Sequence
In the
beginning, there was darkness. Silence enveloped all sides. There were
no
thoughts, no memories, no pain, only darkness, creating an eternity of
sanctity.
In the distance, light
appeared.
Small, but bright and radiant in a sea of darkness. With each passing
moment it
pulsated, rhythmically, growing in size, slowly devouring the darkness,
inch by
inch.
Clarity became blinding,
peacefulness
became confusion, and sanctity became obscured. With its growth, and
disappearance of calming serenity, feelings returned. Memories, one by
one,
were arranged and replaced in order of occurrence, creating a chain of
cause,
effects, circumstances, and regrets.
With an explosion of
awakened senses,
reality returned.
Red
footprints
of blood, outlined in tiles of white, blurred and focused into view.
Andrea’s
fist, beating against cold steel, filled the rooms and hall of Pandora
with
sound.
Thomas stared. Fresh
blood, matting
hair to the sides of his face, staining collar and sleeve. He sat up,
following
the prints leading from pools of blood to Andrea. Movements and sounds
wavered
in and out of conscientiousness as he steadied himself against the hall
wall.
Attempting to stand, Thomas placed one foot firmly to the ground,
applied
weight, slipped, and fell back to the floor.
Andrea turned from the
hatch to
Thomas.
One arm draped across the
stationary
ladder. The other hung at her side. Before Andrea could speak, her grip
failed,
feet tangled, and fell to the ground with a loud crack of her skull,
unable to
catch her body from hitting the floor with full impact. The hollow thud
of her
bruised body hitting the floor over powered the electric hum of the
generators
before settling into white silence.
Neither moved.
Thomas lay on the ground,
staring at
the closed eyes and tangled legs of Andrea. He attempted to speak. Only
mouthed
words through chapped lips were audible.
First finger, then hand,
then arm
raised and fell to the ground. Andrea moved her legs, allowing them to
free
fall to the ground in what looked to be an uncomfortable position. She
opened
her eyes and straightened her body as best she could before lying on
the ground
motionless, and exhausted.
After what seemed to be
hours of
silence, and drooping eyes wavering in and out of conscientiousness,
Thomas
accumulated enough saliva to speak.
“…A…n…n...e…”
He moved a hand, smearing
blood from
one side of the hall to the other. Using what little strength he had
remaining,
Thomas pulled himself towards Andrea’s body. She had yet to move,
speak, or
open her eyes.
He touched her hand. Flesh
felt cold
and vacant of life. He attempted to intertwine her fingers with his
own, but
was unable. He grabbed the palm of her hand only to have Andrea pull it
away.
She opened her eyes.
“Ann…”
He attempted to clear his throat.
“Andrea? Are you
alright?”
Words were dry, and dense,
spoken
barely above a whisper.
Andrea did not respond.
Instead, she
placed one hand to the ground, and with shaky arms and blurred sight,
maneuvered her legs in a position to sit completely up right.
Winded, she leaned against
the wall,
catching her breath.
Her face was gaunt, devoid
of color.
Her lips were purple and chapped. Weazing, she kept her eyes focused on
the
opposite wall in which she sat.
Catching her breath,
Thomas
positioned his body to the upright position and leaned his back against
the
same white wall as Andrea.
Both sat, breathing
heavily, staring
into the streaked wall of white paint and red blood, thinking over all
that had
taken place since their first encounter with Munin and the Pandora
Project.
Placing one hand against
the wall,
and the other into the air to steady her balance, Andrea pulled her
legs close
to her body one at a time, added weight, and attempted to stand. Thomas
continued to stare vacantly into the opposite wall in which he sat, but
spoke with
as much clarity as possible.
“I think…I think I know what happened. I think I know why…
Thoughts in Italics ~ Sequence ~ Writing in the Margins
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Contact
Kenneth Rogers at
oliverlee2007@yahoo.com