So it’s my birthday in two days, and I’ve decided that I want to read more, so I’ve picked out a nice e-reader for myself. I’m going to drive down to the nearest B&N tomorrow with my dad and make some final checks in-store before we get it and wrap it up for Sunday.
Ah, Sunday. Time to isolate myself and watch all those 3D anime episodes I’ve been hoarding recently.
and maybe play all those pirated games lol
Now we’ll take a look at a book that’ll never again disgrace any of my devices. Although it is regrettable that it’s still floating out there somewhere…
By some indistinct act, I was pulled up from the fog surrounding my unconsciousness into where I was now.
The world felt like it was on fire, just like it had been when I had been turned ‘perfect’. This time, I hadn’t been released from the straps that held me down on whatever it was I was currently laying on by the time I woke up.
Ah, I too enjoy recycled scenes. What’s next? Going into a pseudo-gas chamber before being forced into an arena?
And this time, my mind brushed up against Tim’s as he woke up, and I got a glimpse of where we were through his eyes.
We were in the main room in the Lab, the room where all of the cages holding the experiments were kept. The cages were empty, however, and they had all been pushed aside to one end of the room, making space for the three tables that were arranged in a triangle.
Tim was on the first one, no longer creepy. I hadn’t noticed it when I had seen him after being freed from the diamond or whatever that was. I was on the second one, and over my eyes, there were bandages that appeared to be bloodstained.
>looking through his eyes
>he is also laying down on a table
>why are surgical tables in the middle of the room instead of in a sterile environment??
>somehow able to see from outside views that one wouldn’t be capable of seeing from a restrained position on a table
I looked like I did before I had become ‘perfect’.
And on the third table, there was…
I wracked my brain hard, trying to remember how long ago Tomorrow- excuse me, I meant Lily- had become creepy. The first time I had seen her like that was when I had been forced into the stadium and almost been murdered by Lily.
Funny how pretending to die messes up your sense of time, huh?
Although, seeing how you seem capable of bending the rules of the universe to your will, Algeria, it won’t be long before you start contradicting yourself.
Anyway, it didn’t matter as much now. She was back to normal.
“Lecia, how long ago did the bleeding stop?” some voice to my left worridly said.
“Umm… about ten minutes ago?”
“So we can take off the bandages now.”
I haven’t even taken the finals for my high school health class yet, and I can already tell you that is not how post-surgical care works.
Some hands started touching my face, but this time I didn’t struggle against the straps or try to turn away. From whoever was above me, taking the bandages off of my eyes, I heard thinking that was bemoaning about how passive I had been lately.
This is why I rewrote the ending to A Shatter Down The Hall.
(Does that count as potential spoilers?)
It also mentioned hot knives and bleeding. Thanks for the image.
>doesn’t understand how wound healing and bleeding works
It’s okay, G. You tried. But this is why even your participation ribbons were stolen away from you.
When the bandages were fully off, I opened my eyes, and then shut them again, this time very tightly. Something was wrong with my vision.
Blindness? Inheriting 20/40 vision from your author? (Which actually isn’t that bad, unless you’re only using your left eye, in which case it’s an ocular-migraine-inducing hell.) Black spots? Blurriness caused by the anesthesia which clearly isn’t having any other effects on you?
I heard a scream from one of the people above me (at this point I recognized them as Lecia, Grecia, and Mahogany) and another one used some metal doohickey to force my eyelid open so I would be forced to look at them.
“She’s got…” Lecia started.
“… gold irises,” Grecia finished.
Mahogany piped up through the silence, “Mriri, Algeria- whatever your name is, do that mind images thing again.”
How did she know about telepathy?
I began showing her-
Everything was white. I wasn’t strapped to a table anymore, and white was all I could see anywhere. I was the only person as far as I could see, except for Emma, who was pulling her braided hair and slowly pacing back and forth.
I… what? You’ve got me completely lost, G. Are you about to impart some forced knowledge onto the audience who are only here to torture themselves with cringe?
“They hated me, so I quit,” Emma muttered, even though I could make out every single word she was saying. “I quit them. It caused too much trouble. Now I have to get the phone number.”
What are you talking about, Emma? I thought over to her. She looked up from the floor that she had been staring at and stared at me.
“Social media,” Emma simply replied. Then she started doing the muttering thing again.
Is… is this in reference to the four suspended Twitter accounts made in 2011-2012 where I made one post about hating a certain boyband and then got immediately banned? Somehow I don’t think this was written anytime near the failed sister roleplays on a secret account that later got repurposed and then scrapped.
“Twenty-one minutes left before I can stop writing for the night. Everybody hates Emily Michealson, so I suppose I should contribute to her blog. I type so fast and yet so slow..”
“Stop!” I yelled, which caused Emma to stop the muttering thing and look up at me. “What’s going on? Who’s Emily Michealson?”
“That’s another story,” Emma replied. “I suppose I should tell you the truth.”
“And what is the truth?” I countered.
By the way, Emily Michealson was a failed blog that I started up as a protest to being constantly monitored by my parents on my first blog. I won’t link to either here, mainly because they’ve both long since been deleted.
“I’m going to spill all the secrets now,” Emma started. “You are a character in a book. A sequel, actually. The first book started when you were at that cherry orchard, that was. Or was it an apple orchard? I must look that up later. Tell me, what do you see right now?”
A character self-aware that they’re in a book- an interesting concept. What a shame that it had to go to waste on this steaming pile of crap.
Although… I am having trouble coming up with ideas for Living Wasteland. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
Everything was different. It was like golden tendrils wrapped around everything.
“That’s because I wanted it that way,” Emma continued. “At first, you were going to live with me and have irises that changed color to reflect your emotions, but then I decided I liked this better. Now I have to watch that movie again. Correction: those three movies again.”
I have a faint suspicion that this was a lazy poke at the Matrix movies. But then again, I’ve repressed almost all of my memories from that time, so I don’t know for sure.
“Tell me more,” I whispered.
“Well, the date is actually September 21, and I’m writing all of the parts to this book out of order. First Part 2 and 3, and this is the last chapter to Part 1.
Once upon a time, there was this girl in my Youth Group named Tequila, back when I was a religious extremist. I remember telling her about this book and her admonishing me for writing the book out of order.
But that’s all I remembered of her. She moved away after that summer, and I never saw her again.
Oh, and one last thing. When I let you go from my thinking space, you’re going to be outside my house, two weeks before Girl Scout camp, which was sometime in July. You’re going back two months. It’s going to feel weird but I know you can handle it. Ok?”
Ah, the forced Girl Scout Camp yearly diary. How are we going to do it this year, fellow readers? Another photo diary, or do you want something more… intensive? No video diaries, since I still have camera shyness (and also slight privacy paranoia; more on that probably never).
Just the same stuff as before, probably. Shame on me.