Rush Quest (You are no longer a hobo)
Unread postPosted: January 28th, 2013, 10:16 pm
You hate this song. From its stupid ‘I am so great’ lyrics to its ‘I can’t actually sing so maybe I’ll autotune my talking’ vocals. Mash, mash, mash, you take out your annoyance on the potatoes.
“Can someone change the station!?” you yell to the house in general, there are speakers in the kitchen, but the actual tuner is with the sound system in the TV room. Mash, mash, mash. The station changes.
-thorities are issuing warning after three nights of medium to large scale attacks. The Mouros believed responsible still at large and wandering the greater Balmain area. FMRS have issued their standard statement about staying indoors and reporting any sightings promptly, however they have come under fire from critics for failing to-
“Change it again!” One can not properly cook to depressing news! The station changes again, to acceptable music this time. Mash, mash, how are the other vegetables going? You pass the window in time to see a flock of parrots taking to the sky screeching and squawking, next door’s dog starts barking madly at the birds as if she’d never seen one before. Other dogs join in and you hear a rumble, the storm must be coming in.
You glance out the window again, catching a slight movement from the corner of your eye and feel a thrill of anxiety. Nah, probably just more birds or something. A slight crunch, like concrete on concrete and you clutch the potato masher a little tighter... pathetic, if you’re going to freak out at least get a knife or something, I mean, not like it would help but a potato masher? Died with a potato masher in their hand would make for a terrible obituary...
The window explodes in a shower of glass and you get a glimpse of something large barreling through the wall. Inbetween the ‘ohcrapohcrapohcrapgoingtodie’ thoughts your brain manages to slip in ‘You had to go and tempt fate, didn’t you?’
The creature, a glimpse of a mish mash of dirt, concrete, plants and other bits and pieces. One of them. The anxiety is gone now, fear and adrenaline replace it. Useless, see it move but it barely registers before you’re on your back looking up at the stormy sky, concrete and shattered glass below you, your chest burning and heaving from the blow. You hear, more than see, it move deeper into the house. Hear screams. Darkness starts to creep into the edge of your vision, no! Have to get up, get help or... chest... why does breathing hurt so much? There’s a catch, a rattle in your breathing that is suddenly scarier than anything else going on. Panic shoots through you, the darkness encroaches.
You feel something, somethings, in the darkness. A presence, feeling, sensation, is this what dying feels like? They press towards you, seeking something, you. There is a burning in your brain now, along with your chest. They twist deeper, all seeking. The pain intensifies. Have to choose, maybe if one wins the rest will go, have to make it stop, hurts too much, you’re sure it’s killing you.
It takes you a moment, several long agonising ones in fact, but this seems important somehow, and you separate out the sensations; Twisting, Strain, Dark, Warm, Cold, Restlessness.
Choose
-Sensation
Quest will be renamed as the story progresses (unless you remain a hobo out of respect for your mangled house).
A joint project.
“Can someone change the station!?” you yell to the house in general, there are speakers in the kitchen, but the actual tuner is with the sound system in the TV room. Mash, mash, mash. The station changes.
-thorities are issuing warning after three nights of medium to large scale attacks. The Mouros believed responsible still at large and wandering the greater Balmain area. FMRS have issued their standard statement about staying indoors and reporting any sightings promptly, however they have come under fire from critics for failing to-
“Change it again!” One can not properly cook to depressing news! The station changes again, to acceptable music this time. Mash, mash, how are the other vegetables going? You pass the window in time to see a flock of parrots taking to the sky screeching and squawking, next door’s dog starts barking madly at the birds as if she’d never seen one before. Other dogs join in and you hear a rumble, the storm must be coming in.
You glance out the window again, catching a slight movement from the corner of your eye and feel a thrill of anxiety. Nah, probably just more birds or something. A slight crunch, like concrete on concrete and you clutch the potato masher a little tighter... pathetic, if you’re going to freak out at least get a knife or something, I mean, not like it would help but a potato masher? Died with a potato masher in their hand would make for a terrible obituary...
The window explodes in a shower of glass and you get a glimpse of something large barreling through the wall. Inbetween the ‘ohcrapohcrapohcrapgoingtodie’ thoughts your brain manages to slip in ‘You had to go and tempt fate, didn’t you?’
The creature, a glimpse of a mish mash of dirt, concrete, plants and other bits and pieces. One of them. The anxiety is gone now, fear and adrenaline replace it. Useless, see it move but it barely registers before you’re on your back looking up at the stormy sky, concrete and shattered glass below you, your chest burning and heaving from the blow. You hear, more than see, it move deeper into the house. Hear screams. Darkness starts to creep into the edge of your vision, no! Have to get up, get help or... chest... why does breathing hurt so much? There’s a catch, a rattle in your breathing that is suddenly scarier than anything else going on. Panic shoots through you, the darkness encroaches.
You feel something, somethings, in the darkness. A presence, feeling, sensation, is this what dying feels like? They press towards you, seeking something, you. There is a burning in your brain now, along with your chest. They twist deeper, all seeking. The pain intensifies. Have to choose, maybe if one wins the rest will go, have to make it stop, hurts too much, you’re sure it’s killing you.
It takes you a moment, several long agonising ones in fact, but this seems important somehow, and you separate out the sensations; Twisting, Strain, Dark, Warm, Cold, Restlessness.
Choose
-Sensation
Quest will be renamed as the story progresses (unless you remain a hobo out of respect for your mangled house).
A joint project.
With Aldraia.