- Last seen 5 months ago browsing Armor Games
- Member since: 6/20/2012
- MSN: Hmm... Malnutritious Sporadic Necromancy.
These stories are written by me. If you have any comments, please post them on my profile.
Two men stand facing one another. They are wearing guns, yet neither dares move to take one. Their posture is relaxed, yet the air seems... delicate. Neither man dares make a move.
The cold, seeping up through the hard, stone floor chills the room. One man shivers and the other eyes him warily. He is about to speak - but changes his mind. Both men return to merely eyeballing one another, ready in case the other makes a move.
The room is deathly quiet. No sounds have been heard since both men entered this game of reflexes. The area is sealed off, soundproofed against noise. No one shall ever know what took place here.
The air is musty, as the room has been unused for ages. Maybe years now, perhaps only days. Neither man can be sure. When the room is used, the occupants always make sure to clean up after themselves so as not to leave a... mess.
The stress is getting to the men. One will crack soon. But not yet. How long have they been standing here, anyway? Has it been days, minutes? How can you tell? They are wearing watches, but it would be too much of a risk to check. They shall just have to end this to find out.
The room is dark. No walls near them, a wide space, although not entirely large. The ceiling presses down on them, the walls too far to see in the dim light yet still close enough. The men can feel the small space they are in, trapped... Not a good place for the claustrophobic. Then again, neither is the old lift they had to use to come here. It should be broken by now. Or maybe it is merely a disguise. Although maybe -
One man starts. He was slipping off, losing focus. He realises the reason why he snapped back to reality.
Did the other man move? Is he holding his gun? Am I safe? Should I shoot him?
Questions, swirling through their heads...
Thoughts, rampaging through their consciousness, keeping them afraid.
The men continue to stare at one another, dreading the moment soon to come.
Dreading the action that shall be done.
Who shall be lost - who shall have won?
What do you think? I've made it easier to read now.
Startled, he turned around. The sudden noise had frightened him, but no matter - a customer had arrived.
The shopkeeper brushed his hair from his eyes and prepared to greet his client. He opened his mouth and was about to bid them welcome to his shop when he realised that there was no one there. He stood there for a moment before shrugging and returning to his work.
He had to get this done before sundown. She had been very clear about that. Or else... He shook his head, evading the thought, not wishing to think about the consequences. She would pay well, if he finished in time - although he was beginning to wonder if "well" was good enough. This was dangerous. Possibly too dangerous.
He was getting sidetracked again. He had to concentrate, and finish it quickly. Then it would all be over, and he would be safe - and considerably richer.
A cold breeze swept over him, and he shivered. A thought struck him - the doors and windows were closed, and there was a fire blazing in the fireplace - so why the sudden chill? Nervously, he glanced over at the door. Perhaps he was just paranoid. The sooner this was over with, the better.
Furiously, he continued his work. He had to finish this, quickly. He glanced up, looking through the window. The sun was getting low. There wasn't much time left.
A movement in the reflection in the window made him pause. Something had changed... Behind him...
He turned around slowly. He was sure something was in here. He could feel it. Something had come for him. He should never have taken this job. Why did he accept it? Why didn't he just turn her away?
He shook as he walked toward the counter, afraid to peer over it. He stopped when he reached it, took a deep breath, and leaned forward.
Which was to be the last mistake he would ever make.
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