Prologue vs. Reffy

[James]

And here we go, the second round of the AWR Cup. This time you have two topics. You have a genre that the story must be set in and a perspective that it must be written in. If you have any questions, just ask them in the discussion thread.

Topic: Disaster Thriller
Perspective: Second Person
Deadline: Saturday - 16/1


GOOD LUCK!

[Jenny (Reffy)]

((Good luck Prologue! May the best story win!))




Ungh.

What? ... Where?

You rub your head in shock at the pain, confused at where the last twenty-four hours went. You can hear an alarm ringing somewhere off in the distance. Everything is foggy in your head, like somebody placed a pillow over your thoughts. You keep your eyes closed as you try to think.

The last thing you remember was eating at the local diner. You remember ordering dinner around six. It was your favorite, fried eggs and gammon steak with chunky fries. You remember talking lazily to the waitress, Sharon. You enjoyed talking with her, complaining about life in general. You remember having a little crush on her ages back, but she was never interested in that kind of relationship. You talked about your psychiatrist job, the mild backache, and how expensive taxes are today in 2056, than they were when your Dad was still alive in 2034. She talked about customers never leaving her tips, and how much she disliked cleaning up after slobs. After eating you left the diner but you don't remember where you were going, or another other plans. You try and remember any other details but it is all just a blur.

Slowly you open your eyes you see that you are in a dark room, with two different lights coming from your left. One is the type of light a computer would provide, bright and fuzzy, the other red and flashing to the noise of the alarm. A few feet away you see a male body crumpled on the floor. The body is wearing military clothes, and is surrounded by a pool of blood. Whoever it was had taken a beating. You cannot see the body breathing from where you lay. Shocked you rub your eyes trying to manually remove the fog, when you hear a voice.

“I wouldn't move yet,” it sounded nonchalant and only a few feet away. Somehow you recognize the voice but cannot remember the name. “The drugs are still wearing off.”

Cautiously you turn on to your side to see if you can find the source of the voice. As soon as you move your body complains of aches and pains. Somehow you received a few bruises that cause you to wince. Confusion sparks again. How could you possibly have bruises? You only had dinner out, and then went somewhere. Your head spins with vertigo as you turn, causing your hands to grasp on to anything they can find, a corner of a unit and the cold steel floor. The alarm pierces through your head with the sharpness of a knife.

“Where?” you manage to mumble. Your mouth feels like it is full of cotton.

“Never mind the location. I brought you along to see my plan in action. I'm going to save the World, and you shall be my accomplice. We shall be famous!” The voice continued muttering quickly to itself, things that could not be heard clearly over the alarm.

You finally see the owner of the voice, lit by the computer light and red alarm. He has his back turned to you as he works on the control panel. He is wearing black jeans, trainers and a black t-shirt. He has short brown hair, greased back with a thick gel. He is holding a scrap piece of paper with numbers written on it, flapping it about as he works quickly. Occasionally he checks the piece of paper and types a number into the computer.

You close your eyes and try to make sense of what is happening. You are in a dark room, an alarm is sounding, there is a dead body on the floor, and there is a complicated looking control panel. The man at the controls mentioned saving the World, and you definitely know him, but where from? You wrack your brain for an answer, trying to ignore the nagging pain in your head and alarm that is ruining your concentration. A sudden realization of what is happening dawns on you. Of course you know him! He is General Platchard's son. A patient you had been working with for many years.

General Platchard's son, Robby Platchard, was severely mentally disabled. It started in his early-teens and got progressively worse. He suffers from mania and grandiose delusions. Both of which make his way of thinking very backwards compared to the average human being. He never saw things the way most would, and has always been accused of being very radical. Most of the psychiatrists wanted Robby locked away in a mental institute because he was a danger to everybody, but the General would not have it. A General could not have a son locked away because of different thinking. It would look bad for him, and the military. So the General hired several psychiatrists to watch over him. It was paid baby-sitting. The Government kept the secret well hidden, and only a select few psychiatrists knew about it.

Regretfully you remember spending the better part of the last three years baby-sitting him. You needed the money, but Robby was special. He would mess with your mind the further you tried to dig into his. He had ideas that were out of this World, and had no concern for other people. He attacked several of the psychiatrists paid to watch him, hospitalizing one. When he was questioned why he did it, he could only reply with one word. Blood. It had scared everybody away, but you needed the money. The rent was due, and taxes always going up. It was all you could do to stay afloat financially.

“Robby,” you try to get his attention from the floor, feeling some of your energy returning. “Whatever you are planning on doing, please, stop. Come talk to me for a while.”

“No! No- you'll only try and stop me. They all just tried to stop me. The World needs this. The World needs me. I will be its savior! You cannot stop me. Nobody can stop me. You know this is right!" Robby spoke quickly. The sudden rush of anger warned you not to try again, or try a different approach. There was no point in making him angry and getting hospitalized or killed.

“What is it you are doing, Robby? It's ok, I won't stop you.” A small lie, but Robby could be dangerous if he was angered that easily.
Robby had told you about some of his pretty radical ideas but there were so many it was hard to keep track of what he was thinking. Things like astronaut food for everybody because it packs smaller, to destroying all holy places so there could be no differences in religions. He had no care for anybody else, or any life form. The General had given him a dog, in the hopes it would help therapy and bring him out of his shell. It was found that night tied up in the garage torn open from head to end. Robby never gave an explanation.

The nut-case was obviously happy with your sudden interest because he turned around and leaned against the control panel, to explain his idea. His eyes focused somewhere in the distance, not really looking at you. That look was always disconcerting, like he was looking in to a twisted future that he had planned for everybody. His smile was so wide it revealed all of his yellowing and cracked teeth. Ruined by the candy he survived on candy when he wasn't supervised. The last time you saw him like this was last spring when he didn't take his medication and stayed up all night drawing plans. Briefly you wonder if this was the case.

“We are going to solve World hunger and the over-population crisis! Isn't that awesome? Two problems, one stone.” He beamed with happiness at his genius thinking.

“How?” A worrying thought crawls in to your head, and you desperately hope his answer isn't what you are thinking. Could Robby really do such a horrifically crazy thing? And what about all those people? Was he really that mad? You keep your cool and play along, sitting up carefully so your feet are flat on the ground and your back against the metal wall.

“Well, my Daddy told me about this,” Robby flings his arms open to demonstrate where they are. Despite being in his mid-twenties Robby still called the General Daddy. You'd always guessed it was because he never really grew up. “He got drunk,” Robby snickered at the General being drunk, just reinforcing your thought that he never grew up. “He told me all about the Deadman Switches.”

A wave of shock floats over your face, and you aren't quick enough to hide it. Robby sees the shock and misreads it as awe. He gets excited and comes closer to explain, hunkering down on bent legs so he can see you eye to eye.

“We will go down in the hall of fame!” he keeps twittering on about something but you drown the sound out in your head. At least getting him over here to talk stopped him from setting anything into motion. Your mind whirls with the possibility that Robby could do this. Perhaps he really was that crazy? You consider tackling him to the ground, but the vertigo is still making your head spin.

You had read something about the Deadman Switch on the Internet. They were a precautionary measure put in place after the Industrial War of 2056. Russia had gone all out in a bid to become the most powerful and richest country of the World. It had bombed several parts of the USA, and parts of Europe, causing wide spread damage. Chicago no longer stood, New York flattened and partially sunk, Washington crumpled, London just a crater. All the major cities suffered some kind of attack. Luckily the USA had been quick to respond, and allied with British forces, they had stopped the bombing. Now a precarious truce was in place and the insane leader sentenced to death.

The Deadman Switch was a series of silo’s containing bombs had been set in place to stop any future attack before a lot of damage was done. Each General had around twenty missiles assigned to them. Each day the shifts would sign out and in, and report to the Pentagon. If one failed to report the Pentagon would issue an alert and send a military person to check. If the military failed to report back for longer than twelve hours all missiles would be armed and targeted on any perceived threat.

“You're going to bomb something?” You cannot hide the high pitched horror in your voice.

Suddenly the phone starts ringing on the control panel. Both you and Robby stop talking and watch it ring for a couple of minutes saying nothing. The only sound in the building is the phone, the alarm and your breathing. Robby starts silently tapping his leg nervously as his eyes shift from the phone to you and back again. You know he won't pick it up. It’s probably the Pentagon. The alarm must be sounding at their headquarters. After a while the phone goes silent again.

Robby breathes an obvious sigh of relief and bounces up. He moves back to the control panel happy to have avoided the phone call. “Not something! No, no … People!” He glanced back briefly to see any reaction on your face, grinning about his idea. “I've positioned missiles to bomb Third World countries. It will remove the hunger problem and overpopulation problem we hear so much about. It will stop AIDS in Africa too. It will work. I know it will.”

“Robby! You can’t do that! What about the people? They are real people! Just like you and me. C'mon, please don't do this.” You manage to get up, with the help of the wall. You know you need to stop him somehow. The whole room sways as you get up, making your guts heave. Your head is still spinning from whatever drug you were given and your legs feel like jelly. As you get to your feet you feel the ground shake. The silo was opening up, preparing for the launch of the missiles.

“People! They are the problem! Don't you see? Don't you want to be famous?” Robby was getting angry again, you could hear it in his voice. His fingers moved faster over the control panel.

“Robby, please, step away from the buttons. Come on, if you come with me we can go get ice-cream.” You gesture to Robby, trying to get him to come towards you and way from the buttons. Your whole body shakes with the effort of standing up.

“No!”

Theatrically Robby lifts his hand and jams it down on to another button with a huge grin. You see on the screen that he has just released a few missiles, five at least. In horror you realize that people will die. You could not move fast enough. Your head was swimming with drugs. You didn't think Robby would actually do it. You still had belief that humanity would do the right thing, but that belief was wrong. All those people, dead, possibly millions. The missiles will hit their targets before anything can be done. The Pentagon doesn't know what is going on. The whole building could be blown up at any second. You feel slightly foolish worrying for your life when you just let millions die.

Panic and anger take over your shaking body as you lunge for Robby. You manage to grab him around the waist and pull him away from the control panel, smacking his head on the cold steel floor as you go down. Anger rips through your body. Despite shaking, you pin Robby with your knees and proceed punch him wherever you can hit him. Robby tries to protect himself by rolling up into a ball against your attacks. He screams as blood starts to pour from his nose and mouth. Your screams join his, creased with anger. The guilt tears through your insides. You could have stopped him, you could have saved all those people, you should have insisted he be locked up. It is completely your fault. You don't feel the pain on your knuckles as you punch Robby, or the headache which had been plaguing you. Everything is a blur through your tear filled eyes.

Eventually you stop punching Robby. He is lying unconscious on the floor but still breathing. Tears tumble from your eyes as the thoughts jar themselves into your brain. You could have stopped him, keeps repeating in your head. Behind you on the control panel the confirmation of the launched missiles keeps flashing, telling you they are on target. Carefully you get up, still feeling woozy from the drugs. You dry the tears on your shirt then place Robby in the recovery position. You doubt he will wake up any time soon, since he had taken a beating. You feel slightly bad from losing your cool with him, but punching him he made you feel better. You check the fallen body you saw when you first woke up. There is no sign life, and his body is cold. The phone starts ringing on the control panel. You hesitate to pick it up.

“Hello?”

“What the bloody hell is going on down there? Radar shows five missiles headed straight for Africa!” The voice on the end of the phone is livid.

“Security break, Sir,” you struggle to keep calm. “I need the military here asap. I've stopped the guy but he needs medical treatment,” your voice breaks a little as tears start flowing again. “I- I'm sorry, Sir, I could have stopped him ... I could have ...”

“Alright. Stay there, solider. I’m sending back-up.” The line goes dead.

You replace the phone carefully and sink on to your knees on the floor. You know there will be a lot of explaining to do, and several people will probably lose their jobs for this. Your eyes never leave the confirmation screen as you watch the missiles travel to the intended destination. Every emotion and cell in your body just feels numb as you watch. You find yourself wishing there was something you could do right now to make things better, but you realize there is nothing you really can do.

One after another the missiles blink out on the confirmation screen as they hit Africa. You start rocking gently, holding your arms about your torso. The horror of what happened does not allow you any peace. Every death screams in your conscience. You imagine the panic that the World must be feeling watching the missiles impact. The panic the people in Africa must be feeling. Some of the people probably wouldn’t realize what was happening before dying in a huge fireball and shock wave of pain. Buildings crushed, people torn apart, screams, children, mothers, fathers. Limbs torn from bodies, live-stock destroyed, huts and buildings merely rumble now. It would take years to recover.

Everything gone in a second ... and you could have stopped it.

[Kaez]

Ref
Spelling & Grammar - 4/5
Ease of Read - 5/5
Use of Topic - 9/10
Entertainment - 11/15
Quality - 11/15

Total: 40/50

There were just a few little mistakes in putting a word in twice or something like that. Not many grammatical faults. For being second person, the toughest to make read fluidly, it did go really well, so five of five for that.

The use of the topic was inarguably creative. Disaster thriller begs for tense escape-the-avalanche action, but you went a different route: just two people in a single room, and yet you still made it a disaster thriller without question.

The dialogue had some rough spots, and most of the lack of immersion can be attributed to just struggling with second-person. But boy, when the part comes where Robby starts getting beat up, wow does that change. It gets seriously immersive, my reading really sped up... it turned into a full-out, wonderfully done thriller, and really showed off the quality of the writing that maybe wasn't so evident towards the beginning of the piece.

[Jenny (Reffy)]

Thankies :] *does a little celebratory dance!*

I definitely wanted it to be a man-made disaster, and from a different angle. I did not want a run-of-the-mill "Earthquake" or "Avalanche" thing that you'd normally see for this topic. I wanted to be at the cause of the disaster.

I was a little worried that it would come off as more "Thrillery" than "Disaster," since you don't really get to see the disaster happening. Guess I managed to capture enough of both :]

You were right as well. I did struggle a little at the beginning. I wanted to make sure the characters were well padded out. I probably spent too much time explaining history and the Deadman Switches. I also made it slow on purpose to build up the tension. The cliffhanger type paragraphs :]

... was pretty fun writing it, even though I now detest Second Person POV.

[lazy]

i reeeeally liked it, and the way mr. admin above there really described how the reading tension went up for me as well as how nicely you used the topic in this new way and don't worry, even with the thriller part being so powerful, this has been by far the most disaster-ish disaster story i've so far read or watched as movie/tv script.. i just felt huge mass catastrophe goin on there and the awe at its terribleness was just sickeningly powerful as well as the sympathy with the psychiatrist's feelings of helplessness and guilt there.. thumps up big time and thanks for the punch up scene and again for being alongside matt the only bedtime story teller that easily puts me in a great mood for a sleep full of fun dreams..
luvluv

[Jenny (Reffy)]

D'aaaaaaaaw Lazy! You really are an awesome chicky! Luff! ;D

[James]

Reffy

Spelling & Grammar - 4/5
Ease of Read - 4/5
Use of Topic - 10/10
Entertainment - 13/15
Quality - 11/15

Total: 42/50

Great work, Reffy.

That was a pleasure to read and it flowed perfectly, which is quite amazing for a second person narrative.

The use of topic was excellent, not only was the perspective used well (except I do not like fried eggs and the story said I do!) the idea was creative and executed perfectly.

I was sucked in immediately because of that execution, a thriller is tense and a sense of danger and death. And you managed to achieve that feeling with just a room and a computer pretty much.

Just great work, Ref.

[Jenny (Reffy)]

Thankies Agro!!! :]

BOYAH! I rocked this round with just a computer, room, psycho and sane guy!!! *more celebratory dancing!*

Just wishing I wasn't default-winning again!

[James]

Final Scores

Reffy (82) beats Prologue (0)