a writer.
“Another meeting.” “Well, duh, Air. We do this every day,” Fire responded while walking over to stand by Space in the break room, “I don’t know about Air sometimes. Like we haven’t been doing this since the beginning of time.”
By C. Harris3 years ago in Futurism
You’re confused and silent as you sit in the all white room.It’s big enough for you to sit at that table and scoot back. Nothing more. A steel gray door to your left is your only exit. You sit in an uncomfortable black fold out chair behind a metal table that is melted into the floor. You see the metal mold around the table to see the amateur job that was done. You observe yourself. You lift your hands to view your palms. They look normal; a bit of sweat starts to show on your finger tips as soon as you realize that your hands aren’t sweating. You wipe them on your blue jean pants. Your feet are still in your Adidas sneakers and you wiggle your toes just to make sure they are all still present. You reach up and touch your face. With both hands you palm each side of your face. Reaching your pointer finger to your ears and spreading your hand wide so your pinky reaches to your nose. You then work your way around your head.You’re fine; you just have no idea where you are. You’ve noticed these two objects in front of you and finally observe them. You then see the letter to the right of you that reads,
By C. Harris3 years ago in Horror
His eyes dark and motionless as he focused on me. His attitude usually flamboyant and quick witted but today his seriousness showed. We both sat at his modern wooden table; it lacked decorations save for the wood grain designs. His left arm rested flat on the table as the right layed on his thigh, his hand on his knee. His legs were crossed and his crossed leg bounced. He blinked slowly as his long lashes touched his cheek and opened, his eyes still glaring at me.