Author has written 2 stories for Maximum Ride, and Pendragon.
music is my life, I hate overstrike, I am in love with my family, I am liberal, the egg, pencils, converse all stars are not to be undersestimated, ocean avenue is great, but you must be fully commited to listening, French rocks, I love the feeling of a comb running smoothly through wet hair, a cappella is great, BCG is stellar, Eric Whitacre is so amazing, indeferent to mac vs. pcs, life is good is like the best company ever, the great outdoors is the greatest thing in the whole entire universe, you cannot beat bombing long way home, yellow highlighters cannot be beaten by any other color, I'm chemical free, I want to go sky diving someday, smoking is pointless (I mean, it doesn't even get you high), I have a tradition with my friend to go running out barefoot in the snow on new years on the stroke of midnight, I want to live in Northern Minnesota on the banks of a lake
There you have it: me.
This would be the part where I'd do copy-pastes, but I refuse. They're to dumb to believe.
This would be the part where I'd provide a link to my story, but I don't know how, because it's a word doc, so it simply doesn't work. So, instead, this is the part where you either scroll down and go, "Lordy, Lordy, does she think we'll actually read all this?" OOOOR you could do the nice thing and humor me. So, behold, my nameless story
The shooting pains in my legs with each step screamed “slow down! Stop!”, but the shouts of the security guards behind me screamed “keep going! Faster!”
I scanned the panels above the doors lining the hallway: conference room, private office, private office. Then, finally, no panel declaring how official the room was, because it wasn’t official at all. Sanctuary!
I dove in and found myself in the presence of a community of mops and brooms. I pulled a chain hanging from the ceiling and a bare light bulb flickered on. I closed the door and searched the walls. I found what I was looking for, because there wasn’t much wall space to search in this tiny closet. I reached up to take the cover off the vent, but felt a rush of blazing air. A stream of curses flew off my tongue. No escape there.
I peeked out the door to see if I could continue my flight down the hallway, but the biggest security guard was nearly right outside already. Man, how could a guy that size move so fast?
In the brief amount of time I had, I did the only sensible thing I could think to do. I turned off the light and pressed myself against the wall.
I heard the click of the latch on the door opening soon after, and the head of the guard I’d seen peered around the door frame. Just at the same time I heard another click, this one less pronounced, but all the more beloved. The heat turned off. I dove right into the vent shaft, thanking every god there is and was for my absentmindedness at leaving the cover off. Now that I think of it, I should have been thanking them for the mere fact that there was a vent in the closet in the first place.
The metal I crawled on was still hot and bit my skin when I touched it, just another thing urging me to move along. I tried to find that happy medium where I wasn’t hurting myself from banging along, but still not hurting myself by singing my skin. They make it look a lot easier – and the ducts a lot bigger – in the movies.
I scolded myself for being so cliché what with escaping in a heating duct and all, but what an escape plan needs and escape plan gets, no? Maybe plan isn’t exactly an accurate term. It was more of escape-spur-of-the-moment-impulsive-action-and-this-is-as-far-as-it-goes.
I scuttled along the burning metal and listened, half amused half terrified, as the guard tried – and rather failed – to squeeze himself into the shaft behind me. Despite his non-success, the sounds made me hurry in spite of myself. I knew if I made too much noise in my rush they’d be able to follow me outside the shaft and catch me when I came out. Whenever that may be…
The noises behind me presently stopped, so I figured the guard had either gone to get someone more slender to follow me, of simply inform someone of my taking refuge with all things creepy and crawly. Shoot. Why did I have to think that? It was so dark in there I could be covered with spiders and not know it. That’s the problem with bugs. The only way you know they’re on you is to spot them, because they’re too light to feel (that or they bite you, which does not make the prospect any more pleasant). And I am here to tell you that it is very hard to notice a bug – or arachnid for that matter – crawling on you in the pitch black of a heating shaft.
I crawled like that for what by my judgment was about an hour, in a constant state of paranoia from the possibility of bugs, the possibility of guards, and other possibilities that so barely count as such I’d rather not share them.
When I finally stopped it was because I saw slivers of light ahead. It was a vent that a short little branch off the duct ended in. I heard voices coming from it. Inching closer, I began to listen to their conversation.
“Honestly, it’s freezing in here,” snapped one, irritated, heavily British accented male voice, “don’t you have a heating system?”
Another male, but not nearly as impolite answered, “yes, of course,” he checked himself, “…sir.”
“Well it doesn’t seem to be working.” When I heard footsteps coming towards me I shrunk deeper into the more heavily shadowed area. A hand was waved in front of the vent, then, when it didn’t detect any airflow, it opened and closed the vent multiple times. When the second voice answered it didn’t sound amused as I would have expected; instead it sounded frightened, as if one suppressed smile could end it all.
“That’s because it’s not turned on, sir.”
“Then make one of your three assistants” – he sounded disgusted with the words, as if the mere utterance of them could degrade him to the type of fellow with only three, a number I thought quite large, assistants– “ go turn it on, you idiot!”
It finally hit me that I was in a heating shaft and they were about to go turn on the heat. I didn’t know what to do. If they turned it on, I’d clearly be fried, especially counting in the metal factor, but if I spoke up, well, that would just be a bad idea. I resolved to search like mad for an opening big enough for me to fit through. Before I could set off though, the man with three assistants said, “I’m afraid it’s on a very precise timing system and cannot be turned on on a whim.”
“Getting rebellious, are we, Jack?” There was a pause, and then the man named Jack said, “I’m certain there is nothing we can do to help you. We simply do not have that kind of money, and besides, we still need the rest of the crystal. Not even your overly priced specimen would complete it.”
There was a tense silence, and I knew Jack regretted his word as soon as it fell. However, it was soon broken by a slam that sounded like a briefcase being closed.
“Very well then. Consider this opportunity gone forever,” he switched from the cold, hard voice to and eerily cheery one, “and overpriced? Jacky-boy, I beg to differ… or are you really that poor?”
There was a pause, then the same “sir” as before started talking again. His voice was sinister, snakelike, subdued to a mere vile hiss he was so enraged.
“What… the hell… do you think you’re doing… pulling a bloody stunt like that?” He yelled the last word so loudly it resonated throughout the metal for a second after.
“Give… me… the crystal.”
“What! I don’t have-” but he was cut off by a horrible squelching sound. He gasped, and there was a thump.
I had to figure out what just happened. I peeked through the slits and saw a man with grey hair and an aura of importance standing in a grey pin-striped suit looking down on a second, middle-aged man who was on the floor. With a knife in his chest.
Was he dead? I wasn’t sure. The answer came when he coughed up a mouthful of blood and rasped on his dying breath, “Use your power wisely…”
“Tsk tsk,” said the older man, shaking his head, “It’s a pity. He was such a good boy too.” He laughed at some joke I hadn’t heard. “Imagine. Him, his last words, giving orders to me!” He chuckled to himself, but was interrupted when my friend the security guard rounded the corner and came bounding into the room.
“Sir! Sir Jack, we’ve been searching for you! They stole the crystal, and he go-” he stopped when he finally noticed the gruesome scene before him, his master’s blood seeping into the oriental carpets and staining them an even deeper red, along with the intimidating man standing over him, his Dutch leather loafers also being dyed red. “-t away…” he finished meekly, glanced at the other live man in the room and ran out without another word.
The live man in question eyed his handiwork, then ran a hand through his hair with a sigh.
“Shit,” he said, “I’ve killed the wrong man.” I shuddered, knowing I was the right man.
See?? That wasn't so hard now was it? If I get any PMs I will continue, otherwise I will just write it, but not post it. mmkay punkin? - POP QUIZ! what's that from?? -
Thank you for your time, call agian later.
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