Initially, you flail and shake a bit in frustration, but you quickly realise that it would be more helpful to feel your surroundings carefully.
You are in a very small chamber lined with some kind of felt or velvet, although it is more like that of lamb's ear leaves than fabric. The chamber is a bit too spacious to be any normal sort of coffin, although the basic proportions are the same. To your right is a slim wooden case. Above you, the top—the lid?—is hinged, and below you can be felt the edges of a small door of some sort.
It suddenly strikes you that you are not sure what you are wearing, although you are certainly wearing something. On closer examination, you are wearing a rather old-fashioned suit. Where would you even buy this sort of thing? You cannot see the colours well in the dimness of the light, but the fabric is soft and the patterns are complex—some kind of paisley, maybe, but very fine. It darkens with the rain, and you begin to feel rather cold.
You are well aware of your body: Tall, youngish, gangly. Your physical sex has never really mattered to you. You know these things, but not much else comes to mind. Who are you, anyway?
Also, your hair is closely cropped. You are sure that it was longer before.
But perhaps the pounding rain is more important, and the outside...
You realise very quickly that the enormous box is probably your only chance at finding shelter much of anywhere: You are, insofar as you can see, floating in the middle of a vast ocean. The waves are relatively gentle, and there is not too much wind, but the rain is quite heavy. You are fairly sure that it is night here, although the dim glow of the sky and the distant flashes of lightning—thankfully increasingly distant!—provide you with enough light to at least see.
In many respects, it is the perfect little hidden attic door: Covered with the same velvet substance as the rest of the box's interior, as if with wallpaper; with inward-facing hinges so as to open inward, or in this case downward; and instead of a knob, possessed of one of those little rings that pops out and turns to open it.
Given the circumstances, it seems that the only logical conclusion is that the door does not lead into the sea, but to... somewhere else.
You are unsure of what to do with this information. Should you open the door and take what may come? Would it be more polite to knock? Why does politeness come into the equation? Why shouldn't it? Why so many questions when your nice debatably new waistcoat is getting soaked and your back is getting cold? And what about that waistcoat, and that box...?
After a moment's hesitation, you grab the case and proceed carefully down the corridor. It appears to be a passage within a wooden building, perhaps a large house, office or ship, panelled darkly with a thick carpet in very dark red. Every two yards or so, a small sconce with an oil lamp projects from one or the other wall, alternating. Far along, there seem to be doors on either side, opposite lamps. After a certain distance, the lamps go out, obscuring the end of the hall... assuming that there is one, which is in question.
You proceed to walk a very long distance, past the doors and into the dark part of the hall. In the darkness, you begin to feel a bit anxious: Anything could be just outside of your field of vision, which is currently small to non-existent. Your feet still thud along the carpet, but there are sounds in the distance, far further away than would be afforded by the space of the corridor, like the ticking of a faraway clock.
...well, you wish that you did. But that would require that you remember what sort of music you like, and that currently eludes you.
You hum something to yourself that has popped into your head. It is in a major key, but with chromatic aspects. You are not sure how you know this, but you do. And apparently you have pretty good pitch, too! It soothes you a little.
You place the case down at your feet and begin to hunt through the pockets of your suit, of which there are a surprising number. You find an array of peculiar objects, none of which you can see, including a box of matches.
You return most of the items to your pockets for later examination, but keep the knife in your hand. The case poses an issue, though: You want to keep it with you and at least give it a once-over, but carrying it with both hands occupied is a problem and you are not sure that you want to put away either the knife or the match—which is one of the longer sorts, and so has not burned out yet, thankfully.
There is also the matter of the ticking noise, and generally moving along. You are beginning to get annoyed at the proliferation of unanswered questions.
You strongly consider bringing the case back to the nearest oil lamp, but that is quite far away and trying to move that quickly either in the dark or unarmed seems ill-advised. So instead, you leave it as a landmark. After all, what else is there to look for?
You turn towards the closest noise and begin to walk toward it. Quite quickly, you notice that the quality of your footsteps has changed: You are walking on marble. This surprises you a little. The corridor seems to have opened up at some point. But where?
This is your immediate instinct, but there seem to be no walls nearby. This room is very large indeed. There is, however, something very large and pale ahead of you. A column, you think.
You look the column up and down. It is sparely designed and perfectly radially symmetrical. It is also quite tall. You pay so much attention to examining the column that you almost trip over the marble balustrade just on the other side of it, which you did not notice because you were spending so much time staring at the damned column.
Although to be fair, you think, it is pretty weird and very big.
During your time spent staring at the very big, weird column, you noticed that it seemed to end after a certain distance, perhaps joining with some sort of roof, but it was quite a ways up. Seeing as you are unable to see any sort of sky up there, you think that it is fair to assume that you are either in a very big, weird room or in deep space. Neither is especially unlikely.
Behind and above you, there is little to see: The floor leading back to the carpeted path and the case, the column, void. Beyond the balustrade similarly little can be seen, but you do hear the ticking noise from below...
Comments
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
you can examine the book later once you get somewhere lighter; for now, matches are precious
double back and leave it under one of the oillamps, so that you can find it again if you need it
take the case back to the last oillamp and open it
just leave it for now, you need the match and the knife
if you can see what might be the ceiling, is there anything else in view?