Re: Mini-Grand 5109 [Round 1: The Great Catacombs]
09-19-2011, 03:56 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by XX.
Talmadge was beginning to wonder if his hallucinations were going to be a problem. It seemed rude to ask if the people who came from the darkness were real. They seemed to think they were, anyways. One had been a scaly green thing with a snake’s head that had attacked him with a sharp stick. The sword cut it in half in one sweep, and it had died and lain perfectly still with its red mouth open. Talmadge hoped that when he left it would never have happened.
He was in a brighter part of the catacombs now. The darkness wasn’t close enough to touch him. Proper had left, though he could hear it running through the tombs and panting. It had brought him a skull earlier, browned and missing teeth. He’d hated that skull. Proper made him keep it anyway. He’d thrown it away as soon as the wolf was gone. He’d find a new one later.
The walls here seemed to be made of ice, and the bodies were frozen in them in messy rows. Talmadge saw a woman with long golden hair twisted as if dancing. There was a dark wound on her neck that he had to brush away a layer of frost to see, and he was horrified to discover that her eyes were open. She stared at him, the ice woman, and he backed away. He wished so badly he’d never cleared the frost. She was watching. Her eyes were moving, blinking, a hallucination, a hallucination, it wasn’t real it wasn’t it wasn’t real she’s dead dead dead dead dead dead dead dead dead
The next tunnel was warmer, but still covered in ice. He had stopped trying to look at the bodies because they were looking at him, all the dead people. They’d been put in so they were facing inwards, all in different poses otherwise. Talmadge hated them. He wanted to carve them out of the ice with his sword so they’d stop watching but he didn’t want to touch them. A white worm had crawled out of the ice and hissed at him and he’d butchered it so quickly he hadn’t thought to ask it for directions. It would have been nice to talk to someone other than Proper. He didn’t know if he remembered how to talk. All the whitecoats ever said was “go” and “stay” and “put that down immediately or we will have to use force”. They would never have given him directions.
It was eerily silent in the ice tombs. Even Proper’s panting seemed too far off, only its echoes bothering to stay. The ice did something to them. They sounded softer than Proper because Proper was always there, but these were new. A soft sound. A heartbeat. No, not a heartbeat at all: a wingbeat. Birds. There was a bird in the catacomb. Maybe it was trapped.
Talmadge had a pigeon on his head. He wondered if it was real.
Talmadge was beginning to wonder if his hallucinations were going to be a problem. It seemed rude to ask if the people who came from the darkness were real. They seemed to think they were, anyways. One had been a scaly green thing with a snake’s head that had attacked him with a sharp stick. The sword cut it in half in one sweep, and it had died and lain perfectly still with its red mouth open. Talmadge hoped that when he left it would never have happened.
He was in a brighter part of the catacombs now. The darkness wasn’t close enough to touch him. Proper had left, though he could hear it running through the tombs and panting. It had brought him a skull earlier, browned and missing teeth. He’d hated that skull. Proper made him keep it anyway. He’d thrown it away as soon as the wolf was gone. He’d find a new one later.
The walls here seemed to be made of ice, and the bodies were frozen in them in messy rows. Talmadge saw a woman with long golden hair twisted as if dancing. There was a dark wound on her neck that he had to brush away a layer of frost to see, and he was horrified to discover that her eyes were open. She stared at him, the ice woman, and he backed away. He wished so badly he’d never cleared the frost. She was watching. Her eyes were moving, blinking, a hallucination, a hallucination, it wasn’t real it wasn’t it wasn’t real she’s dead dead dead dead dead dead dead dead dead
The next tunnel was warmer, but still covered in ice. He had stopped trying to look at the bodies because they were looking at him, all the dead people. They’d been put in so they were facing inwards, all in different poses otherwise. Talmadge hated them. He wanted to carve them out of the ice with his sword so they’d stop watching but he didn’t want to touch them. A white worm had crawled out of the ice and hissed at him and he’d butchered it so quickly he hadn’t thought to ask it for directions. It would have been nice to talk to someone other than Proper. He didn’t know if he remembered how to talk. All the whitecoats ever said was “go” and “stay” and “put that down immediately or we will have to use force”. They would never have given him directions.
It was eerily silent in the ice tombs. Even Proper’s panting seemed too far off, only its echoes bothering to stay. The ice did something to them. They sounded softer than Proper because Proper was always there, but these were new. A soft sound. A heartbeat. No, not a heartbeat at all: a wingbeat. Birds. There was a bird in the catacomb. Maybe it was trapped.
Talmadge had a pigeon on his head. He wondered if it was real.