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literature
Petrified
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Literature Text
The man wearing the double filter gas mask ran. His ankle-length black over coat struggled to follow him as he ran. Nothing about him was distinct; everything he wore was black, he even had black leather gloves.
He continued to run, more and more until he couldn't run anymore. He had been running for hours it seems, and yet he wasn't going anywhere.
It was hours since he entered this cavernous place. It was dark, almost too dark. But he could see plain as day. It was because of what the others did to him. Part of why he was running. But he didn't seem to be going anywhere.
Worst of all, they kept watching him. There was an infinite number of them, always encircling him, moving out of the way as he approached, and trailing him as he ran away, so he was always within a circle.
Always surrounded. By the ones with the masks. Two dots and a line. This is what their masks looked like. All of them. They were shorter than him, allowing him to see the exit that he had been chasing after all this time.
Occasionally, some of them would try to attack. This is when he would feel the energy of a fight. This is what he was living for.
He would stop short, and throw his coat out of the way as he reached into his pockets. He pulled out the grey-white sand and threw it at them. It always worked. They turned to stone.
He would taunt them, "Now why's everybody so petrified?"
Then he would jump over the crowd of statues and continue to run.
It was... a long time before he met anybody else.
The man who fell from the black sky above was taller, much taller than the others. He had almost no hair, and a nasty burn scar across his right eye. He beckoned to the man in the gas mask. Told him, "Listen, you are not ready."
The man in the gas mask threw his sand at the taller man, but it didn't work. The taller man did stagger, and it was enough.
The man in the gas mask ran more. For many hours it seemed. But he couldn't be sure. He didn't feel tired, nor hungry. He just ran. There was nothing else he could do.
Everything seemed to run with him. Infinitely repeating. The petrification. The taller man. The exit.
It was always so far and yet so close.
So far and yet so close.
So far. So close.
He had to keep running. It was all he knew.
He had to keep running.
Keep running.
Run.
Run.
Run.
And never stop.
He continued to run, more and more until he couldn't run anymore. He had been running for hours it seems, and yet he wasn't going anywhere.
It was hours since he entered this cavernous place. It was dark, almost too dark. But he could see plain as day. It was because of what the others did to him. Part of why he was running. But he didn't seem to be going anywhere.
Worst of all, they kept watching him. There was an infinite number of them, always encircling him, moving out of the way as he approached, and trailing him as he ran away, so he was always within a circle.
Always surrounded. By the ones with the masks. Two dots and a line. This is what their masks looked like. All of them. They were shorter than him, allowing him to see the exit that he had been chasing after all this time.
Occasionally, some of them would try to attack. This is when he would feel the energy of a fight. This is what he was living for.
He would stop short, and throw his coat out of the way as he reached into his pockets. He pulled out the grey-white sand and threw it at them. It always worked. They turned to stone.
He would taunt them, "Now why's everybody so petrified?"
Then he would jump over the crowd of statues and continue to run.
It was... a long time before he met anybody else.
The man who fell from the black sky above was taller, much taller than the others. He had almost no hair, and a nasty burn scar across his right eye. He beckoned to the man in the gas mask. Told him, "Listen, you are not ready."
The man in the gas mask threw his sand at the taller man, but it didn't work. The taller man did stagger, and it was enough.
The man in the gas mask ran more. For many hours it seemed. But he couldn't be sure. He didn't feel tired, nor hungry. He just ran. There was nothing else he could do.
Everything seemed to run with him. Infinitely repeating. The petrification. The taller man. The exit.
It was always so far and yet so close.
So far and yet so close.
So far. So close.
He had to keep running. It was all he knew.
He had to keep running.
Keep running.
Run.
Run.
Run.
And never stop.
dA needs to start allowing .rtf submissions...This is The Escapist. I have no idea who he is, what he did, why he is running, just that he is running.
I do however, know who the other guy is. Name's Zidomi, Emperor of Sakkaku, and the only immortal within his country. He funds some really big magical and alchemical research projects, so maybe The Escapist is a test subject?
I'll let you decide for yourself.
'The Escapist', Zidomi (c) qinop
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