Post by Jake on Jul 15, 2009 10:07:28 GMT -5
Because the first one wasn't enough... Here is Jake's Awakening.... NUMBER TWO!
A cold breeze blew through a half opened window, freezing the occupant as he opened his sleep-covered eyes. The room was blurred, everything out of focus and just generally confusing. Jake flexed his hands, savoring the feeling of movement. He tried to sit up, but couldn't, a pain shooting through his gut. He muttered a curse under his breath, wondering what in the world could be keeping him from sitting up. He then saw it, he had a gaping hole in his gut...
Jake shot up, running his hands over his gut. Nothing, no wounds, nothing but his ice cold skin. He jumped out of the low bed he was in, walking to the window and spying out into the streets. It all cam flooding back to him, remembering the day he had woken up and seen the exact same thing, what he thought was the zombie apocalypse. He looked around. He was in the exact same room, nothing had changed from his first trip... Was this all in his head? Was he torturing himself with the endless returns he had to this room.
"LET ME FREE!" he screamed, driving his left fist through the wall. He then curled into a ball on the ground, tears flowing freely. After this short breakdown, he rose to his feet, stumbling to the mirror like a drunken sailor, reminiscent of that day all those months ago. He looked at his face. His body had been biologically preserved. He did not look a day older. He held his head in his hands, crying once again. "WHERE AM I!?" he screamed, shaking his right hand to the heavens. He then took his left hand, punching the mirror and watching it shatter to a couple thousand pieces. He then grabbed his hand, regretting the movement.
It was covered in glass, bleeding in multiple locations. He snarled, and plucked them out one by one. He then took a strip of the bed sheet and bandaged his hand, taking more just in case this one became too bloody for more use. He then looked at the door, making sure the katana and the picture were still in his possession. On the back of the picture was a date, December Twelfth, 1991... Was that his birthday? If this was 2009 still, that would mean he was eighteen years old. He nodded his head, slipping the picture back into his jean pocket. He then exited the door, remembering the way to the street from his past experiences in the building...
Was anyone still alive in this forsaken city?
A cold breeze blew through a half opened window, freezing the occupant as he opened his sleep-covered eyes. The room was blurred, everything out of focus and just generally confusing. Jake flexed his hands, savoring the feeling of movement. He tried to sit up, but couldn't, a pain shooting through his gut. He muttered a curse under his breath, wondering what in the world could be keeping him from sitting up. He then saw it, he had a gaping hole in his gut...
Jake shot up, running his hands over his gut. Nothing, no wounds, nothing but his ice cold skin. He jumped out of the low bed he was in, walking to the window and spying out into the streets. It all cam flooding back to him, remembering the day he had woken up and seen the exact same thing, what he thought was the zombie apocalypse. He looked around. He was in the exact same room, nothing had changed from his first trip... Was this all in his head? Was he torturing himself with the endless returns he had to this room.
"LET ME FREE!" he screamed, driving his left fist through the wall. He then curled into a ball on the ground, tears flowing freely. After this short breakdown, he rose to his feet, stumbling to the mirror like a drunken sailor, reminiscent of that day all those months ago. He looked at his face. His body had been biologically preserved. He did not look a day older. He held his head in his hands, crying once again. "WHERE AM I!?" he screamed, shaking his right hand to the heavens. He then took his left hand, punching the mirror and watching it shatter to a couple thousand pieces. He then grabbed his hand, regretting the movement.
It was covered in glass, bleeding in multiple locations. He snarled, and plucked them out one by one. He then took a strip of the bed sheet and bandaged his hand, taking more just in case this one became too bloody for more use. He then looked at the door, making sure the katana and the picture were still in his possession. On the back of the picture was a date, December Twelfth, 1991... Was that his birthday? If this was 2009 still, that would mean he was eighteen years old. He nodded his head, slipping the picture back into his jean pocket. He then exited the door, remembering the way to the street from his past experiences in the building...
Was anyone still alive in this forsaken city?