Post by sharpy on Feb 28, 2003 16:30:31 GMT -5
i wrote a short story, so i thought i might as well post it.
Exit
It was a busy night. The cars whizzed by. The neon lights in downtown Tokyo glared through the thin curtains. The noise from the street below rising and falling like the tide. The maddening throngs of people swarming the streets like wasps in a nest. My room was dark, lit only by a couple of small candles in the corner. The smell of burnt wax filled the room, the wisps of smoke dispersed as they rose to the tall ceiling. A fresh cigarette end lay smouldering in the ashtray, adding to the pile of twenty or so.
I lit another cigarette and sat in the dark, dank room, contemplating my predicament. I had been there for hours. The air was thick with the smell of stale sweat, smoke and wax. They turned the electricity off about a week previously but it wasn’t too bad, the gas fire still worked - for now.
I stood up and walked over to the window. I peered through a gap in the curtains. It was still there: a white van.
They were waiting. I knew the second I stepped through the door they would have me. All I could do was wait. I knew they wouldn’t come in, they had too much to lose if they were seen, if they were found out. That’s why they wanted me… because I knew.
I had to find a way out. I couldn’t just wait here forever. I had to get to the meeting. They would find me a place, in hiding, far away; they would help me escape, to a place where no one could get at me.
I stood up and walked over to the small table with the candles. I picked up the Colt six-shooter and felt the weight in my hand. I had never actually shot a gun before, and I had told them I didn’t want to take it. Now I was glad they made me.
I unlocked the door to my apartment, turned the handle, the door creaked open, and slowly I stepped into the hallway. As I walked along the corridor the sound of each step was amplified. I felt as if I could hear my heart beating with a tremendous dull thud. Cold sweat was dripping down my forehead.
I reached the end of the passage and turned the corner. Still I saw no one. In front of me stood a huge rotting oak door. I pushed it open and peaked through into the looming darkness.
As I walked through the dull light seeping past the curtains, I realised I had no idea what I was going to do now. I couldn’t leave by the front entrance - they were watching that. And they weren't dumb enough to have left the fire escape unguarded. I had to think, and think quickly. My only option was the windows, but how do I get down from eleven storeys up.
I walked over to an old window. The glass was thin; I could break it easily enough. I hit the pane with the colt's handle. The glass smashed, and I crawled out cautiously onto the ledge. The height made me nauseous, and my head started to ache… I was never too good with heights. After about five minutes of crawling I came to a drainpipe. It was the only way down, so I had to take it.
I edged over the side and grasped onto the pipe. My eyes were closed, and I just hoped that the pipe would hold. I slowly inched my way down. About ten minutes later I had finally reached the bottom. With a squelch my feet hit the soft muddy ground.
I looked at my surroundings. I knew I hadn't been seen because I wasn’t dead - yet.
I started running. I had the six-shooter in my hand. I tripped up and it seemed an eternity before I struck the ground. As I hit the deck the gun went off with a great boom. I screamed out in agony as the bullet ripped through my gut.
Blood and gore splattered everywhere. My stomach wrenched at the site. I heard shouts; people were coming. I tried to move but was paralysed with a combination of fear, pain and absolute shock. I had been so close.
My eyes opened to the sight of a magnum right between my eyes. A small man stood in front of me and screwed the barrel tight against my face. All I could hear was the slow beating of my heart. I saw the man's mouth move in slow motion as if calling out to me. He cocked the gun, pushed it harder into my face. Tears were streaming down my muddy cheeks.
Then he squeezed the trigger…
Exit
It was a busy night. The cars whizzed by. The neon lights in downtown Tokyo glared through the thin curtains. The noise from the street below rising and falling like the tide. The maddening throngs of people swarming the streets like wasps in a nest. My room was dark, lit only by a couple of small candles in the corner. The smell of burnt wax filled the room, the wisps of smoke dispersed as they rose to the tall ceiling. A fresh cigarette end lay smouldering in the ashtray, adding to the pile of twenty or so.
I lit another cigarette and sat in the dark, dank room, contemplating my predicament. I had been there for hours. The air was thick with the smell of stale sweat, smoke and wax. They turned the electricity off about a week previously but it wasn’t too bad, the gas fire still worked - for now.
I stood up and walked over to the window. I peered through a gap in the curtains. It was still there: a white van.
They were waiting. I knew the second I stepped through the door they would have me. All I could do was wait. I knew they wouldn’t come in, they had too much to lose if they were seen, if they were found out. That’s why they wanted me… because I knew.
I had to find a way out. I couldn’t just wait here forever. I had to get to the meeting. They would find me a place, in hiding, far away; they would help me escape, to a place where no one could get at me.
I stood up and walked over to the small table with the candles. I picked up the Colt six-shooter and felt the weight in my hand. I had never actually shot a gun before, and I had told them I didn’t want to take it. Now I was glad they made me.
I unlocked the door to my apartment, turned the handle, the door creaked open, and slowly I stepped into the hallway. As I walked along the corridor the sound of each step was amplified. I felt as if I could hear my heart beating with a tremendous dull thud. Cold sweat was dripping down my forehead.
I reached the end of the passage and turned the corner. Still I saw no one. In front of me stood a huge rotting oak door. I pushed it open and peaked through into the looming darkness.
As I walked through the dull light seeping past the curtains, I realised I had no idea what I was going to do now. I couldn’t leave by the front entrance - they were watching that. And they weren't dumb enough to have left the fire escape unguarded. I had to think, and think quickly. My only option was the windows, but how do I get down from eleven storeys up.
I walked over to an old window. The glass was thin; I could break it easily enough. I hit the pane with the colt's handle. The glass smashed, and I crawled out cautiously onto the ledge. The height made me nauseous, and my head started to ache… I was never too good with heights. After about five minutes of crawling I came to a drainpipe. It was the only way down, so I had to take it.
I edged over the side and grasped onto the pipe. My eyes were closed, and I just hoped that the pipe would hold. I slowly inched my way down. About ten minutes later I had finally reached the bottom. With a squelch my feet hit the soft muddy ground.
I looked at my surroundings. I knew I hadn't been seen because I wasn’t dead - yet.
I started running. I had the six-shooter in my hand. I tripped up and it seemed an eternity before I struck the ground. As I hit the deck the gun went off with a great boom. I screamed out in agony as the bullet ripped through my gut.
Blood and gore splattered everywhere. My stomach wrenched at the site. I heard shouts; people were coming. I tried to move but was paralysed with a combination of fear, pain and absolute shock. I had been so close.
My eyes opened to the sight of a magnum right between my eyes. A small man stood in front of me and screwed the barrel tight against my face. All I could hear was the slow beating of my heart. I saw the man's mouth move in slow motion as if calling out to me. He cocked the gun, pushed it harder into my face. Tears were streaming down my muddy cheeks.
Then he squeezed the trigger…