Category Archives: fiction

You Are in a White Room: Part Ten

 

10857838_601218143341730_5755293110468344287_n.pngThis is the final installment of my serial which I have been posting in conjunction with the Weekend Writing Warriors blog hop. If you aren’t familiar with the hop, click the link to check out what other writers are doing.

To my fellow Warriors, do any of you know of any similar hops out there?  I have been enjoying this one so much. I would love to spread out and join a few more. Let me know in the comments! Also, please note that I posted last week’s installment late, so read Part Nine first if you missed it.

Here are the links to the previous posts if you need to catch up: Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII, and Part IX. And, here we go…

 

X

You are in a white room. You have just responded to a query on a computer screen by acknowledging that you are in fact there, though you have no idea where there is. The computer screen now reads, “Are you okay?” and when you assure it you are, even though you do not believe those words yourself, it responds by reminding you that you are a doctor, a doctor who performed an experimental self-surgery this very morning. The computer reads, “Sounds like you’ve made it. You’ve reached the deepest layer of subconsciousness, doc. Now, take the stairway back up.” You look around but you already know there is no stairway, in that room, in the hall, in the small white rooms off the hall. “There is no stairway,” you type. The computer responds by asking you to repeat yourself, and when type frantically once more, “There is no stairway,” the computer turns off. Staring at the black screen you realize, you should not have gone to work today.

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You Are in a White Room: Part Nine

If you are new to this blog, this post is part nine of a ten-part serial. Ten sentences for ten weeks. Click here for Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, or Part VIII if you need to catch up. Otherwise, enjoy!

 

IX

You climb out of the tunnel and land on your feet. You are in a white room. This is not the same room with the tally marks. This room is different. It is enormous and it has no door, but it does have one white desk in the center. On the desk is a computer, which does not appear to be plugged into anything, but which is glowing nonetheless. You stalk up to the computer and notice there are words on the screen. The words read, “Are you there?” You consider briefly whether you should respond, but then you roughly punch back, “Yes.” The lights buzz above you as you wait.

Final installment arriving Sunday morning!

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Space Man

In tribute to my all-time favorite Space Man. Spider From Mars the world over bow their heads today…

Everyone had their own theories on the Space Man’s arrival. That is seven billion, eight hundred ninety-four thousand, four hundred and twenty-one theories.

Near as anyone can figure, the Space Man was born on one of the moons circling Pluto, hatched from an egg-shaped rock that glowed once opened. He was born fully formed in what was, by all accounts, a human-like body. The only distinction between himself and the humans who were drawing these conclusions were his blue skin and his disproportionately large eyes.

Also, near as anyone can tell, he sat in his ship, (which was little more than a bubble to both human optics and instrumentation,) blinking at the Earth with a confused expression on his face for six days before deciding to land.

Of course, once he landed, the Space Man couldn’t speak English or any other language. The first customs officials who shouted at him from a safe distance report only that he flapped his mouth in imitation, without any sound emerging. They said he looked distinctly like a fish when he did it.

A few minutes after that, the Space Man must have decided the time had come to communicate because every human in the world, all seven billion, eight hundred ninety-four thousand, four hundred and twenty-one of them, found their heads filled with a loud gurgle at exactly the same time. The sound was described alternately as a babbling brook and a flush toilet. Widely-assumed to be a message, the sound left the world perplexed and one too many folks in need of a quick place to pee.

Another seven days passed with the Space Man standing there, blinking and flapping his gums at anyone who came close to him, before the world’s leading archeo-linguists and several top code-breakers suggested a possible translation: Where am I?

It was at this point that the Space Man was officially declared a prophet. The thinking went like this: He looked human, but was certainly not human. He came from the sky. He wanted to tell them something. Ergo. (Humans, of course, have great difficulty imagining that they are not at the center of things.)

There were a few suicides, dozens of new religions, and a suffocating amount of awful fan art in the wake of this declaration, to which the Space Man responded predictably by blinking and flapping his gums.

In the end, two months after he arrived, he blinked one last time, climbed back into his bubble, and left. Humanity as a whole has been unable to process this news and has been staring up at the sky in a bewildered vigil ever since, still trying to unravel the many profound layers of the Space Man’s message.

Now, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to conclude that the Space Man’s unusually large eyes, calibrated to the darkness of Pluto, had most likely become blinded on his journey towards the inner solar system. Of course, this would suggest his message was quite literal. He was lost. On his way to a party, perhaps. Or maybe a sort of space walk-about. Either way, this theory reaches the unpleasant conclusion that after only two months on the Earth’s surface, the Space Man decided blindly rocketing out into space was preferable to staying.

This disturbing idea now resides in the human subconscious. And for that reason, Earth resolves to celebrate January 1oth loudly every year as The Day of the Prophet’s Arrival. The period on the end of this assertion is read especially loudly, as a dare to any human alive to even breathe the words “space blindness.” Of the seven billion, eight hundred ninety-four thousand, four hundred and twenty-one theories, it has not come up yet.

And what has become of the Space Man? Well, let us hope for his sake, he has found his party.

 

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You Are in a White Room: Part Eight

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Here’s another installment of my ten-part horror serial. As usual, this post is in conjunction with the Weekend Writing Warriors blog hop. To all those at WeWriWa, thanks for stopping by!

If you have missed anything, here are the links for Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, and Part VII.

 

VIII

You are angry. You do not know who you are and you do not know if you have a job or if you went to work today or any other day, as the posters seem to imply. You begin to tear the posters down. When you pull the last poster off the wall, you discover, with another horrifying squeeze of your chest, that it hides a small, square hole. You do not care what you will find as you climb into the dark hole and head toward the white light at the end of it. You do not care that your knees and palms are being bloodied. The tunnel heads into the center of the square made by the hallways, but at the same time, you realize it is too long to head into the center of the square made by the hallways. You want out. You are angry. You don’t know who you are.

Join me back here next week for Part IX.

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You are in a White Room: Part Seven

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This post is a part of the Weekend Writing Warriors blog hop. Check out the link for more writers or to participate yourself!

What follows is the seventh installment of my ten part horror serial. Click Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, or Part VI, if you need to catch up. And, after you’re done reading this, scroll down to check out my post from earlier this week.

Happy New Year!

 

VII

You are in a white room. Outside is a white hallway. The hallway, you now know, leads in a square with each corridor containing one door, and the doors all lead to identical rooms. Each room has tally marks scratched into the wall, but the marks reflect different numbers. You cannot remember the numbers you wrote on your wall. You don’t know which is your room and this, for some reason, brings you to tears. In the hallway is one poster repeating thirty-two times. It tells you that you should not have gone to work today. You do not know who you are. And now that you have lost track of your white room, you do not even know how many times you have woken up.

Stay tuned for Part VIII next week!

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You are in a White Room: Part Six

Here is the continuation of White Room. Click here for Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, and Part V.

VI

You are now in a white hallway. There is no door but the one from which you have come. At both ends, the hallway turns and of course, you do not know where it leads. You look right, left, you do this several times, and then you begin to walk down the hallway. Your legs are rubber. You worry you will fall and someone will hear you. As you round the corner, there is one second where you truly believe your heart will burst, but it does not. Now, you are staring at an identical hallway with the same posters on the walls, one door ajar in the center, and a turn at the end of it. Your agonizingly squeaky steps lead you to the door, and fighting every instinct you have, you step inside. You are in a white room.

Join me this time next week for Part VII.

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