I slip through the small crevice in the dark stone wall, once again leaving darkness behind. Water drips down the ceiling, joining the various puddles among the ground. The flame of my torch flickers as a fairly large drop of water falls directly upon it, challenging its existence.
A tense moment passes before the flame comes back in full force. I sigh with relief. The torchlight breaks through the dense blackness and falls upon a disruption of the smooth stone floor. Iron shines back at me with a dull glare.
Choosing a dry place, I dump dirt down and stab my torch into it. The dull thump of the impact echoes throughout the tunnel. I bring out a stone pickaxe from the pouch at my waist and swing it with dissolved passion, one that disappeared long ago.
On the second ore, the stone head shatters into pieces, also taking the handle with it. The parts immediately disintegrate into a fine dust that blows away in an undetected breeze. With a depressed sigh, one of billions, I set down my backpack with mild force behind it. No point being too quiet, too dangerous to be rowdy. I withdraw a small cube and place it on the ground next to my dirt pile. It expands and grows in the blink of an eye to measure a meter on every side.
I would know. I measured it.
The grid of the workbench is worn out, just barely able to distinguish from the wooden back. However, there is no need for it. I know it as if it were a scar on my arm, as if it were my life, as if it determined life and death itself. I always see the grid in my dreams.
As if it were a loved pet, I pat it affectionately.
“Still in this crap hole together, eh? Don’t leave me now.” As always, there has never been a reply. There has never been an answer or a question. From anyone.
I do hope those animals back at FAHOSS are still alive. I probably should have just let them go… They would have survived…or died an easier death.
Drawing three iron ingots from my pouch with a repeated and tired motion, I drop them onto the workbench with two sticks in the shape needed. The grid twists, turns, and distorts into liquid. The five objects sink in as if it were some sort of powerful quicksand. I wait for a moment before plunging my arm in. The sensation is chilling but also gives my mind warmth, providing some sort of familiar anchor.
My fingers close around the handle, sitting in the same place as always. As I withdraw my new pickaxe, the grid solidifies once again, slurping off of my fingers. I give a disgusted smile.
“Always a freak. But that’s okay. You’ll always be my friend.” I mumble the last part.
“My best friend…” I pick up the workbench and it shrinks down to its miniature model. I bounce it around in my hand before tossing it back into the backpack.
I tug my torch out of the dirt and descend into the darkness once again.
---
As I stalk through the darkness, light appears ahead.
A dungeon? No, it’s too bright…People?! Perhaps.
I begin to shake in anticipation. It’s been so long since I was thrown into this world.
Will I act right? Okay, find out what they are doing, and if it’s good, calmly…calmly introduce yourself. Good. Good plan.
I cup my hand around the torch’s head, darkening what’s in front of me while illuminating myself, and the cold stone behind me. Past my shaking, I listen intently for a sign. For voices.
Just as my heart beat becomes the only sound in my ears, the signal appears. Talking.
It’s not talking though. As I listen further, there’s a sort of rhythm to it, a sort of spirit that flows along with the words. It’s a chant of some sort. As meaningless as it is to me, I listen curiously. Suddenly, it hits me.
This is a prayer.
My thoughts are interrupted by a scream. The scream brings out the worst in my mind, bringing fingernails down on a chalkboard, yanking those same nails out with pliers, stabbing at my eyeballs, burning my flesh, drilling into my ears, and piercing my mind. I fall to the cold floor as the scream cuts off, leaving a bottomless impression behind. My torch clatters to the floor beside me, throwing an echo down the tunnel, toward the light.
I scramble to my feet, propelled by the fear in my blood. Footsteps begin to answer my echo. Urgently, I grab my torch and extinguish it in a wet pile of dirt. After a split second thought, I thrust it into my backpack to leave no trail and then start running as silently as I can.
Death pursues me.
The footsteps are gaining and the tunnel around me brightens but then they stop for a bit, perhaps noticing something I left behind. My eyes quickly adjust to the darkness and I notice alcoves in the ceiling. They aren’t too high up and my pursuers will catch up to me in no time. I take the risk of detection and jump.
Stone crumbles beneath my fingers and I freeze up. Pebbles clatter to the floor in slow motion. Dust arises from the ground, grasping to enter my eyes.
It takes a few moments for me to realize that it has stabilized. I pull myself up and find a small sort of hole to the size. I crawl in and wait.
The ringing of silence is quickly broken by footsteps. They are no longer running, but that only furthers my worry. Pebbles are kicked around. I don’t dare look out. The footsteps walk past and away.
My ears can only hear the beating of my heart just masking the ringing of silence. Of emptiness.
---
I stay silent and still as my body aches to move and stretch. Still taking care to be quiet, I slowly let myself down from the hole. Every little sound makes me wince and paranoia is just waiting patiently at my side, waiting for a chance to leap inside of me.
The nerves throughout my body are screaming, pulling and twisting and turning, wanting me to turn back and run away, back to the simple life of farming and bread, back to the simple surface life. But my mind is running through so many thoughts, thinking, analyzing. People, and there’s the chance that not all of them are insane. Another scream curls my blood, but there is no longer a fear of dropping anything. My hands are held tightly in fists. Every second I hesitate is another second closer to another person’s death.
If I walk away now, then blood, human blood will be on my hands.
My right foot takes a step. Then my left. The tunnel behind me seems almost like the Devil, welcoming me into the dark depths. But I am not selling my soul. The backpack makes a little noise as it touches the ground, fabric on solid stone. My body moves along with some sort of rhythm, quickly placing the workbench, bringing out the materials, placing them in the grid, and then withdrawing a glinting sword.
The torchlight illuminates the walls rushing by as I sprint toward the danger.
Love to read your stories Jes. Ad this one really made you feel like you where there. Looking forward to read more xD
Thanks, Neoo! Yeah, people have told me recently/over time that I do situations better and my endings suck. XD So I tried to focus a bit more on the situation. I was really wondering if I was overdoing anything though. o_o'
I'm trying to write more, but you know. So many ideas...And I'm lazy. Lol. XD
I slip through the small crevice in the dark stone wall, once again leaving darkness behind. Water drips down the ceiling, joining the various puddles among the ground. The flame of my torch flickers as a fairly large drop of water falls directly upon it, challenging its existence.
A tense moment passes before the flame comes back in full force. I sigh with relief. The torchlight breaks through the dense blackness and falls upon a disruption of the smooth stone floor. Iron shines back at me with a dull glare.
Choosing a dry place, I dump dirt down and stab my torch into it. The dull thump of the impact echoes throughout the tunnel. I bring out a stone pickaxe from the pouch at my waist and swing it with dissolved passion, one that disappeared long ago.
On the second ore, the stone head shatters into pieces, also taking the handle with it. The parts immediately disintegrate into a fine dust that blows away in an undetected breeze. With a depressed sigh, one of billions, I set down my backpack with mild force behind it. No point being too quiet, too dangerous to be rowdy. I withdraw a small cube and place it on the ground next to my dirt pile. It expands and grows in the blink of an eye to measure a meter on every side.
I would know. I measured it.
The grid of the workbench is worn out, just barely able to distinguish from the wooden back. However, there is no need for it. I know it as if it were a scar on my arm, as if it were my life, as if it determined life and death itself. I always see the grid in my dreams.
As if it were a loved pet, I pat it affectionately.
“Still in this crap hole together, eh? Don’t leave me now.” As always, there has never been a reply. There has never been an answer or a question. From anyone.
I do hope those animals back at FAHOSS are still alive. I probably should have just let them go… They would have survived…or died an easier death.
Drawing three iron ingots from my pouch with a repeated and tired motion, I drop them onto the workbench with two sticks in the shape needed. The grid twists, turns, and distorts into liquid. The five objects sink in as if it were some sort of powerful quicksand. I wait for a moment before plunging my arm in. The sensation is chilling but also gives my mind warmth, providing some sort of familiar anchor.
My fingers close around the handle, sitting in the same place as always. As I withdraw my new pickaxe, the grid solidifies once again, slurping off of my fingers. I give a disgusted smile.
“Always a freak. But that’s okay. You’ll always be my friend.” I mumble the last part.
“My best friend…” I pick up the workbench and it shrinks down to its miniature model. I bounce it around in my hand before tossing it back into the backpack.
I tug my torch out of the dirt and descend into the darkness once again.
As I stalk through the darkness, light appears ahead.
A dungeon? No, it’s too bright…People?! Perhaps.
I begin to shake in anticipation. It’s been so long since I was thrown into this world.
Will I act right? Okay, find out what they are doing, and if it’s good, calmly…calmly introduce yourself. Good. Good plan.
I cup my hand around the torch’s head, darkening what’s in front of me while illuminating myself, and the cold stone behind me. Past my shaking, I listen intently for a sign. For voices.
Just as my heart beat becomes the only sound in my ears, the signal appears. Talking.
It’s not talking though. As I listen further, there’s a sort of rhythm to it, a sort of spirit that flows along with the words. It’s a chant of some sort. As meaningless as it is to me, I listen curiously. Suddenly, it hits me.
This is a prayer.
My thoughts are interrupted by a scream. The scream brings out the worst in my mind, bringing fingernails down on a chalkboard, yanking those same nails out with pliers, stabbing at my eyeballs, burning my flesh, drilling into my ears, and piercing my mind. I fall to the cold floor as the scream cuts off, leaving a bottomless impression behind. My torch clatters to the floor beside me, throwing an echo down the tunnel, toward the light.
I scramble to my feet, propelled by the fear in my blood. Footsteps begin to answer my echo. Urgently, I grab my torch and extinguish it in a wet pile of dirt. After a split second thought, I thrust it into my backpack to leave no trail and then start running as silently as I can.
Death pursues me.
The footsteps are gaining and the tunnel around me brightens but then they stop for a bit, perhaps noticing something I left behind. My eyes quickly adjust to the darkness and I notice alcoves in the ceiling. They aren’t too high up and my pursuers will catch up to me in no time. I take the risk of detection and jump.
Stone crumbles beneath my fingers and I freeze up. Pebbles clatter to the floor in slow motion. Dust arises from the ground, grasping to enter my eyes.
It takes a few moments for me to realize that it has stabilized. I pull myself up and find a small sort of hole to the size. I crawl in and wait.
The ringing of silence is quickly broken by footsteps. They are no longer running, but that only furthers my worry. Pebbles are kicked around. I don’t dare look out. The footsteps walk past and away.
My ears can only hear the beating of my heart just masking the ringing of silence. Of emptiness.
---
I stay silent and still as my body aches to move and stretch. Still taking care to be quiet, I slowly let myself down from the hole. Every little sound makes me wince and paranoia is just waiting patiently at my side, waiting for a chance to leap inside of me.
The nerves throughout my body are screaming, pulling and twisting and turning, wanting me to turn back and run away, back to the simple life of farming and bread, back to the simple surface life. But my mind is running through so many thoughts, thinking, analyzing. People, and there’s the chance that not all of them are insane. Another scream curls my blood, but there is no longer a fear of dropping anything. My hands are held tightly in fists. Every second I hesitate is another second closer to another person’s death.
If I walk away now, then blood, human blood will be on my hands.
My right foot takes a step. Then my left. The tunnel behind me seems almost like the Devil, welcoming me into the dark depths. But I am not selling my soul. The backpack makes a little noise as it touches the ground, fabric on solid stone. My body moves along with some sort of rhythm, quickly placing the workbench, bringing out the materials, placing them in the grid, and then withdrawing a glinting sword.
The torchlight illuminates the walls rushing by as I sprint toward the danger.
Thanks, Neoo! Yeah, people have told me recently/over time that I do situations better and my endings suck. XD So I tried to focus a bit more on the situation. I was really wondering if I was overdoing anything though. o_o'
I'm trying to write more, but you know. So many ideas...And I'm lazy. Lol. XD