Post by theredbaron on Dec 20, 2008 23:06:28 GMT -5
(( Here's something I just recently thought up of. I just have a serious impulse to write about it. Feedback is appreciated. ))
He sprang up, breathing heavily. He'd just woken up from from a rather unpleasant sleep. He quickly raised his right hand to his face. Beads of cold sweat ran down his face, but it, otherwise, felt as if nothing was out of place.
He sat there for a few minutes, sitting on the hard, creaky, old wooden floor, listening to the pounding of his heart. He wasn't quite sure why he was as frightened as he was. In fact, he couldn't remember what he did last night, or any night for that matter. He didn't remember anything.
He quickly and frantically looked at his surroundings. He sat in the middle of the aisle of what looked to be a very small church room. The hard, wooden, pews contained bibles and songbooks stocked up on miniature shelves to the back of each one. The two large windows to the left and right of the altar were completely shattered, leaving glass almost everywhere as a searing bright light pierced through them. No trace of what destroyed them seemed to be present.
Just above the altar, a mirror shined. He didn't remember anything about himself anymore, not even how he looked. He was curious, so, carefully, he got up and stumbled his way over to mirror. When an image began to show up on the mirror, his eyes lit up and he raced towards it. When he saw his face, he screamed and fell backwards out of fear.
He crouched on the ground for several minutes, his head between his knees and his arms behind his head, as if trying to duck from an incoming bomb. When his burning curiosity returned to him once more, he began to carefully lift himself from the floor. Looking into the mirror again, he saw that his face was covered in blood. Though it was hard to tell, he had nice, fair skin, brown eyes, and shaggy black hair. His black clothing was covered dirt and blood, but no part of his body ached or throbbed. Now that he mentioned it, he looked like something of a priest
He looked down at his hands. Suddenly, he realized why his face was covered in blood. His hands had little shards of glass wedged in them, as they were painted red. The glass protruded from his hands like giant needles.
Again, he stood there for a few minutes, but this time, he began to try and make sense of everything he had just learned. He assumed he was a priest, doing something in the church at the time of his supposed slumber. Something, or someone, had done something to shatter the glass, and, if anyone was here, it must have caused them to flee. Why he was laying down in the middle of the aisle remained a mystery. It couldn't have been the glass. It's not like it was lodged into his head or anything, only his hands.
After of few minutes of fruitlessly pondering what he had learned, he decided to give up on it. He didn't remember anything about himself, or anyone else, yet he still retained knowledge of the world around him. Suddenly, his curiosity returned to him once more. How did he sound?
He opened his mouth and thought of the first words that came to mind. "Greetings Father." Before he could even think of an opinion for how he sounded, another, raspy, scratchy, eerie voice returned his words.
"And greetings to you, Father Douglas"
(( More on it's way soon, if the demand for more is given ;D ))
He sprang up, breathing heavily. He'd just woken up from from a rather unpleasant sleep. He quickly raised his right hand to his face. Beads of cold sweat ran down his face, but it, otherwise, felt as if nothing was out of place.
He sat there for a few minutes, sitting on the hard, creaky, old wooden floor, listening to the pounding of his heart. He wasn't quite sure why he was as frightened as he was. In fact, he couldn't remember what he did last night, or any night for that matter. He didn't remember anything.
He quickly and frantically looked at his surroundings. He sat in the middle of the aisle of what looked to be a very small church room. The hard, wooden, pews contained bibles and songbooks stocked up on miniature shelves to the back of each one. The two large windows to the left and right of the altar were completely shattered, leaving glass almost everywhere as a searing bright light pierced through them. No trace of what destroyed them seemed to be present.
Just above the altar, a mirror shined. He didn't remember anything about himself anymore, not even how he looked. He was curious, so, carefully, he got up and stumbled his way over to mirror. When an image began to show up on the mirror, his eyes lit up and he raced towards it. When he saw his face, he screamed and fell backwards out of fear.
He crouched on the ground for several minutes, his head between his knees and his arms behind his head, as if trying to duck from an incoming bomb. When his burning curiosity returned to him once more, he began to carefully lift himself from the floor. Looking into the mirror again, he saw that his face was covered in blood. Though it was hard to tell, he had nice, fair skin, brown eyes, and shaggy black hair. His black clothing was covered dirt and blood, but no part of his body ached or throbbed. Now that he mentioned it, he looked like something of a priest
He looked down at his hands. Suddenly, he realized why his face was covered in blood. His hands had little shards of glass wedged in them, as they were painted red. The glass protruded from his hands like giant needles.
Again, he stood there for a few minutes, but this time, he began to try and make sense of everything he had just learned. He assumed he was a priest, doing something in the church at the time of his supposed slumber. Something, or someone, had done something to shatter the glass, and, if anyone was here, it must have caused them to flee. Why he was laying down in the middle of the aisle remained a mystery. It couldn't have been the glass. It's not like it was lodged into his head or anything, only his hands.
After of few minutes of fruitlessly pondering what he had learned, he decided to give up on it. He didn't remember anything about himself, or anyone else, yet he still retained knowledge of the world around him. Suddenly, his curiosity returned to him once more. How did he sound?
He opened his mouth and thought of the first words that came to mind. "Greetings Father." Before he could even think of an opinion for how he sounded, another, raspy, scratchy, eerie voice returned his words.
"And greetings to you, Father Douglas"
(( More on it's way soon, if the demand for more is given ;D ))
