Short Story 1 Pt1

It was a terribly cold day in early February. The wind bit at His neck with razor sharp teeth as he walked down the streets of Boston. It was to cloudy to see the sun. It always had been, ever since the Great War. The man wore a black coat made of wool which reached down to his knees. He held it shut tight against the wind with his hands, because the buttons had been ripped off. He reached a building and turned and entered. He went up some stairs, and then entered a room with furnishings similar to a college dorm; sparse. Everything was sparse now. Only members of the Inner Circle received any kind of pleasure items. and it was even worse for the Low. They lived in shacks all around the city and thousands died every winter. He went to the Cooling Box and opened it, but didn't expect to find anything. His expectations were correct and so he sat down on the single chair he had managed to salvage some years ago from a burning house. It was already 20 Hours and so He lay down on his standard issue sleep couch and fell asleep.

The next day he woke up and went through his regular schedule. He was released from work early, however, which hadn't been done to him in years. Not one to reject benefits, however, He walked back toward Apartment suite 102.

The day was as cold as ever, and suddenly a massive gust of wind knocked him into the wall of a building. he regained his balance and continued on but was suddenly struck down. He tried to roll over but as he did so a massive blow came down on his head and he fell into unconsciousness.

He awoke to bright, fluorescent, lights blaring down on him. he was in a large room, all cement, and all white. He looked for some form of bed or bench but there were none. It was completely bleak.

A voice boomed, "Hello, it seems you've decided to wake up. We will send someone in for you presently." "What am I here for?! Are you going to kill me?". There was no response. He heard footsteps outside his room. They echoed alot. The door swung open and two men in green uniforms entered. "Follow us". He hesitated for a second and so the guard grabbed him and took him along.

They walked down the hall and entered the sixth door on the right. It had a large table with straps on it. The guards commanded him to undress, he hesitantly obeyed. Then they put him on the table and strapped him down. The guard furnished a whip with three strings, each having a jagged piece of iron attached to it.

The guard's hand brought down the whip. It tore deep into His abdomen. By the end of the treatment he couldn't remember how many times he had been hit with that brutal tool. He was bleeding all over. They carried him back to his room and then left him there, throwing his clothes at him as they left.

"How did that feel?" boomed the voice. He lifted his eyes to where he imagined the speaker must be and stared. "Most of them feel quite a shock at the first treatment, so this is no surprise." "What am I here for?", he half moaned. "You will find out soon enough".

The next day he was given a meal. It consisted of a hunk of bread. Almost before he could begin eating however another two Guards came and took him away. They didn't go in the same door though, they brought him to another room. The guard who whipped him the last day was there, in a chair and his hands were tied. The two guards left, leaving the guard from yesterday alone with him. A voice spoke through one of the many speaker-like things in the room. "Yesterday was his turn, now it's yours. Do whatever you like to him." "He acted on your orders. My vendetta is not with him." "It is your choice." There was silence. His thoughts were knotted. Morality held strongly to his thoughts. He would not do this. He would not avenge himself against the tool used against him. He was resolved, no matter what happened, he would settle his Vendetta with whoever was behind all this, and that he wouldn't harm the innocent tools.

Time ticked on, it must have been around 03 Hours by now. They still hadn't come for him. He was still sitting, staring at the guard. His mind was getting weaker. He could feel it. A slow decrease in mental strength, like a small leak in a barrel. He tried to rest, but the lights bore down on him with hideous strength. He wondered why he had been brought here, and when it would all be over.

07 Hours, no one had come.

08 Hours, no one.

09 Hours, no one.

10 Hours, He heard footsteps outside his door, but no one entered.

11 Hours, no one.

12 Hours, Finally they came. They opened the door and told him to come with them. They untied the guard he had been with earlier aswell. They brought him down the hall, but instead of going to his room they entered a different one. The one he had been to yesterday. They laid him out on the table, and strapped him down. then they left him with the guard. The one who he had refused to hurt. But the guard had no such compassion. He raised his whip and let it fall over and over again. It tore through the cloth and re-opened all the cuts from the day before. Over and over it was raised, and then fell. Finally it stopped. The guard untied his straps and threw him to the floor and then proceeded to kick him. The came fast and hard. He rolled on the ground in agony but he couldn't avoid the massive boots. They stopped, and he was dragged back to his cell, a bloody mess.

How could these men do this? why are they doing this? What's wrong with me?