You see, at these Elder Clinics, you could sign up for what they called an "Upgrade". James shuddered at the thought. He knew too many people who'd gone to these clinics, hyped on the new fad, completely oblivious to the (somewhat sizable) dangers of it all. Even his best, well former-best, friend had been caught up in the Elder Corporation's sticky web. Miles. A good guy, perfectly charming, hard-working, good sense of humour. Or at least he had been.
Shaking his head to clear it of all these thoughts, but succeeding in doing nothing much but starting an incessant throbbing somewhere deep in his cerebral matter, James tried to concentrate on working out who exactly this man was.
The first thought was her father. Suitably pissed off for a man who had just found the guy who'd just fucked his daughter, big, burly, hair just beginning to grey. Old and pissed off enough, certainly. But something didn't click right with that conclusion. But any other relative was illogical. Unless he wasn't a relative.
Steeling himself, James moved nearer to the hole in his wall, to peer at the man closer. Narrowed eyes glared black fire directly at him, almost through him, they blazed with such intensity. Thinking that enquiring, albeit politely, who the man was directly to his face might be a tad tactless, and most likely to aggravate him further, James adopted what he hoped was a would-you-please-tell-me-why-you've-put-a-hole-in-my-wall-before-I-kill-you face and returned the ogre-man's stare.
Silence ensued, each male trying to stare each other down, like stags before a rut. Though, this fight would be terribly one-sided should it come to such an act.
"You've ruined my patient," the ogre said finally, through gritted teeth, huge globules of saliva flying from his mouth.
Doctor, then, James thought. Bit odd; didn't look like a doctor. Somewhat too...monstrous. Not even childhood boogie-man monstrous. More hell-borne, devil minion kind of revelation.
Post 4
Test group Alpha were renowned in history for the implant recalls.
When it hit the newspapers and billboards everybody wanted one. Who wouldn't?
One quick surgical procedure, or as they called it "upgrade" and you were a whole new you.
You’d think people would think it strange, but the problem with the social norm is that the norm established, no matter how bizarre, is the norm.
James hated the idea. He wouldn’t actively go out to marches or anything, he found crowds to be scary, claustrophobic things. But he did sign an awful lot of online petitions.
Government legislation was having to be updated yet again because of those synapse quickening shots recently released onto the market. They didn’t show on their sleek, executive website the pictures of where it had gone wrong though did they? Of course not, happy faces “improved lives” Fucking playing with god is what it is, not there is one though. The elder corporation are the ones behind it, gave themselves that name so people feel safer around them, feel they have always been around. Truth is they shot up overnight. Not that anyone noticed of course.
James was about seventeen miles northeast of the nearest elder clinic, and he fucking liked it. It seemed rare to live so far away from one nowadays.
The fat man, it would appear, must be some relation to the girl. The girl who had earlier that day got him shot at, bitten, bruised, and fucked him, leaving him in the woods without a name.
All to sneak a peek at what the fuck was really going on.
When it hit the newspapers and billboards everybody wanted one. Who wouldn't?
One quick surgical procedure, or as they called it "upgrade" and you were a whole new you.
You’d think people would think it strange, but the problem with the social norm is that the norm established, no matter how bizarre, is the norm.
James hated the idea. He wouldn’t actively go out to marches or anything, he found crowds to be scary, claustrophobic things. But he did sign an awful lot of online petitions.
Government legislation was having to be updated yet again because of those synapse quickening shots recently released onto the market. They didn’t show on their sleek, executive website the pictures of where it had gone wrong though did they? Of course not, happy faces “improved lives” Fucking playing with god is what it is, not there is one though. The elder corporation are the ones behind it, gave themselves that name so people feel safer around them, feel they have always been around. Truth is they shot up overnight. Not that anyone noticed of course.
James was about seventeen miles northeast of the nearest elder clinic, and he fucking liked it. It seemed rare to live so far away from one nowadays.
The fat man, it would appear, must be some relation to the girl. The girl who had earlier that day got him shot at, bitten, bruised, and fucked him, leaving him in the woods without a name.
All to sneak a peek at what the fuck was really going on.
Post 3
The pounding of pellets vibrated with a satisfying intensity through the metal of the gun, and into his fingers. The sensation rippled through him, stirring more memories, which presently came rushing to the surface. Euphoria overtook his sight, blacking out the vision of a now paint-splattered man, roaring angrily from the ground, two storeys below.
Flashes of a scene infected his vision. Forested areas, bright splashes of paint where perhaps there shouldn't have been, the closeness of another body, female, breathing deeply...
Glass smashed again somewhere nearby, and it took every ounce of muscle for him to dodge the speeding brick that was hurtling towards his head. Finger slipped from the trigger, vibration stopped. The final remnants of the memory faded.
Recovering himself, James removed the arm that he'd thrown over his face. As he did, he was aware of a sharp pain somewhere near his wrist. Blinking, he twisted the arm so he could inspect the long scratch. Strands of red were already beginning to worm their way along his skin. He shuddered as another memory flashed through him.
Too much blood...
Flashes of a scene infected his vision. Forested areas, bright splashes of paint where perhaps there shouldn't have been, the closeness of another body, female, breathing deeply...
Glass smashed again somewhere nearby, and it took every ounce of muscle for him to dodge the speeding brick that was hurtling towards his head. Finger slipped from the trigger, vibration stopped. The final remnants of the memory faded.
Recovering himself, James removed the arm that he'd thrown over his face. As he did, he was aware of a sharp pain somewhere near his wrist. Blinking, he twisted the arm so he could inspect the long scratch. Strands of red were already beginning to worm their way along his skin. He shuddered as another memory flashed through him.
Too much blood...
Post 2
His eyes reluctantly slid down, orange glare continued to throb against his closed eyelids. He turned on his side and pulled the duvet up to his chin.
He heard it before he felt it. The loud reverberating crash, like an operatic cymbal, followed by scattered tinkling.
James horizontally leapt in fright, smashing his head against his hardwood headboard. He swung his legs round dizzied, and looked towards the window nearest his Computer. It had been smashed, and on his floor was a crumbling red brick that had slid along his floor and drawn a thick orange line across his carpet until coming to its resting place against his phone. Shattered sections of glass decorated his floor blocking his route to the window. Now barefoot he grabbed his wheely chair, gave himself a kick off and rolled over to his window, ignoring the glass being crunched further into his carpet by the cheap plastic wheels.
He peered through the porthole of air now the centrepiece of his window.
There was a large, ogre of a chap dressed in the latest sports outfit, adorned in ticks, those ticks the unpleasant wish to coat themselves in, seeking affirmation even in their clothing.
“You fucked up big time kiddo”
He spat those words. Literally. He spat when he spoke.
Fuck.
“Get down here. Now.”
“But...”
“Get the FUCK down here, before I throw another”
The ogre tossed a brick up in his left hand a little way and caught it to demonstrate his seriousness in the matter.
Fuck.
“No”
“No? I’m giving you one fucking chance you little shit. Get down here now, and we can talk about what you did.”
He didn’t do anything. Not really. He didn’t mean to...
In a situation like this you should probably call the police, call for help. You should NOT grab your old paintball gun from behind your wardrobe and shoot an angry fat man with a brick.
He heard it before he felt it. The loud reverberating crash, like an operatic cymbal, followed by scattered tinkling.
James horizontally leapt in fright, smashing his head against his hardwood headboard. He swung his legs round dizzied, and looked towards the window nearest his Computer. It had been smashed, and on his floor was a crumbling red brick that had slid along his floor and drawn a thick orange line across his carpet until coming to its resting place against his phone. Shattered sections of glass decorated his floor blocking his route to the window. Now barefoot he grabbed his wheely chair, gave himself a kick off and rolled over to his window, ignoring the glass being crunched further into his carpet by the cheap plastic wheels.
He peered through the porthole of air now the centrepiece of his window.
There was a large, ogre of a chap dressed in the latest sports outfit, adorned in ticks, those ticks the unpleasant wish to coat themselves in, seeking affirmation even in their clothing.
“You fucked up big time kiddo”
He spat those words. Literally. He spat when he spoke.
Fuck.
“Get down here. Now.”
“But...”
“Get the FUCK down here, before I throw another”
The ogre tossed a brick up in his left hand a little way and caught it to demonstrate his seriousness in the matter.
Fuck.
“No”
“No? I’m giving you one fucking chance you little shit. Get down here now, and we can talk about what you did.”
He didn’t do anything. Not really. He didn’t mean to...
In a situation like this you should probably call the police, call for help. You should NOT grab your old paintball gun from behind your wardrobe and shoot an angry fat man with a brick.
Post 1
Shadows flickered at the corner of his eye. Turning his head slightly to dislodge the tunnel vision syndrome that had begun to set in, James narrowed his eyes at the empty room.
He sat alone in his bedroom, a book propped open against his pillow. Tastefully chosen fabric encased the fluffy feathery mass, sunken where the weight of the book lay. Similarly pattern material formed the cover of his duvet, upon which he was now stretched out, toes pointed, legs straight. He was fully clothed, having not bothered to change before collapsing exhausted onto the mattress. Generic faded blue jeans hugged his legs loosely while a pixelated-patterned hoodie covered a jet black t-shirt.
Turning the page, James perused the words printed there, black and stark against the pale beige paper. Little of what was written there was actually absorbed into his brain, both body and mind too tired for concentration. Even rational thought seemed too much of a stretch presently. Blinking, his eyelids felt too heavy, begging to remain closed. He pulled them open, with visible force, shutting his book simultaneously. Historical reading would have to wait for another night. Too much had happened that day.
Dragging his legs off his duvet, James stood, shrugging out of his hoodie smoothly. When it fell to the floor, he didn’t pick it up. Instead, the hoodie was joined by the crumpled t-shirt and jeans that had been on his person a few moments previously. Changing into a pair of incredibly creased shorts, he slid into bed, ignoring the continuance of harsh light due to the electricity pulsing through the light bulb hanging from the ceiling.
He sat alone in his bedroom, a book propped open against his pillow. Tastefully chosen fabric encased the fluffy feathery mass, sunken where the weight of the book lay. Similarly pattern material formed the cover of his duvet, upon which he was now stretched out, toes pointed, legs straight. He was fully clothed, having not bothered to change before collapsing exhausted onto the mattress. Generic faded blue jeans hugged his legs loosely while a pixelated-patterned hoodie covered a jet black t-shirt.
Turning the page, James perused the words printed there, black and stark against the pale beige paper. Little of what was written there was actually absorbed into his brain, both body and mind too tired for concentration. Even rational thought seemed too much of a stretch presently. Blinking, his eyelids felt too heavy, begging to remain closed. He pulled them open, with visible force, shutting his book simultaneously. Historical reading would have to wait for another night. Too much had happened that day.
Dragging his legs off his duvet, James stood, shrugging out of his hoodie smoothly. When it fell to the floor, he didn’t pick it up. Instead, the hoodie was joined by the crumpled t-shirt and jeans that had been on his person a few moments previously. Changing into a pair of incredibly creased shorts, he slid into bed, ignoring the continuance of harsh light due to the electricity pulsing through the light bulb hanging from the ceiling.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)