GAME: add a sentence, make a story.

mercurysquad
Mon, 06 Dec 2004 13:25:44 +0000

Marynia sat in her room looking out the window. She suddenly heard a board creak, which threw her out of her trancelike gaze. Suddenly, there was a hailstorm. Thunder rolled outside, but Marynia stared at her door—it slowly swung back on its hinges, revealing the dark hallway beyond. Shadows brushed by her at every turn, churning the humid summer air at her sides. Marynia couldn’t believe the sight - a perfect day transformed into a nightmarish hailstorm right before her eyes. Was she still dreaming?

The walls of the 14th century hallway were covered in portraits of Osama Bin Laden. She once again realized that it was hard growing up in a family politically divided…

For years, Marynia had endured the mindless debates over the next presidential candidate; now she had had enough of it. She hated both the Ukrainian candidates- seeming as there are no 14th century hallways in America. She had decided - this was the moment of truth - that she’d kill them and save her Land of Grace from their tyranny. Stimulated by the wild weather, she once again mentally retraced her steps for killing Pres. Malkov… yes, once inside the palace everything would be easy.

Her friend Burian would keep watch outside the cast-iron doors as she moved through the upper corridors in search of her quarry. Though of suspect motivations, he was–and had been–Marynia’s closest friend and confidant. Little did Marynia know that Burian wanted more than to be an accessory to her criminal plan.

For years he had been admiring her, following her, sketching her as she sketched the world around her. When she was hurt, he would feel the pain; when she laughed, he’d feel the happiness. He was everything she could have asked for and more, but on this night, all of that would change.

The entry was innocent enough; Marynia crawled through the palace vents to avoid the AK-47 wielding men. Just as she was about to climb down, a nail ripped the sleeve of her shirt, making a low but shrill sound which must have alerted one of the guards. She could hear them muttering in rapid Ukrainian as their footsteps echoed through the darkened hall. Quickly darting into a corner of the musty vents, Marynia felt her heart suffocating her as the footsteps slowed as they neared the area directly beneath her.

Her mind raced as she plotted her next course of action: fight or flight? Her mind wandered a bit before she became aware of the ominous advance of the strange cloud of odorless gas. She acted quickly, raising her late mother’s handkerchief to her mouth, inhaling the sweet meadow scent that remained. She lowered herself to the floor of the vent and hoped that the cloud would pass over her–there seemed to be no other escape. The gas began to take its toll and she faded out of consciousness as two dark shadows “floated” into her field of view, indiscernibly whispering.

She woke up in a brilliantly lit room. A small, delicate-looking old woman with brilliantly grey eyes was staring intensely into Marynia’s own with an odd expression that was a mixture of contempt and curiosity. Startled, Marynia looked away. After a lengthy pause she asked,

“Who are you? What is this place?”

Instead of answering, the woman felt along the underside of the arm of her chair until she found the button she was looking for and pushed it, never taking her eyes off of Marynia. In seconds, a door to the right of Marynia’s bed burst open with a crash.Though her vision was blurred, Marynia could make out two vague figures with large objects in their hands approaching the woman at the foot of her bed. As they came closer, she realized that these African Pygmies were toting rifles three times their height. Marynia looked questioningly at the nearest one, a thin boy who wore a shift of yellow fabric.

“You don’t match,” she said.

The thin boy angrily responded by shouting at Marynia in an unknown language and shredding her fallen pillow on the floor into pieces with his bayonet. Cursing her Tourette’s, Marynia turned back to the old woman, who was rocking slowly on a roughly hewn chair. Her grey eyes were still fixed on Marynia and it seemed as if she was oblivious to the arrival of the Pygmies.

Fear and hatred suddenly consuming her, Marynia screamed at the old woman, “Who are you? What do you want with me?” Without waiting for a reply, she looked back over her shoulder and saw that the door through which the Pygmies had just come was still open. In an instant she was on her feet…

Upon taking her first step, she felt the earth slide out from under her; she was suddenly engulfed in a sliding world of blackness as she looked up in terror at the hole in the floor that had opened up under her. As she fell, a voice called down the chasm:
“You thought you could escape? You believed yourself capable of running from me?”

Marynia felt the sting of a bayonet slicing through her shoulder. Then the shouts dissolved into maniacal laughter, and Marynia knew no more. As she held her hand across the blood spurting laceration, Marynia heard a familiar song begin to play in her head…
“I’m blue, da-ba-dee, da-ba-die…”

She fell into a coma.

Meanwhile, as it grew darker, Burian began to get worried about Marynia.