Troy Richert
Stories (1/0)
The Gene Timer
The Gene Timer CHAPTER 1 Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. Thats exactly the feeling that I had as my voice echoed through the darkness of the Goose Island Woods. I lay there screaming for help knowing that no one can hear me. “Please someone help me” I scream as my voice echoes through the emptiness of the woods. Only it doesn’t feel like night to me. I can see perfectly clear, clearer than I ever have. I try and stand up to only feel a sharp stabbing in my lower right abdomen. As I go to grab my stomach I feel an unfamiliar scar, “what the hell is this?!” I yell as I wince in pain while my fingers run over the jagged scar about 6 inches in length. I slowly begin to stand up, my balance not what I remember it to be. I’m feeling groggy like I have been asleep for days. Have I been? How long was I out? Has it been days, weeks, years? The last thing I remember is walking home to my house from the bar. I was fumbling for my keys and then everything after that is a blur. I go to try to check my phone to see what the date it is, “Of course it’s dead” I mumble to myself. “I might as well start walking”, I say to myself. I start to wander through the woods hoping to catch a glimpse of someone or hear the bustle of the city. I begin heading what I believe is the quickest way out of the woods. It’s a hot and humid out and I’m still in a long sleeve crew neck, and blue jeans. As I start to sweat I decide to roll up my sleeves, and that’s when I notice on the inside of my left wrist something unusual. It looked like a tattoo of a timer, but it was counting down. 47 hours 53 minutes and 16 seconds…... 15 seconds…14…13..12. My mind begins to panic, “what could this be, a bomb, is it counting down my time left on this planet, a sick joke?”. I start running hoping I would run into someone. “Please help me!” I frantically yell as I feel the droplets of moisture form on my face. With ever step I slowly begin to lose hope that I will ever get out of these woods.
By Troy Richert2 years ago in Fiction