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he sat in the darkness, the smell of oil in his nose, the heat of the furnace as it scorched his tinny flesh, the grinding of gears resounding in an unrelenting cacophony and above it all, as if saturating every one of his senses a ticking, regular, never ending, drowning out everything, even his thoughts.
his reason told him that it was a clock, a reminder of how long he had been here, or how long he was going to be.
but this was no place for reason, they had led him through the bright spires of brass, bronze and glass.
the whole place so pristine so clean. promising a better life of Utopian beauty. the beauty of his new world so overwhelming that he did not look upon the faces of his captors. amongst the spires, but distinctly apart, attached to none, a clock face hung in the air. silently counting the seconds and minuets.
that was the last thing he saw from above, he was led into a lift, Reminiscent of the ones the miners used to use. huge gates came down behind him, his clothes reformed into a Grey jumpsuit. he remembered that point, thinking at the time that he was dreaming, and hoping that even now he was just having a nightmare.
the corridor ahead he couldn't see, the smell of dust and oil the sound of giant machines of unknown origin used for unknown purposes. he noticed the dried blood on his hand, from where he had touched his chest, but there was no pain, and he had not struggled. he touched his chest again to feel the rhythmic ticking.
was this hell?
finally he was led to his cell, there was no doors, and no walls, just a veil of darkness and noise. he was alone in a room with thousands, furnaces burned, everyone worked, everything part of the huge machine, nothing made sense, he realized he was now alone, a forge embedded in a cold stone wall on one side, he snapped back into the present, the same room surrounded him, huge gears on two sides and darkness on the other.
the past and present merged in his mind bleeding over as if time had no meaning here.
some how he knew that it had been nearly 10 years, he had prayed to... who had he prayed to? no matter, it had not helped, he had spoken to the machines, and felt the souls resonate within them, and thanked them whenever they had seemed to work in his favor, or granted him rest, the short times when the furnace had died down and the cogs silenced themselves and stopped. an unnerving silence, the only sound the ticking of the clock, those moments where he collapsed into unconsciousness awaking not within a few hours to find that there was food, in return for these kindnesses the machines had shown him he had made sure they were all in working order.
He awoke with a start, in an alleyway behind a wheely bin, his head ached, he caught his breath, a pain in his chest and the smell of copper in his nose, the cold rain beating down on him.
he heard himself say "ten years, End of shift"...
im not a writer, so its very rough, but its a start
his reason told him that it was a clock, a reminder of how long he had been here, or how long he was going to be.
but this was no place for reason, they had led him through the bright spires of brass, bronze and glass.
the whole place so pristine so clean. promising a better life of Utopian beauty. the beauty of his new world so overwhelming that he did not look upon the faces of his captors. amongst the spires, but distinctly apart, attached to none, a clock face hung in the air. silently counting the seconds and minuets.
that was the last thing he saw from above, he was led into a lift, Reminiscent of the ones the miners used to use. huge gates came down behind him, his clothes reformed into a Grey jumpsuit. he remembered that point, thinking at the time that he was dreaming, and hoping that even now he was just having a nightmare.
the corridor ahead he couldn't see, the smell of dust and oil the sound of giant machines of unknown origin used for unknown purposes. he noticed the dried blood on his hand, from where he had touched his chest, but there was no pain, and he had not struggled. he touched his chest again to feel the rhythmic ticking.
was this hell?
finally he was led to his cell, there was no doors, and no walls, just a veil of darkness and noise. he was alone in a room with thousands, furnaces burned, everyone worked, everything part of the huge machine, nothing made sense, he realized he was now alone, a forge embedded in a cold stone wall on one side, he snapped back into the present, the same room surrounded him, huge gears on two sides and darkness on the other.
the past and present merged in his mind bleeding over as if time had no meaning here.
some how he knew that it had been nearly 10 years, he had prayed to... who had he prayed to? no matter, it had not helped, he had spoken to the machines, and felt the souls resonate within them, and thanked them whenever they had seemed to work in his favor, or granted him rest, the short times when the furnace had died down and the cogs silenced themselves and stopped. an unnerving silence, the only sound the ticking of the clock, those moments where he collapsed into unconsciousness awaking not within a few hours to find that there was food, in return for these kindnesses the machines had shown him he had made sure they were all in working order.
He awoke with a start, in an alleyway behind a wheely bin, his head ached, he caught his breath, a pain in his chest and the smell of copper in his nose, the cold rain beating down on him.
he heard himself say "ten years, End of shift"...
im not a writer, so its very rough, but its a start