A BlogFic by Flamepaw/briar.
Click clack, click clack. The sound of footsteps down the halls, the noises bouncing off the deserted walls. The doctor walked into the dimly lit room. Shadowy light projected from the large monitor screen and from the test subjects’ containers. The humans, sitting there. Lifeless. The determination taken from their souls. The doctor went over to the monitor, grabbed a small tablet, grabbed a pen and started writing on it.
“Entry Number 17.
👎︎✌︎☼︎😐︎ 👎︎✌︎☼︎😐︎📪︎ ✡︎☜︎❄︎ 👎︎✌︎☼︎😐︎☜︎☼︎. ❄︎☟︎☜︎ 💧︎☟︎✌︎👎︎⚐︎🕈︎💧︎ ☝︎☼︎⚐︎🕈︎✋︎☠︎☝︎ 💧︎❄︎☼︎⚐︎☠︎☝︎☜︎☼︎. ❄︎☟︎✋︎💧︎ ☠︎☜︎✠︎❄︎ ☜︎✠︎🏱︎☜︎☼︎✋︎💣︎☜︎☠︎❄︎ 💧︎☟︎⚐︎🕆︎☹︎👎︎ 👌︎☜︎... ✋︎☠︎❄︎☜︎☼︎☜︎💧︎❄︎✋︎☠︎☝︎. ❄︎☟︎☜︎ 💧︎🕆︎👌︎☺︎☜︎👍︎❄︎💧︎ ✌︎☼︎☜︎ 💧︎⚐︎💣︎☜︎☟︎⚐︎🕈︎ 💧︎❄︎✋︎☹︎☹︎ ✌︎☹︎✋︎✞︎☜︎ ☜︎✞︎☜︎☠︎ 🕈︎✋︎❄︎☟︎⚐︎🕆︎❄︎ 👎︎☜︎❄︎☜︎☼︎💣︎✋︎☠︎✌︎❄︎✋︎⚐︎☠︎. ☞︎🕆︎☼︎❄︎☟︎☜︎☼︎ ☜︎✠︎🏱︎☜︎☼︎✋︎💣︎☜︎☠︎❄︎✌︎❄︎✋︎⚐︎☠︎ 🕈︎✋︎☹︎☹︎ 👌︎☜︎ ☼︎☜︎✈︎🕆︎✋︎☼︎☜︎👎︎. ✌︎💧︎ ☞︎⚐︎☼︎ ❄︎☟︎☜︎ 🏱︎⚐︎🕈︎☜︎☼︎ ✋︎ ✋︎☠︎☺︎☜︎👍︎❄︎☜︎👎︎ ✋︎☠︎❄︎⚐︎ ❄︎☟︎☜︎💣︎... 🕈︎☜︎ 🕈︎✋︎☹︎☹︎ ☟︎✌︎✞︎☜︎ ❄︎⚐︎ 💧︎☜︎☜︎ ❄︎☟︎☜︎ ☼︎☜︎💧︎🕆︎☹︎❄︎.” He wrote.
Crack. He turned around. The subjects were waking up. Or it looked like it. They seemed to be in more of a sleep walk. They pounded against the glass, trying to break free. Finally, the glass gave way. Water spilled all over the floor as the subjects broke out. They all turned to him and ran towards him. The doctor fled for his life, slamming the door behind him. They acted like mindless zombies.
“🏱︎☟︎☜︎🕈︎. ❄︎☟︎✌︎❄︎ 💧︎☟︎⚐︎🕆︎☹︎👎︎ ☟︎⚐︎☹︎👎︎ ☜︎💣︎ ⚐︎☞︎☞︎.” He said to himself. He started walking away when banging started on the door, the pounding fists turning into a crescendo. He turned around and watched as one of the subjects floated through the door and opened it.
“❄︎☟︎✋︎💧︎ ✋︎☠︎💧︎❄︎ 💧︎👍︎✋︎☜︎☠︎❄︎✋︎☞︎✋︎👍︎✌︎☹︎☹︎✡︎ 🏱︎⚐︎💧︎💧︎✋︎👌︎☹︎☜︎✏︎” He yelled and kept running, not looking back.
<i>✋︎☞︎ ✋︎ 👎︎⚐︎☠︎🕯︎❄︎ ☝︎☜︎❄︎ ❄︎☟︎☜︎💣︎ ⚐︎🕆︎❄︎📪︎ ❄︎☟︎☜︎✡︎🕯︎☹︎☹︎ 👎︎☜︎💧︎❄︎☼︎⚐︎✡︎ ❄︎☟︎☜︎ ☜︎☠︎❄︎✋︎☼︎☜︎ 🕆︎☠︎👎︎☜︎☼︎☝︎☼︎⚐︎🕆︎☠︎👎︎... ✋︎ ☟︎✌︎✞︎☜︎ ❄︎⚐︎ ☝︎☜︎❄︎ ❄︎⚐︎ ❄︎☟︎☜︎ ❄︎☜︎☹︎☜︎🏱︎⚐︎☼︎❄︎☜︎☼︎.</i> He thought.
He kept running. Dead end. He reached the end of the platform. One of the subject appeared behind him. He summoned two floating bony purple hands and threw the subject back. Two skull shaped things came up behind them and shot beams of light while he configured the teleporter to teleport them to the place he had been trying to escape to. The overworld.
The only problem; he had to use the emergency button. The button was located above a vat of determination. With enough of said substance, he could be killed. He lured the subjects out onto the teleporter, and jumped. As he was falling, he thought his life over and what he could of done what could never happen. Everything seemed to be in slow motion. As he passed the button, he smacked it. The last thing he saw was the teleporter’s bright purple light and the blackness of the void.
Chapter One Edit
Willow awoke on a quiet beach. The sun glared down on her skin as she sat there, looking out at the seemingly endless sea. She didn’t know why she was there or how she got there or even remember anything in her past. Around her, a sleepy morning beach of sand, out in front of her an endlessly blue ocean filled with fish and behind her, a green forest. Scrambling to her feet, she walked to the edge. She looked at the ground and felt through her feet the sand starting to retreat as she started walking into the ocean of leafy branches and swept-up ferns.
Willow walked. She walked and walked and walked. She walked over rocks and steep hills, through caves and rivers. All the while, no idea where she was headed. Eventually, she stumbled into a small clearing. The grass was soft and green, almost like stepping on a nice bed. Light fell through the cracks between the leaves in bright, translucent streaks. Rocks surrounded the clearing like a barrier to the outside world. She stepped inside the ring of rocks. The sunshine strengthened, blinding her. Willow had to close her eyes. Eventually the light dimmed and the heat lessened around her. She opened her eyes to find herself no longer in a sunny clearing, but instead in a small marble room. Standing in front of her was a man that looked ancient. Thousands of years old. He had an antique-looking wooden desk with an ink jar and a quill with a jet-black plume, some parchment paper, a humming oil lamp, and on his lap was a cat.
“Um, hello…?” She said quietly to the old man. He slowly lifted his head.
“Hello, young one. Do you know why you are here?” he asked.
Of course I don't know. Why would I? She thought to herself.
“Uh, no, I don’t. Why am I here, exactly?”
“You are here for me to deliver to you what you must do. You must find others like you, others that can bend and control forces of reality and space, and gather them together before it's too late.” He replied quietly.
“Like… wait, powers? Also before what? What's too late?” She asked.
“But beware…” he said, completely ignoring her flurry of questions.
“The man who speaks in hands prefers you back in your cages...:”
“What does that mean? Who is the man who speaks in hands? Why am I here? Who are the people like me that can bend reality and space?” She asked. The man and the room started fading away.
“Wait! Don’t leave! Won't you just please answer my questions?” she said.
“Those questions, my dear…” he responded, dragging on the sentence. “Must be answered yourself.” And with those final words, she opened her eyes and found herself back in the clearing. The man was gone. It was nighttime. In front of her, carved in the grass were the words
“BEWARE THE MAN THAT SPEAKS IN HANDS.”
“Creepy...” She whispered to herself. Wait. She stood up, confused. Instead of the amber sunshine warming her, she felt cold, icy moonlight. It shone on her like a waterfall of silver daggers.
Willow emerged from the forest onto the sandy beach. I’m back here again. The moonlight reflected off the water, washing the beach with a beautiful bright. She gazed up at the moon. If she focused hard enough, she could faintly make out the craters and weird patterns. You can organize them into so many different shapes. She thought to herself. She looked back down in the sand and started writing and drawing with it. Shapes like dogs and cats and words arranged to make weird sentences. She looked over her writing.
“I must be going insane,” Willow commented out loud to herself. Sentences like “The washroom stinks of Febreeze,” and, “The small drowned dog leaper out the glass." I should probably sleep. She dug a small hole and piled up some sand in front of it. She scooted down into the hole and covered herself with the sand she had dug out. Resting her head on the makeshift, icily-cold pillow, Willow tried to fall asleep, but darkness wouldn't come.