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Science Fiction short

Offline Wesker

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Science Fiction short
« on: August 12, 2010, 09:32:54 PM »
I wrote this as part of an english assignment last year, largely inspired by Blade Runner. Tell me what you think.



   The smell of oil fills my nostrils, causing my body to twitch in disgust as my head turns to avoid the pungent aroma. I try to ignore it as I put a forkful of Chow Mein in my mouth, but it all still lingers like an aftertaste. I swallow and take another forkful, my rusted iron jaw turning the chinese "food" into mush, or at least it seems like food; the rainwater dampes the flavor down. It reminds me of a time when food used to be real food, rather than this tofu substitute garbage that the government calls Ingestants--a mock substance that contains the necessary vitamins that the body needs, but not the flavor we want; the flavor we had back when I was a child with no home.

   I had to work for my own food to survive, unlike the 300-pound shmucks living in their furnished condominiums up north. That is exactly what makes me the stern tower of a man, or half-man, that I am today. The iron additions to my body don't necessarily help me seem human, particularly the cast iron jaw and bionic leg and arm that replaced my real limbs after the Brooklyn riots of 2018.

   I throw down the plastic fork and step backwards off the worn, maroon leather stool, the rain coming down hard on my fedora. The robotic fingers pluck a ten dollar bill from my left coat pocket and toss it casually on the wet metal countertop of the vendor, only to be snatched up seconds later by the slant-eyed man in the white apron on the other side of the cash register.
   "Thank you, Mr. Edison," he says emotionless to me, as if he just repeated something he heard on television. I tip the front of my brim in return and turn around, seeing once again the slimy streets of Bronx--the streets laced with blood and mice. Countless wandering souls pass by in hooded jackets, not daring to look at my towering body even for a second. Fear, I suppose--fear of something they don't understand.

   My throat takes a couple seconds to clear, emitting gutteral noises that make most people cringe; not that I really care about what people think. I never gave a hoot about what anyone ever thought to begin with, but it really puts me in a rotten state when men are dishonest, and there's a trio of dishonest people living in the hotel that stands across the street. Funny, this hotel looks an awful lot like one I spent a week in as a child, trying to make it through the day on leftover room service scraps alone. I knew it was time to find a new place to sleep when I heard a massive amount of rumbling going on in the room across from the eighth floor's ice machine. My little ear pressed against the door of the room as I attempted to listen, filling my childish curiosity. The sound finally stopped when I accidentally let out a violent sneeze, which frightened me--I had no clue what was going on in that room, but my instincts took over and my feet began pumping like steam engines as I bolted down that hallway towards whatever exit came up. To this day, what happened there is still a mystery, but the one thing I do know is that it frightened me like a caulrophobic at a circus.

   The palm of my robotic hand pushes open the glass door, revealing the fluorescent-lit lobby which contains merely a redwood desk, beige walls, and an elevator. I step inside the elevator, pressing a button marked with a faded six. Soon enough, it ascends to floor six and stalls for a moment. For four long seconds, I stare at my grim reflection on the streaked meta elevator doors, studying my iron jaw as I shift it side to side.

   The doors finally open up, creaking and squeaking with each inch moved. I step into the hallway, looking down the far left end of the dim hall. Countless doors pass by as I advance down the narrow corridor--2096, 2098, 2100... Finally, my boots come to a stop on the moldy gray rug as I stare at the chipped carving of 2104. It complements the warped doorway that I stare at, remaining in a great state of depression. My mind races as I contemplate on how to go about entering: Do I bust down the door with my foot and burst in, guns blazing? Who am I kidding, I don't even have a gun--at least not since they were outlawed by the state in 2021, but everyone still packs anyway. It's just not safe in this world; that's probably why I should just sneak in, grab my brother, and get out. The slimy trio in here kidnapped him because I still owe each runt a sum greater than what Donald Trump's car is worth--like hell I'm going to pay that. Then a familiar sound comes back.

   I stand still in the same spot, listening to the sound of feet stomping on a hardwood floor. Sounds of tables being flipped, a hallow plastic device colliding with a window; the sounds of a man grunting and moaning. My mind races, thinking of the possiblities. Could they be torturing my brother? Did they just kill a man? What if they're on a blind rage in a haze of narcotics? Suddenly, my stomach turns cold and forms a knot like a school boy's shoelaces, making my torso feel five times smaller than normal. My arms feel thin and bare, as do my numbing legs. That fear then comes back, filling my heart with black blood as it pumps copious amounts of blood and oil to keep the regular limbs and robotic limbs working equally well. But it's times like this where I know that I have a duty to accomplish--get my brother out of this seedy hotel and get out of Dodge. My attitude radically shifts and my brow shifts downward; it's time to get serious.

   Before I even know it, the sole of my boot collides with the door, forcing it wide open with a bang. A gangly fellow with a beard immediately rises from an old couch, but nevermind him. My boot smacks him in his frail sternum, sending him back onto the stained mattress loudly. To my right comes a masculine junkie covered in tattoos, swinging an ancient wooden bat. My right hand snatches the item and discards it to the floor; my other hand visciously discards the junkie. He tumbles to the ground with a massive red mark on his left temple, promising to leave him out for hours. I march grimly to the kitchen, seeing nothing but mile-high stacks of dirty dishes accompanied by moths and flies. Filthy.

   The palm of my robotic hand shoves another wooden door to open up for my entry. My senses run wild as I look left and right, scanning for my brother without any time to waste. He's absent from the bathroom, the closet, and the dining room--all of which are absolutely repulsive sights, much like the rest of Bronx and it's inhabitants. I march back into the living room, lit by the moon and cut up by the shadows of raindrops on the windows. Both of my hands grab the bearded junkie by the collar of his flanel shirt, bringing him inches from my face.

   "Where is he!?"
   "What are you talkin about, Ed?"
   "Don't play coy with me, Stamp. Where's Wallace!?"
   
"Th-the guest bedroom, just don't hurt me, Edison!!" My hands shove him back to the couch, ignoring him as the brain in my head thinks to scan for another shut door. To my left is one wide open, which I had not checked yet. I march right on in and look around with intensity. Over in the left corner of the room, tied to a radiator lies my brother, decorated in a wife beater and a sunken in face. This boy's malnourished beyond comprehension; it almost brings a tear to my eye. I approach him immediately and hug him, then examine his unfamiliar face.
   
"I figured you'd come, Ed."
   
"Only for a brother." I embrace him again, warming myself in the satisfaction of hearing his voice. Nothing matters to me now--not the money, not the junkies, not my health, just my kid brother. Things suddenly get odd as the expression on his face changes from relief to shock. I tilt my head in curiosity. The sound of two clicking pieces of metal fills the space of the room. A bright flash of light. Blackness.
Awesome Points: 585


http://wesker.flashcartoons.org

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Offline kinjo

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Re: Science Fiction short
« Reply #1 on: August 25, 2010, 06:58:39 AM »
I wish i could write like that, i don't have the patience for words... Very nice wesker

I also spaced out your story, it was all bunched together :)