had to go there. She rounded a corner from the corridor where her room – now containing a dead man – and the storage room were, to see a sign above her reading EXIT, CARPARK, SHOPS, CAFÉ. She ran (was it running?) down the direction the sign pointed to.
A nurse, carrying a tray, ran out in front of her. She couldn’t stop herself. They collided with each other, pills, food, water (God she hoped it was water) went everywhere. They both fell to the floor, both moaning in agony. She was first to realise what had happened and blurted out apologises. The nurse shook her head and then said it was okay, it was her own fault. She said it wasn’t. After a few minutes of gainsaying, the nurse questioned what she was doing out of her room. She faltered. A thousand scenarios played in her mind and after a few seconds, she chose one idea. She stood up, her crutches supporting her, and then, leaning on one of them, she threw the other at the nurse, knocking her on her back. Then, she went to waddling to the car, the male nurse’s keys in her gown pocket.
She got into the carpark soon after, and searched for a Beetle: there were three, she found. The first was bright blue, old-model and she thought it was wonderful. The key didn’t fit, with annoyed her greatly.
The next car was bright red – fuchsia-pink really – which she hated greatly. She tried the key, and to her delight, it didn’t fit. She smiled, and waddled on.
The last one was bright green, modern – sleek, curvaceous – and had, on the bonnet, the words HOT STUFF in giant, dark green lettering. She placed the key in the door, and, to her surprised-joy, it fit! She smiled, opened the door, and with some difficulty, got it, starting up the ignition.
Shifting her body-weight, her right foot pressed down on the accelerator as she shifted the gear into reverse. It had been a while since she’d been behind the wheel of a motor. She didn’t know it, but it had been 5 years. She wasn’t 21 anymore. She was 26. Not a big difference, but she had missed out on 5 years of her life. When she figured this out, undoubtedly she’d cry.
She drove out of the carpark, heading to a secluded area to mull stuff over and to wiggle her big toe, so to speak.
She was The Intellect.
Chapter 1
Awakening.
And then her eyes opened. She gasped. The dimness was overpowering, so she retreated back to behind her eyelids for a few seconds. With immense power, she opened her eyes again, aware of the darkness around her. Her vision, however was still blurred/ She could hear the branch of a tree tapping lightly on what she could only assume was a window. She raised her head, and then the rest of her upper body, supporting herself with her arms. She looked to the side of her, and saw the outline of a pair of glasses. Sure enough, when she put them on and when she looked over to where a square patch of light was on the floor, above it was a window, with a branch of an oak tree tapping it ever so gently. She continued to look around her: she could hear beeping, buzzing, humming and ringing, among other things. She could see that she was in a hospital room (Not a very nice one, she thought, I could have at least have had more than one window.) but why she was in there, she couldn’t remember.
She swung her legs around the bed, with immense strength, and found they were dormant. They felt like two weights at the bottom of her torso. She shook her arms: they worked. She rolled her neck: it too was in good condition. Just her legs … they felt like anvils. She dropped herself onto the floor, a loud thud resonating through the room. Her body felt as though it had just been hit by cold water, as the fall had awakened every nerve in her body. She looked at her legs, cursing them for being useless. She dragged herself forward towards the door. Just then, she heard voices outside of it. She felt paralysed. She had to hide; she wasn’t doing anything bad, of course she wasn’t, but she felt the need to hide. She could still hear the tree.
She ran – or dragged herself – to under the bed: it was roomy, and gave a perfect view of the door. The voices continued as the door opened, but two figures stayed outside. She could hear her heart pounding in her ears, she could feel the sweat dripping from the forehead, down her nose, and falling on the floor. One of the two people told the other to go, quickly. The other walked in the room, shut the door, and turned to the bed which had previously held his patient. He gasped, swore and then ran over to the gurney. He searched the sheets in vain, hoping that she would be under there. She, however, was hidden under the gurney, breathing so deep and loud that she feared that her male nurse would hear her and find her. The branch was still tapping the tree.
Her worries were correct. The nurse squatted down, tilted his head and pulled the hanging sheet away to reveal her. She was shaking, and sweating, and numerous other nervous-related traits. He asked her to come from under there, offering a hand, which she accepted. He led her from under the bed, dragging her slightly, but not enough to hurt her. She lay on the floor, and as soon as the nurse stood up, he lifted her onto the bed. She thanked him, but the faux smile that rested on her face would soon vanish. During a conversation about how she woke up, how she fell, and how to get walking again, unbeknownst to the nurse, she was reaching over to the table near her bed. On the table lay various and copious different pieces of medical equipment; a stethoscope, a syringe, a scalpel to name a few. She, however, was reaching for the scalpel in particular. She reached it! She grasped it, maintaining eye contact with the nurse. She started sweating again. salsa!, she thought, he’ll notice!. He asked her what was wrong. She twitched. He asked again. The sweat, the noise, that damn potato ing branch!
The side of his head was bleeding, where a thin, metal blade was protruding from, or protruding too – she wasn’t sure. She had swung her arm around and plunged the scalpel into the nurse’s head. He was talking about rehab classes for the temporarily disabled when the scalpel penetrated the skin and skull. He paused mid-sentence. He shook ever so slightly and then it seems as if he had been frozen, as though every atom in his body had stopped vibrating, stopped working. A tear rolled down his face: a tear of blood. Blood. He wobbled slightly, and then fell, with a thud that would echo at the back of her mind with every kill she made from here on in. She froze too. She couldn’t move. Partly for the fact that she couldn’t walk, and partly for the fact that this was her first kill. Human, anyway.
She fell onto the floor again, crushing the nurse’s body. She felt abhorrent. Before she moved, she rummaged through the nurse’s pockets. Jackpot! He had a car. A Beetle? Hell, it was stylish. She liked it! She dragged herself to the door, and reached for the handle. With a mighty stretch, she reached it, and turned it. The door opened inwards, causing her to move out of the way. Getting into the hallway, she saw opposite her a door labelled STORAGE. Crawling over to it, she opened it with a huge effort, and then entered.
When she exited, she was upright, though she was supported by crutches. Not being able to ‘bounce’ off of her feet, so to speak, she found the experience horrid. The trip to the car was to be wobbly, shaky and nervous. In short, she would hated it but she had to go there. She rounded a corner from the corridor where her room – now containing a dead man – and the storage room were, to see a sign above her reading EXIT, CARPARK, SHOPS, CAFÉ. She ran (was it running?) down the direction the sign pointed to.
A nurse, carrying a tray, ran out in front of her. She couldn’t stop herself. They collided with each other, pills, food, water (God she hoped it was water) went everywhere. They both fell to the floor, both moaning in agony. She was first to realise what had happened and blurted out apologises. The nurse shook her head and then said it was okay, it was her own fault. She said it wasn’t. After a few minutes of gainsaying, the nurse questioned what she was doing out of her room. She faltered. A thousand scenarios played in her mind and after a few seconds, she chose one idea. She stood up, her crutches supporting her, and then, leaning on one of them, she threw the other at the nurse, knocking her on her back. Then, she went to waddling to the car, the male nurse’s keys in her gown pocket.
She got into the carpark soon after, and searched for a Beetle: there were three, she found. The first was bright blue, old-model and she thought it was wonderful. The key didn’t fit, with annoyed her greatly.
The next car was bright red – fuchsia-pink really – which she hated greatly. She tried the key, and to her delight, it didn’t fit. She smiled, and waddled on.
The last one was bright green, modern – sleek, curvaceous – and had, on the bonnet, the words HOT STUFF in giant, dark green lettering. She placed the key in the door, and, to her surprised-joy, it fit! She smiled, opened the door, and with some difficulty, got it, starting up the ignition.
Shifting her body-weight, her right foot pressed down on the accelerator as she shifted the gear into reverse. It had been a while since she’d been behind the wheel of a motor. She didn’t know it, but it had been 5 years. She wasn’t 21 anymore. She was 26. Not a big difference, but she had missed out on 5 years of her life. When she figured this out, undoubtedly she’d cry.
She drove out of the carpark, heading to a secluded area to mull stuff over and to wiggle her big toe, so to speak.
She was The Intellect.