I wrote a short story some time back, it's not my favorite but it's a thing:
#10: A story featuring a countdown
They told him he had four days to reach the door. “Four days?” He remembered saying, “Four days is more than enough time! You’re doing me a favor.” He cursed softly, but passionately under his breath. His cocky attitude had gotten him into his fair share of unfavorable positions but this was the worst he’d been in by far. He needed to keep at a sprint but he risked a glance at his wristwatch. 30 seconds.
“Damn it!” He looked around but he didn’t see this door anywhere. He was running full speed towards the edge of a cliff overlooking a vast ocean. The sun was beating down brilliantly and beads of sweat flew from his forehead as he pumped his hands and firmly ran, one foot after another. It was another 10 seconds and he reached the edge of the cliff and skid to a halt just at the edge. He looked frantically around him but there was nothing but a straight drop to a beach of sand that greeted the sea below him. The clouds dotted the sky and for a brief second he thought about how gorgeous it was. It reminded him of the rolling hills of Ireland. He quickly shook his head, feeling stupid for having wasted a precious second admiring the weather.
“Damn it, damn it, DAMN IT,” he span, searching the dust at his feet, his left and right, back the way he came. There was nothing. “What damn door?!” His hands stressfully came to his dark ginger hair, gripping some of it in his fists. His freckles stood out against his flushed face. The wind whipped his shirt around his waist. The door was supposed to be here. They’d told him it would be there and he could get home. He looked at his wristwatch again. 10 seconds left. It wasn’t here. There was nothing he could do now. He didn’t have enough time. He turned back towards the cliff, his eyes hazing over the waves, and he sat. Defeated, his legs folded in beneath him and he heavily sat in the dust at the edge, one arm draped over his propped knee. His sweat dripped off his face and he wiped his face on his shirt and held up his wrist and watched, his heart pounding in his ears as the little red numbers dialed down, five seconds left.
5
He was sure he’d die. They didn’t tell him what would happen but what else could it be. They said if he failed things wouldn’t be good.
4
He’d never see his mother again.
3
He’d never see home again.
2
He braced himself.
1
The dust beneath him rattled and opened up. He fell into the depths below and awoke from blackness a few moments later to a voice.
“Charlie..?”
His heart skipped a beat.
“Mum?”
 im not wirt-thy · Tue Jul 19, 2016 @ 10:49pm · 0 Comments |
