Here is the other warmup that I promised last week!
It's still Wednesday over here.
Abel stared into the mirror as he pushed his tie up to the collar of his shirt, stared hard at the tiny curves on his mouth. It looked oddly like a smile, and Abel could not bring himself to push the corners back down.
He turned and glanced at the bundle of covers that slowly rose and fell, and he thought to himself, "Why am I realizing this just now?"
He picked up his pre-prepared briefcase and walked out the door, locking the house from intruders immediately after. He slid the key into the ignition and fired up the engine, backing up from his long driveway.
The sun shone brightly in the sky, and today Abel didn't squint or look away. He drove on, silent, admiring the way the sun's rays reflected off the car's hood, the roads, and buildings. No one on the roads obnoxiously sneaked past stop signs and red lights as Abel swore they did every other day. Actually, now that he thought about it, today was stranger than all other days. Different.
Abel reached the tallest, highest bank in the city, one that nearly dominated all the other small banks. Cars sat in all of the parking spaces in front of the building. Abel shrugged mentally and drove around to the back. He parked and pulled his briefcase out with him, locking the car as swerved around to the front to enter.
The receptionist smiled at Abel as he approached. "All of the spots in the front were occupied, sadly."
"I don't mind," Abel said.
The women stared at him, blinking as if she just watched a parent smacking their child's cheek harshly. "You don't?" she asked disbelievingly.
"Stuff happens, it's all right."
He left the receptionist in her stupor and walked along halls and stood in an uncrowded elevator. Once the dig indicated his floor, he stepped out and walked down a hall until he entered his own shiny office, seeing "ABEL WILTSHIRE" on the door.
Again, why was he just realizing this now?
He slid into his chair and set his briefcase on his desk, opening it and pulling out papers in neat stacks, bound by large clips. Today, instead of being a train wreck, work would be a peaceful meditation full of mathematics and people being screwed over by money and someone offering helpful advice.
Today, Abel was a good guy.
"I'm home," Abel said as he entered his house, glancing back at the door that was left unlocked. He walked into the living room, shoes deposited at the door, and saw Mark sitting on the couch with the television glowing with a music video. Mark's eyes blinked at the phone in his hand, his fingers tapping swiftly. When Abel sat on the couch, Mark quickly hit the "send" button and laid his phone next to him, eyes resting on Abel.
"Oh, hi. I guess work was pretty good today, huh?"
"Any reason you guess so?" Abel said with a smile.
"You're in a good mood. Usually if it's a bad day, you pout or something."
Abel chucked, causing Mark to flinch. "Not at all, it's quite the opposite! I'm sure I helped some people from financial debt for six years. That is definitely something to be happy about."
"Wow, okay," Mark said, leaning into Abel with a second glance. "Nothing bad at all?"
"Not at all."
"I'm glad that you are glad," Mark sighed happily, watching the random commercial on the television. "I like these days."
Abel ruffled Mark's shaggy hair and nuzzled him. "So what would you want for dinner?"
Mark shrugged.
"I can make whatever you want. Or buy to your wishes. Or we could go out? Or perhaps you would rather wait for later or hang out with friends, that would be okay with me."
Mark turned to face Abel. "If I skipped out on a dinner with you for friends, you would be okay with that?!"
"That's what I said, wasn't it?"
Mark slowly turned back to the television and shrugged. "I just didn't think you would be, I dunno, okay with missing a plan."
"Trust me, I'd be okay." He nuzzled Mark once more and he felt Mark shudder under him. The younger boy scooted away from Abel and looked at him.
"You're acting different."
"I am?"
"Yeah. All... nice and stuff."
"Is that bad?" Abel asked, his head tilting.
"I guess not, but it's kind of freaking me out." Mark bit his lower lip.
Again, Abel chuckled. "I would have never thought that kindness would freak you out."
Instead of further prying, Mark just stared at Abel for a few moments. Next to his hands, his phone vibrated, and Mark's face visibly brightened. He glanced at his text and looked up at Abel. "Oh, dang, looks like Nellie did want the group to eat after all. Sorry, is it okay if I go with them?"
"Of course. I can occupy myself here in your absence," Abel said, no glint of rage in his eyes.
Mark nervously smiled and walked to the door, slipped on his shoes, and dashed out the door.
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Warmup: 108 [1]
Yet another weekly warmup from The Periwinkle Pen!
A character wakes up and their personality is the total opposite.
I'm also going to post another of the same exercise (with Abel instead of Mark) for next week.
I do have longer stories, they are just either: a) incomplete or b) getting feedback.
Something reeked of freshly pressed suit.
Mark sat up in bed and scratched at his head, hair filling his fingernails. His fingers yanked at tangles and smoothed out his hair. Throwing the covers aside, he let his legs swing over to the edge, facing the bathroom door. He could hear water running from behind.
For once, Mark thought to himself, I'm actually awake in the morning.
A minute later, the water shut off, and then Abel opened the door, nearly jumping when he found Mark staring at him. "Why are you awake so early?"
Mark found himself narrowing his eyes. "I don't need a reason for my body to wake me up."
He expected a snap--for Abel to growl with his eyebrows forming an incomplete V--but Abel just opened his mouth, but then just shut it and blinked. Dumbfounded. Mark felt his own mouth curl into a smirk.
Abel shook his head and walked to his clothes, which laid over a chair. Dressing himself, he said, "When my body feels shocked, I say questions. It's not my fault you /somehow/ took that the wrong way." His tone grew intense.
"Whatever you say. Because God knows you can't ever be wrong."
Glaring, Abel's head turned to Mark as he slipped his shoes on. "Something is wrong with you."
"There you go again! It's me, like always, right?!" Mark stood up and headed for the door, and over his shoulder, he added, "You're a perfect little princess."
Mark could only reach the end of the hall before he felt a hand grab his shoulder and turn him around. Abel lowered himself to eye level, glaring. He searched his eyes before saying, "Did you take strange drugs? Hit your head on something hard? Because you're acting like an asshole, not the Mark I know."
"Oh, excuse me? An ass, you say? I guess you're kind of shocked, looking into a mirror after all."
Abel's hands squeezed Mark's shoulders, and Mark could feel the rage slowly leaking out through them. "What are you going to do, hit me? It's not my fault you can't handle the truth."
"For one," Abel said, sucking in breath and letting his grip loosen a bit, "I don't deliberately say shit to piss you off. And second, this is not how you usually act. You're not an ass. You're not mean. You're not supposed to hurt other people. You're--"
"So I'm not usually supposed to be strong? Thanks. Thanks a lot, Abel."
Mark slipped away to fetch a new outfit, staying in his personal room until he knew for sure Abel left for work. He texted his friend, Gil, to pick him up, and he paced outside for almost ten minutes when Gil's car pulled into the driveway. Mark felt himself roll his eyes as he walked to the car.
"Took you long enough," Mark sighed, stepping into the passenger seat. Gil performed a double take and pushed his glasses up his nose.
"What?"
"You heard me."
Gil shifted his weight but continued to stare at Mark, eyebrows concerned. A head poked out from the backseat. "Mark, are you feeling okay?" Nellie asked, wrinkling her freckle-covered nose.
"Just stop right there," Mark sighed, exasperated and lifting a hand up in emphasis. "You're going to sound like Abel."
"/I'm/ sounding like Abel?" Nellie asked incredulously.
"You going to sass me?"
"This is weird," Gil said looking out the window on the driver's side.
"You're acting different, Mark." Nellie said, shrinking back just slightly. "I'm only concerned. I didn't mean to sound accusing or anything."
"Just because I'm irritated doesn't make me ill. That's what I hate," Mark said.
"If you're too irritated," Gil began to mumble, "we don't have to hang out today."
Mark looked between them for a moment, and then he started to slowly nod, a strange smile cracking his face. "I get it, I get it, you two. You don't want me around because I'm not all happy and stuff. That's fine, have fun, you two."
And out the car he went and into the house, stomping.
Gil and Nellie glanced at each other in disbelief.
"Did that seriously happen?"
"I don't know. Pinch me."
A character wakes up and their personality is the total opposite.
I'm also going to post another of the same exercise (with Abel instead of Mark) for next week.
I do have longer stories, they are just either: a) incomplete or b) getting feedback.
Something reeked of freshly pressed suit.
Mark sat up in bed and scratched at his head, hair filling his fingernails. His fingers yanked at tangles and smoothed out his hair. Throwing the covers aside, he let his legs swing over to the edge, facing the bathroom door. He could hear water running from behind.
For once, Mark thought to himself, I'm actually awake in the morning.
A minute later, the water shut off, and then Abel opened the door, nearly jumping when he found Mark staring at him. "Why are you awake so early?"
Mark found himself narrowing his eyes. "I don't need a reason for my body to wake me up."
He expected a snap--for Abel to growl with his eyebrows forming an incomplete V--but Abel just opened his mouth, but then just shut it and blinked. Dumbfounded. Mark felt his own mouth curl into a smirk.
Abel shook his head and walked to his clothes, which laid over a chair. Dressing himself, he said, "When my body feels shocked, I say questions. It's not my fault you /somehow/ took that the wrong way." His tone grew intense.
"Whatever you say. Because God knows you can't ever be wrong."
Glaring, Abel's head turned to Mark as he slipped his shoes on. "Something is wrong with you."
"There you go again! It's me, like always, right?!" Mark stood up and headed for the door, and over his shoulder, he added, "You're a perfect little princess."
Mark could only reach the end of the hall before he felt a hand grab his shoulder and turn him around. Abel lowered himself to eye level, glaring. He searched his eyes before saying, "Did you take strange drugs? Hit your head on something hard? Because you're acting like an asshole, not the Mark I know."
"Oh, excuse me? An ass, you say? I guess you're kind of shocked, looking into a mirror after all."
Abel's hands squeezed Mark's shoulders, and Mark could feel the rage slowly leaking out through them. "What are you going to do, hit me? It's not my fault you can't handle the truth."
"For one," Abel said, sucking in breath and letting his grip loosen a bit, "I don't deliberately say shit to piss you off. And second, this is not how you usually act. You're not an ass. You're not mean. You're not supposed to hurt other people. You're--"
"So I'm not usually supposed to be strong? Thanks. Thanks a lot, Abel."
Mark slipped away to fetch a new outfit, staying in his personal room until he knew for sure Abel left for work. He texted his friend, Gil, to pick him up, and he paced outside for almost ten minutes when Gil's car pulled into the driveway. Mark felt himself roll his eyes as he walked to the car.
"Took you long enough," Mark sighed, stepping into the passenger seat. Gil performed a double take and pushed his glasses up his nose.
"What?"
"You heard me."
Gil shifted his weight but continued to stare at Mark, eyebrows concerned. A head poked out from the backseat. "Mark, are you feeling okay?" Nellie asked, wrinkling her freckle-covered nose.
"Just stop right there," Mark sighed, exasperated and lifting a hand up in emphasis. "You're going to sound like Abel."
"/I'm/ sounding like Abel?" Nellie asked incredulously.
"You going to sass me?"
"This is weird," Gil said looking out the window on the driver's side.
"You're acting different, Mark." Nellie said, shrinking back just slightly. "I'm only concerned. I didn't mean to sound accusing or anything."
"Just because I'm irritated doesn't make me ill. That's what I hate," Mark said.
"If you're too irritated," Gil began to mumble, "we don't have to hang out today."
Mark looked between them for a moment, and then he started to slowly nod, a strange smile cracking his face. "I get it, I get it, you two. You don't want me around because I'm not all happy and stuff. That's fine, have fun, you two."
And out the car he went and into the house, stomping.
Gil and Nellie glanced at each other in disbelief.
"Did that seriously happen?"
"I don't know. Pinch me."
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Test 34
The idea spawned form a Weekly Warmup at The Periwinkle Pen.
Not categorized as a WW because it serves a higher purpose.
For the warmup, a character celebrates a holiday they don't normally celebrate.
So I used the idea to flesh out the universe that I call "Strawberry Killer."
April 24, 2011
In the backseat, Organic Study 2784 (codename: Id) gaped at the blues, browns, and whites blurring past her from her small window to the outside world. Small "ahhhs" escaped her mouth, but nothing intelligible. Instead, she contented herself with just staring at the thirty miles per hour speed. I kind of smiled.
When I stepped out of the car, Id whined and pulled at the seat belts restricting her to the seat. Each time, the seat belt snapped back against her vest with a small /thwup/. In a quiet voice I murmured, "Calm down, hon, I will help you shortly." Sometimes, I enjoy talking to Id even if she does not yet understand.
My wife greeted me at the door, and I scooped her into my arms and planted a kiss on her sweet lips. She laughed nervously and asked, "How long will the beast have to stay here?"
I winced. "Just for today. Do you not think that a holiday--her first one at that--is the perfect opportunity to teach her about traditions?"
She only shrugged and scampered back into the house. I could smell cooking vegetables.
"You are making something meaty as well, right?" I shouted after her.
"Yeah, yeah."
Good.
I walked back to the car and found Id chewing at the seat belt, a tear forming. When I leaned over and clicked off the belt, she only looked up and me and glared with her scarred eye, barring her teeth."Sorry, hun," I said to her, "but that's what average people do, so you must learn to do so."
Once we were in the house, Id sniffed the air and looked around the room. Her eyes lingered on a photo from my wife and mine's wedding, then hunched over on her back, taking a small step foreward. I laughed and place my hand gently on her shoulder. "There is no danger here," I told her. "The only people here are my wife and I, and we love you."
My wife set the dinner table while I led Id by the hand into the dining room. Id could not rest her eyes on one thing for even a second, many times leaning her face closer to sniff the shiniy artificial plants. Making grunts all the while, she sniffed the fabrics of the curtains and tablecloth and finally stared outside the window. A man jogged with earbuds in his ears with wires flailing about passed the house, at which Id growled loudly. My wife sighed and asked, "Can't you get her to stop?"
"Afraid not. She acts purely on instinct."
"Yeah, I forgot about that after all your talk of her behaving more like a human."
The Missus must be on her period. I sighed and led Id to the small, square table.
"This seat," I said slowly, "is where you sit." I pulled the chair out for her and motioned for her to sit. She squat down next to the chair and sniffed it before plopping down on it. The chair squeaked as she wiggled around, making herself comfortable. Her eyes stared forward, narrowed, no longer facing the window and instead looking into the kitchen and watching the Missus work her magic.
I picked up utensils made out of silverware, one by one, and showed them to Id. "This is a soup spoon, which you will only use for the liquid-like appetizer. And you have to use both the fork and knife to cut up your meat."
"She can't understand a single word you're saying," my wife called in that I-told-you-so tone, not taking her eyes off the turkey she withdrew from the oven. "You're wasting your breath."
Snarling, Id slammed a fist on the table, causing the empty glasses to shake. I smiled as she glared and returned to preparing the food.
When I finished introducing Id to dishes, napkins, glasses, and how to cut up meat, my wife brought in the vegetable soup and placed it on the table. Id immediately leaned forward to sniff the soup, but I took her shoulder and pulled her back. She whined loudly, and I held on to her wrists. As she thrashed, I said to the Missus, "Pour her some soup--quickly!"
"This is why I never want children," she groaned, filling up Id's bowl to the brim.
Id calmed down, and I let go of one wrist and jammed the spoon into her released hand. "Eat with this," I said. For a second, Id did nothing but look from the Missus--to whom she glared at, for which I cannot blame her--to the soup. She slowly started to lower her head. "No," I said, raising my voice. I tapped the spoon. "Eat with this."
A burst of air rushed out of her nose as she tried to dip her head closer to the bowl, and again I instructed her on how to eat it. My wife returned from placing the dish away from Id and stared at my actions without glancing at her own bowl of hot soup. "Did I or did I not tell you this would not work? That beast eats like a savage at the lab, and at a house, no different would happen."
When I tried a different teaching approach, taking her wrist and manually trying to budge her arm which would not move, the Missus continued. "That thing may look human with a beast's ears, but it's nothing more than an overgrown baby. It doesn't know left from right thanks to living with animals in some forest, and it'll die before it learns how to say 'please' and 'thank you.'" A pause. "Look, I don't mind you doing this researching business. But you have way too much confidences in your subjects. You are intelligent, and they are not. You don't have a teaching agree, and they refuse to learn. It just can't work. And a holiday, of all days. What were you thinking?"
Biting back a sigh, I let go of her wrist. Id stared down at her unmoving arm, at her spoon, and at her bowl, and then she glanced up at the Missus. Her jaw moved up and down slightly, and I knew she was hitting her rows of teeth against one another.
Id exhaled and furrowed her brows, and cautiously, she lifted the spoon and dunked it into the bowl. Tightening her grip, she lifted the spoon and stared at the tiny pool of brown liquid with tiny chunks of vegetables. Both the Missus and I watched her nearly bump the spoon against her lips but successfully open her mouth and dump out the contents of the spoon.
I looked at the Missus and let a smug grin stretch across my face as her face fell. "She does not enjoy being condescended. I am sure she can eat our Easter dinner with us."
The Missus slumped into her chair and raised her spoon. "Just wait until the main course."
Not categorized as a WW because it serves a higher purpose.
For the warmup, a character celebrates a holiday they don't normally celebrate.
So I used the idea to flesh out the universe that I call "Strawberry Killer."
April 24, 2011
In the backseat, Organic Study 2784 (codename: Id) gaped at the blues, browns, and whites blurring past her from her small window to the outside world. Small "ahhhs" escaped her mouth, but nothing intelligible. Instead, she contented herself with just staring at the thirty miles per hour speed. I kind of smiled.
When I stepped out of the car, Id whined and pulled at the seat belts restricting her to the seat. Each time, the seat belt snapped back against her vest with a small /thwup/. In a quiet voice I murmured, "Calm down, hon, I will help you shortly." Sometimes, I enjoy talking to Id even if she does not yet understand.
My wife greeted me at the door, and I scooped her into my arms and planted a kiss on her sweet lips. She laughed nervously and asked, "How long will the beast have to stay here?"
I winced. "Just for today. Do you not think that a holiday--her first one at that--is the perfect opportunity to teach her about traditions?"
She only shrugged and scampered back into the house. I could smell cooking vegetables.
"You are making something meaty as well, right?" I shouted after her.
"Yeah, yeah."
Good.
I walked back to the car and found Id chewing at the seat belt, a tear forming. When I leaned over and clicked off the belt, she only looked up and me and glared with her scarred eye, barring her teeth."Sorry, hun," I said to her, "but that's what average people do, so you must learn to do so."
Once we were in the house, Id sniffed the air and looked around the room. Her eyes lingered on a photo from my wife and mine's wedding, then hunched over on her back, taking a small step foreward. I laughed and place my hand gently on her shoulder. "There is no danger here," I told her. "The only people here are my wife and I, and we love you."
My wife set the dinner table while I led Id by the hand into the dining room. Id could not rest her eyes on one thing for even a second, many times leaning her face closer to sniff the shiniy artificial plants. Making grunts all the while, she sniffed the fabrics of the curtains and tablecloth and finally stared outside the window. A man jogged with earbuds in his ears with wires flailing about passed the house, at which Id growled loudly. My wife sighed and asked, "Can't you get her to stop?"
"Afraid not. She acts purely on instinct."
"Yeah, I forgot about that after all your talk of her behaving more like a human."
The Missus must be on her period. I sighed and led Id to the small, square table.
"This seat," I said slowly, "is where you sit." I pulled the chair out for her and motioned for her to sit. She squat down next to the chair and sniffed it before plopping down on it. The chair squeaked as she wiggled around, making herself comfortable. Her eyes stared forward, narrowed, no longer facing the window and instead looking into the kitchen and watching the Missus work her magic.
I picked up utensils made out of silverware, one by one, and showed them to Id. "This is a soup spoon, which you will only use for the liquid-like appetizer. And you have to use both the fork and knife to cut up your meat."
"She can't understand a single word you're saying," my wife called in that I-told-you-so tone, not taking her eyes off the turkey she withdrew from the oven. "You're wasting your breath."
Snarling, Id slammed a fist on the table, causing the empty glasses to shake. I smiled as she glared and returned to preparing the food.
When I finished introducing Id to dishes, napkins, glasses, and how to cut up meat, my wife brought in the vegetable soup and placed it on the table. Id immediately leaned forward to sniff the soup, but I took her shoulder and pulled her back. She whined loudly, and I held on to her wrists. As she thrashed, I said to the Missus, "Pour her some soup--quickly!"
"This is why I never want children," she groaned, filling up Id's bowl to the brim.
Id calmed down, and I let go of one wrist and jammed the spoon into her released hand. "Eat with this," I said. For a second, Id did nothing but look from the Missus--to whom she glared at, for which I cannot blame her--to the soup. She slowly started to lower her head. "No," I said, raising my voice. I tapped the spoon. "Eat with this."
A burst of air rushed out of her nose as she tried to dip her head closer to the bowl, and again I instructed her on how to eat it. My wife returned from placing the dish away from Id and stared at my actions without glancing at her own bowl of hot soup. "Did I or did I not tell you this would not work? That beast eats like a savage at the lab, and at a house, no different would happen."
When I tried a different teaching approach, taking her wrist and manually trying to budge her arm which would not move, the Missus continued. "That thing may look human with a beast's ears, but it's nothing more than an overgrown baby. It doesn't know left from right thanks to living with animals in some forest, and it'll die before it learns how to say 'please' and 'thank you.'" A pause. "Look, I don't mind you doing this researching business. But you have way too much confidences in your subjects. You are intelligent, and they are not. You don't have a teaching agree, and they refuse to learn. It just can't work. And a holiday, of all days. What were you thinking?"
Biting back a sigh, I let go of her wrist. Id stared down at her unmoving arm, at her spoon, and at her bowl, and then she glanced up at the Missus. Her jaw moved up and down slightly, and I knew she was hitting her rows of teeth against one another.
Id exhaled and furrowed her brows, and cautiously, she lifted the spoon and dunked it into the bowl. Tightening her grip, she lifted the spoon and stared at the tiny pool of brown liquid with tiny chunks of vegetables. Both the Missus and I watched her nearly bump the spoon against her lips but successfully open her mouth and dump out the contents of the spoon.
I looked at the Missus and let a smug grin stretch across my face as her face fell. "She does not enjoy being condescended. I am sure she can eat our Easter dinner with us."
The Missus slumped into her chair and raised her spoon. "Just wait until the main course."
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Warmup: Aliens Right Behind You
This is an idea from The Periwinkle Pen, from weekly segments called Weekly Warmups.
In this exercise, I wrote something short based on a picture.
To be honest, I borrowed the title off a song, give or take one word.
Cold sweat coated my palms like drying glue. The communicator in my hand shook as I tried to control my breaths.
Now they know John is dead.
I will never forget his last words.
"There are aliens right behind you."
I stole a glance behind me, sucking in my breath quickly. But nothing stood there. No sounds. No footsteps. No growls. No snarls.
I gulped down the sigh that wanted to escape. I cannot allow myself to stick out any more than needed. Already, my body feels exposed with just the thin, elastic suit to cover the essential areas--chest, torso, hands, legs, feet. If John's uniform was clean and untainted, I would have worn it instead. I swear the boss dresses the women up like this for kicks.
I slipped the communicator back into the secret outlet slab and concealed it. With a wince, I pulled myself up from my kneeling position, and my legs screamed in their boots. But I could move them, and that's all that matters.
After checking my back again, I pressed my back against the wall and sidestepped quickly down the corrider. The corner approached, and I leaned a cautious head to check the area.
I won't let an alien tear me a new one. A death won't bring me down. And John knew so, and he knew so when he gave me his last piece of "advice." He knew that I don't listen to dead men.
There's maybe ten, fifteen more minutes to go until I reach the ship.
About eight now. I look behind me.
Five. Look again.
Two. Check.
One.
And John was right. There are aliens right behind me.
In this exercise, I wrote something short based on a picture.
To be honest, I borrowed the title off a song, give or take one word.
Cold sweat coated my palms like drying glue. The communicator in my hand shook as I tried to control my breaths.
Now they know John is dead.
I will never forget his last words.
"There are aliens right behind you."
I stole a glance behind me, sucking in my breath quickly. But nothing stood there. No sounds. No footsteps. No growls. No snarls.
I gulped down the sigh that wanted to escape. I cannot allow myself to stick out any more than needed. Already, my body feels exposed with just the thin, elastic suit to cover the essential areas--chest, torso, hands, legs, feet. If John's uniform was clean and untainted, I would have worn it instead. I swear the boss dresses the women up like this for kicks.
I slipped the communicator back into the secret outlet slab and concealed it. With a wince, I pulled myself up from my kneeling position, and my legs screamed in their boots. But I could move them, and that's all that matters.
After checking my back again, I pressed my back against the wall and sidestepped quickly down the corrider. The corner approached, and I leaned a cautious head to check the area.
I won't let an alien tear me a new one. A death won't bring me down. And John knew so, and he knew so when he gave me his last piece of "advice." He knew that I don't listen to dead men.
There's maybe ten, fifteen more minutes to go until I reach the ship.
About eight now. I look behind me.
Five. Look again.
Two. Check.
One.
And John was right. There are aliens right behind me.
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