Monday, October 25, 2004

Only got two pages done today, so far. That's not enough if I want to reach the 55,000 page deadline. I'm going to work at home tonight and post another 3-4 if I can, and work harder on it tomorrow. I'll post what I have now, though, for the sake of progress. I am going to update this every workday and every weekend that I don't keep up with my goals every day of the week. at the very least I have to get 2 more pages done even if I do 4 pages every day on the weekend. I'm looking to overshoot 55,000. Anyway, here's the beginning of chapter 1.

A History Lost in a World Forgotten

Chapter 1: Expedition's End

In a black of the darkest pitch there was a sharp thud with resounding resonations that were almost sickening. With nothing piercing the emptiness, the dark was endless in its expanse, stretching as far as the imagination could see. But the mind within it was not fooled; it knew there were boundaries. It could emphatically sense them in every fiber of itself. A second thud reverberated through the dark, deliberate and harder, the thuds began repeating themselves rhythmically in the chamber. Like a slow steady heart beat the thuds pounded, one after another, each before the remnants of the last had dyed off as it echoed through the tiny hollow within the structure.

The seemingly final strike was followed instantly by the sound of strike a wall with a space behind it. The word freedom echoed in the trapped mind. The thuds began again, louder this time, the feeling of heavier weight behind them, faster, pounding with determination. The sound of flesh striking cement, packing itself against the wall, repeated itself again and again, as the mind began to feel adrenaline coursing through its body. It echoed the word inside itself again, freedom. The rapid pounding began to be joined by other sounds as the whole blackness seemed filled and alive, dust crashing down from the ceiling, and after an untold amount of time, the sounds of cracking. It’s possible this continued for an hour or more, time doesn’t move in the dark. It breaks minds; they lose patience, when there is no time, that’s when it feels more important than anything else in the world. Light began to stream in a bit at a time. The mind that had begun to grow inside of the dark womb of a room became stronger. The pounding strength in its legs kicked again and again, pain streaking through them as they began to strike edges and crumbles.

Like a holy vision a crack began to spread and grow longer and wider. The light from outside so bright that nothing was distinguishable beyond the brilliant yellowish glow of the crack that seemed to be the only thing in the world. And the kicking didn’t stop. It didn’t even slow down. No rest for the weary. Chunks crumbled away, the sounds overloading the senses in combination with the light. The kicking stopped long enough to reposition itself to kick harder.

Another hour and the hard layer of cement was broken through, the dry wall on the other side offered no resistance to the determined bloody feet as they went through it into the area beyond. The man crept to the edge, scooting along the floor without even looking at the now dimly lit room from which he was emerging as he crawled into the light. Dark is infinite and yet more confining that the smallest prison cell, light shows you all your restrictions, all your boundaries, but stepping out of a large dark chamber into a small well lit room is like breaking free from a prison and landing on a beach. The room had no ceiling. To say that isn’t totally accurate. The room did in fact have a ceiling, but it doesn’t really count as it was crumbled and scattered over most of the debris-cluttered floor. He stood up and felt the strong breeze blow over his tanned skin; his matted filthy hair struggled in influence of the weather.

“ Freedom, “ the creed that drove him voiced itself as he started to look down after his eyes had adjusted to the light and saw his own bloody footprints on the floor. He started brushing the muddy cement crumbles and dirt off of his chest and blue jeans. It wasn’t the dirt that bothered him; it was the dirt from the cell from which he’d just broken free of that he wanted off. When he was sufficiently clean of the ashy dust he began to look around. The sky was beginning to turn pink and fiery orange. The room he was in was smallish, but two of its walls were crumbled, which had perhaps led to the collapsed ceiling, or been, in part, caused by it. He worked his way over the rubble and walked to the edge of the room, toward the worse of the two walls and looked over the edge of the floor down the five-story drop to the ground below. It wasn’t going to be easy getting back down.

He walked back to the hole he had made in the wall and reached only his left arm in as he pressed his face flat against the remaining dry wall and felt along the floor inside until his fingers touched the edge of what he had left inside. He pulled the hard-drive out of the dark and then he stood up and examined the other solid wall that led presumably to another part of the building, maybe one with a way out. He was in luck, as this room had a door, even though it was locked, it was made out of wood that was wearing down with age and only took a single strong brutal strike from his shoulder to rip the obstacle out of the frame that held it in place falling right after and landing on top of the ripped wood himself, barely managing not to drop the drive that he clutched in his right hand. A cluster of pigeons were disturbed by the violent act and fluttered with great haste in a brilliant white flurry out of the few windows and holes in the ceiling before his head lifted off of the door.

The next door was unlocked and led into a dank and humid hallway. He had to prop the exit open with cement rocks to keep it from shutting and cutting off most of the light in the room. Every few feet there was another door and a tiny muddy window letting in a hint of light, giving him all he needed to navigate by and avoid the worst of the objects on the floor with his feet. Walking from window to window he searched till he found what he was looking for, a locker room. The door was unlocked and there were some rotten smelling clothes laying about. He grabbed a suitably strong looking shirt that had not suffered from too much decay and wrapped his prize up in it and tied it around his waist. There was no knowing if he might need both hands free later and none of his pockets were free to carry it. He tried to pull open the other lockers, but the ones that were not locked were already empty except for junk. Curses slipped under his breath, he should have come here more prepared, prepared to break out of things and into other things. A simple crow bar would have meant that his feet would be healed and all of these lockers would be open for his taking. There wasn’t enough time to stress, he had to hurry, and when he had come from the exposed rooms the sun had already been starting to sink. A stairwell had to be nearby and needed to be found. Both feet hurt like hell, but it would not slow him down.

Sure enough the stairwell was in a little offshoot of the main corridor and was well lit because it was mostly open to the outdoors. Sunset was in full bloom and he ran down the stairs as cautiously as he could without wasting a single moment. He allowed himself only to flinch as tiny pebbles dug their way into his bleeding souls whenever he failed to see them before landing his feet on them. At the bottom of the stairwell there was no need to explore any more of the building as the wall had crumbled enough to get through. He gripped the aging bricks with held his weight firmly and hoisted himself up pulling out and falling onto the ground on the other side, twisting in the air to land on his hip into some overly tall grass, a nasty bruise would be there the next day; but his prize was safe from the impact and that was all that mattered. It probably wouldn’t have mattered if he had known that the toy wrapped up in his makeshift fanny sack could easily have survived his weight land. The old things hardly ever lived up to what they were supposed to have been able to do anymore and this was the sort of important claim that was not worth leaving to that chance.

In a black of the darkest pitch there was a sharp thud with resounding resonations that were almost sickening. With nothing piercing the emptiness, the dark was endless in its expanse, stretching as far as the imagination could see. But the mind within it was not fooled; it knew there were boundaries. It could emphatically sense them in every fiber of itself. A second thud reverberated through the dark, deliberate and harder, the thuds began repeating themselves rhythmically in the chamber. Like a slow steady heart beat the thuds pounded, one after another, each before the remnants of the last had dyed off as it echoed through the tiny hollow within the structure.

The seemingly final strike was followed instantly by the sound of strike a wall with a space behind it. The word freedom echoed in the trapped mind. The thuds began again, louder this time, the feeling of heavier weight behind them, faster, pounding with determination. The sound of flesh striking cement, packing itself against the wall, repeated itself again and again, as the mind began to feel adrenaline coursing through its body. It echoed the word inside itself again, freedom. The rapid pounding began to be joined by other sounds as the whole blackness seemed filled and alive, dust crashing down from the ceiling, and after an untold amount of time, the sounds of cracking. It’s possible this continued for an hour or more, time doesn’t move in the dark. It breaks minds; they lose patience, when there is no time, that’s when it feels more important than anything else in the world. Light began to stream in a bit at a time. The mind that had begun to grow inside of the dark womb of a room became stronger. The pounding strength in its legs kicked again and again, pain streaking through them as they began to strike edges and crumbles.

Like a holy vision a crack began to spread and grow longer and wider. The light from outside so bright that nothing was distinguishable beyond the brilliant yellowish glow of the crack that seemed to be the only thing in the world. And the kicking didn’t stop. It didn’t even slow down. No rest for the weary. Chunks crumbled away, the sounds overloading the senses in combination with the light. The kicking stopped long enough to reposition itself to kick harder.

Another hour and the hard layer of cement was broken through, the dry wall on the other side offered no resistance to the determined bloody feet as they went through it into the area beyond. The man crept to the edge, scooting along the floor without even looking at the now dimly lit room from which he was emerging as he crawled into the light. Dark is infinite and yet more confining that the smallest prison cell, light shows you all your restrictions, all your boundaries, but stepping out of a large dark chamber into a small well lit room is like breaking free from a prison and landing on a beach. The room had no ceiling. To say that isn’t totally accurate. The room did in fact have a ceiling, but it doesn’t really count as it was crumbled and scattered over most of the debris-cluttered floor. He stood up and felt the strong breeze blow over his tanned skin; his matted filthy hair struggled in influence of the weather.

“ Freedom, “ the creed that drove him voiced itself as he started to look down after his eyes had adjusted to the light and saw his own bloody footprints on the floor. He started brushing the muddy cement crumbles and dirt off of his chest and blue jeans. It wasn’t the dirt that bothered him; it was the dirt from the cell from which he’d just broken free of that he wanted off. When he was sufficiently clean of the ashy dust he began to look around. The sky was beginning to turn pink and fiery orange. The room he was in was smallish, but two of its walls were crumbled, which had perhaps led to the collapsed ceiling, or been, in part, caused by it. He worked his way over the rubble and walked to the edge of the room, toward the worse of the two walls and looked over the edge of the floor down the five-story drop to the ground below. It wasn’t going to be easy getting back down.

He walked back to the hole he had made in the wall and reached only his left arm in as he pressed his face flat against the remaining dry wall and felt along the floor inside until his fingers touched the edge of what he had left inside. He pulled the hard-drive out of the dark and then he stood up and examined the other solid wall that led presumably to another part of the building, maybe one with a way out. He was in luck, as this room had a door, even though it was locked, it was made out of wood that was wearing down with age and only took a single strong brutal strike from his shoulder to rip the obstacle out of the frame that held it in place falling right after and landing on top of the ripped wood himself, barely managing not to drop the drive that he clutched in his right hand. A cluster of pigeons were disturbed by the violent act and fluttered with great haste in a brilliant white flurry out of the few windows and holes in the ceiling before his head lifted off of the door.

The next door was unlocked and led into a dank and humid hallway. He had to prop the exit open with cement rocks to keep it from shutting and cutting off most of the light in the room. Every few feet there was another door and a tiny muddy window letting in a hint of light, giving him all he needed to navigate by and avoid the worst of the objects on the floor with his feet. Walking from window to window he searched till he found what he was looking for, a locker room. The door was unlocked and there were some rotten smelling clothes laying about. He grabbed a suitably strong looking shirt that had not suffered from too much decay and wrapped his prize up in it and tied it around his waist. There was no knowing if he might need both hands free later and none of his pockets were free to carry it. He tried to pull open the other lockers, but the ones that were not locked were already empty except for junk. Curses slipped under his breath, he should have come here more prepared, prepared to break out of things and into other things. A simple crow bar would have meant that his feet would be healed and all of these lockers would be open for his taking. There wasn’t enough time to stress, he had to hurry, and when he had come from the exposed rooms the sun had already been starting to sink. A stairwell had to be nearby and needed to be found. Both feet hurt like hell, but it would not slow him down.

Sure enough the stairwell was in a little offshoot of the main corridor and was well lit because it was mostly open to the outdoors. Sunset was in full bloom and he ran down the stairs as cautiously as he could without wasting a single moment. He allowed himself only to flinch as tiny pebbles dug their way into his bleeding souls whenever he failed to see them before landing his feet on them. At the bottom of the stairwell there was no need to explore any more of the building as the wall had crumbled enough to get through. He gripped the aging bricks with held his weight firmly and hoisted himself up pulling out and falling onto the ground on the other side, twisting in the air to land on his hip into some overly tall grass, a nasty bruise would be there the next day; but his prize was safe from the impact and that was all that mattered. It probably wouldn’t have mattered if he had known that the toy wrapped up in his makeshift fanny sack could easily have survived his weight land. The old things hardly ever lived up to what they were supposed to have been able to do anymore and this was the sort of important claim that was not worth leaving to that chance.

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