Clocked

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Summary

This is a short story that I thought of when I was in class one day. It fallows a man among a group of people awaiting their outcome.

Genre:
Other
Author:
Jacob Weaver
Status:
Complete
Chapters:
1
Rating:
n/a
Age Rating:
16+

Clocked

The rhythmic ticking grew painful to the man in the center left. His legs grinned against the rusted table and chair legs and his arms were practically sanded down by the course splintery wood desk. He rattled in his spot anxiously, his breath echoed to the timing of the ticking.

A thick shadow engulfed his vision and the accompanying darkness strengthened it. Hell, the only light source came from the slit that was the door window.

The light was cut as a figure darted in front of him and as if a hunter trucking a deer his eyes darted with it. The one in the third left center thudded back into his painful seat. His white cloak which draped from his shoulders to his foot pads flapped in the breeze that he had shook up. His white ovular mask sat plastered to his head, anchored by a suffocating leather strap.

The one in the center left aimlessly threw his eyes across the room. There were ten, each dressed accordingly. White dangling cloak and a white mask with a long rectangular eye slit which smothered their heads.

The light was cut off and as soon as it was the door shot open. There stood a figure, masked by the shadowing darkness of the room and the blinging light of the outside.

It walked in. "Jefferson Wilson." It said sternly. The one of the back right rose. Their feet rattled recklessly as though he were just learning to walk. He stumbled to the figure. "Left." The figure said in an emotionless voice.

The one form the back right thimbles his way out and as he did the door was slammed behind the figure.

An audible thudding emanated above the door. The man of the center left gazed up. The faint image of an analog clock dangling over the wall was emanating above the brightly light window. The second hand wizzed around in constant lapping paces as though it were an Olympic runner. The minute had struggled to keep up and the hour had stood firmly on seven.

The ticking sparked back as the echoing slam faded. The repetitive ticking seeped deeply into the center left man's mind, driving his sanity away with each passing tick. After an eternity of annoyance the door blew open. The man looked up, it was dead at seven forty five. Only twenty minutes had passed and he felt as if he had lived eons.

The figure emerged from the open mouth of a door frame. "John Winston." The man form the third top right rose and hesitantly approached the figure. "Right." The figure stated. The man of the third top right Troyes out the door, practically skipping with what he felt was excitement. The door boomed as the two left and the obnoxious ticking grew back like a tumor.

As the hours passed more and more people were pulled out. Left, right, right, left. The figure would whisper to those who were chosen and the man in the center left pondered to himself how one was chosen for a specific side. He had no idea of what the two sides had on them, he hadn't even truly seen the outside. Ten fifteen and as expected the door flew open.

The figure stepped forward. "Joseph Woodrow." The man in the center left rose. Before he continued he examined the room. Two remained, the one of the back center and the one of the front left. He slowly stepped towards the light and the closer he got the more he could see. The figure was feminine, wore a tight black suit which was sealed by a pair of thin black dress pants. Strangling it's head was a black mask with two triangles for eye hold and an additional strap at the top of the mask for extra support.

They met eyes. "Left." The figure said. The man of the center left did not know how to react, he didn't have enough knowledge of his surroundings to locate the feelings he was required to feel.

The door shut behind him. To his left was an ever expanding hall of pitch black darkness which seemed to stretch farther than his eyes could witness. To his right was a cold vast out stretched hall of white which felt exposing. Forward was a long hall here the light and dark inter twined and standing at the mile long hall stood a solid door.

He felt a thrust hit his back and he tumbled to the ground, rolling like a sack of potatoes. He looked up and here the figure once stood towered a monster. The beat's limbs branched out like great trees and it's neck slithered to him like a king cobra. The mask had snapped at the corners of its mouth and trillions of thin needle like teeth which all had unique forms arranged each point of its mouth.

Joseph thumbed back wards, got to his feet and began to charge. The beast chased behind him, barking and grunting like a damn animal. They fled for ages, Joseph felt as though the hall truly was infinite. Eventually he slowed to a stop when he began to notice empty cloaks and lingering masks with no filling faces. He turned and the beast had been at his tail.

With one swift motion Joseph yanked off his mask, snapping the leather strap. He smacked it against the ground and it flung into thousands of tiny pieces. The beads had flushed with fear and began to run. Joseph then charged to it.

They arrived back at the fork way. The ticking of the clock faintly emanating from the room. Joseph felt it tingle his spine. He pushed the beast into the inter twining hall as he entered the white one. The moment his foot met the ground the beast let out an ear piercing roar and Joseph ran.

He thimbles through his thoughts. Why had the thing chased him, he took off his mask. Once agin he came to a stop when there was an abundance of husked cloaks and shelled out masks which had all been shattered to splinters. The beast charged to him and as if instinctively he picked up the most intact mask he could find and fastened it to his face.

The beast fell back and darted away as soon as the knot had strapped the mask to Joseph's face. He stood there pondering to himself before running back to the fork way.

The ticking grew back again, Joseph winced at its repetition. The beast crawled back to the black hall and Joseph threw open the door, called out for the remaining two to run, and bolted for the mixed hall. He ran through the perfectly straight line of whit and black. His mask had a large chunk taken out from the under half and the jagged edges stabbed into his lips and cheeks.

When he made it to the door he turned to call for the others, but watched as they cried out for help as the beast dragged them back into the room. Joseph had locked eyes with it one last time, his hand clutching the door handle. The beast smiled a menacing toothy smile which shook Joseph to the core.

He threw the door open and ran out, a broken mask clutched his face, and the last and only thing he heard was the ticking of the clock.
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