RE: Forgive Me
04-23-2016, 12:49 PM
>Heed the call of curiosity.
I stare at my monitor, trying to ignore the device.
I can feel its presence asserting itself. I couldn't hope to do anything else productive while the brass disk is lying behind me. Yet, something is holding me back. A primal emotion stirs within me, trying to keep me away, but it's not working. I find myself holding the object again, enticed by its mysteries.
I slowly twist the dial. The wheelwork inside spins around as I do, and several things happen when I let go. A little plate with unintelligible markings slides from under the edge, while the dial automatically turns back to the original position.
Suddenly, something pops from the edge. It seems like a button, and I must have missed it looking over the object. Curious, I twist the dial some more. Again, a little plate slides out from under the edge to join the first, but no new buttons pop up. I try once more. This time, I turn it a little further. A third plate comes up.
I press the button. The device starts whirring in my hand. I can't turn my gaze away. Something seems to be happening in my peripherals, but my eyes are tightly locked to the gears as they turn.
I feel dizzy. I close my eyes, but my head keeps spinning. The blackness within my own eyes twirls around me and ensnares me, dragging me off my chair and onto the ground. Still, I keep them shut. The air is stale and I feel like I'm choking. Then, the feeling ebbs away. Slowly, I get up and look about my room. Something is wrong, but I can't quite put my finger on it.
It's almost dark now. I swore I closed the blinds, but somehow they're open. I close them again, feeling tired. Maybe it's time to head to bed.
The doorbell rings once again. I really don't feel like I want to deal with it, I decide. I stay where I am, beside the couch. My hand softly grips Vince's sweaty palm. He has stopped speaking, and his breathing has quieted. He seems much less tense than a few minutes ago, I conclude, relaxing a little myself.
I can hear my mother opening the door. She speaks with someone. A familiar voice, but I forget whom it belongs to. As I sit, deep in thought, my mother suddenly calls out, speaking my name.
(We have a third person to name!)
I stare at my monitor, trying to ignore the device.
I can feel its presence asserting itself. I couldn't hope to do anything else productive while the brass disk is lying behind me. Yet, something is holding me back. A primal emotion stirs within me, trying to keep me away, but it's not working. I find myself holding the object again, enticed by its mysteries.
I slowly twist the dial. The wheelwork inside spins around as I do, and several things happen when I let go. A little plate with unintelligible markings slides from under the edge, while the dial automatically turns back to the original position.
Suddenly, something pops from the edge. It seems like a button, and I must have missed it looking over the object. Curious, I twist the dial some more. Again, a little plate slides out from under the edge to join the first, but no new buttons pop up. I try once more. This time, I turn it a little further. A third plate comes up.
ㄱ П+Г
ㄱ ΛΙИΙ
모 –ШΔ
ㄱ ΛΙИΙ
모 –ШΔ
I press the button. The device starts whirring in my hand. I can't turn my gaze away. Something seems to be happening in my peripherals, but my eyes are tightly locked to the gears as they turn.
I feel dizzy. I close my eyes, but my head keeps spinning. The blackness within my own eyes twirls around me and ensnares me, dragging me off my chair and onto the ground. Still, I keep them shut. The air is stale and I feel like I'm choking. Then, the feeling ebbs away. Slowly, I get up and look about my room. Something is wrong, but I can't quite put my finger on it.
It's almost dark now. I swore I closed the blinds, but somehow they're open. I close them again, feeling tired. Maybe it's time to head to bed.
The doorbell rings once again. I really don't feel like I want to deal with it, I decide. I stay where I am, beside the couch. My hand softly grips Vince's sweaty palm. He has stopped speaking, and his breathing has quieted. He seems much less tense than a few minutes ago, I conclude, relaxing a little myself.
I can hear my mother opening the door. She speaks with someone. A familiar voice, but I forget whom it belongs to. As I sit, deep in thought, my mother suddenly calls out, speaking my name.
(We have a third person to name!)