2nd Draft of 1st Chapter

[FatDave]

To download;

http://sheffieldwriters.ath.cx/SFStoryArchive/1277198458.docx

 

 

Interested to hear thoughts and opinions, especially from those who commented on the 1st draft.

 

Thanks for reading.

[FatDave]

Chapter 1

 

The first sense to awaken was pain. Rising like the sun it soon filled his entire world,

 

moving from slight to severe in the time it took for his mind to acknowledge its arrival.

 

His reflexes jerked his body as his fight or flight response took control, obeying

 

thousands of years of evolution and causing the pain to spread and intensify with the

 

extra movement. He tried to scream but a sharp dryness in his throat robbed him of such

 

a luxury. As his senses returned to him he regained control of his body. Rather than fight

 

against his unseen bonds, he relaxed his body, the relief from the pain washing over him

 

like a warm tide. And now he lay still once again.

 

He felt the throbbing in his head as he tried to recall any memory that could offer some

 

clue to his predicament, but the more he concentrated on the past, the more his head

 

ached. His memories were as inaccessible to him as they were to others, and he

 

wondered what kind of trauma would cause him to lose all trace of who he was. What

 

could take away a man’s name?

 

The sudden jolt to his senses had banished all traces of sleep, and he had gained

 

presence of mind to take stock of the situation. He was blind, he could feel himself

 

blinking, but otherwise his eyes were offering no sign that they were open.

 

Where the Hell am I? His question lacking a voice to give it form.

 

Left without vision, he found himself paying more attention to what his body was telling

 

him. He had realised from his struggle he was upside down, suspended by his ankles,

 

arms hanging free. Whatever bound his feet together was far from gentle, the sharp

 

edges causing constant, but tolerable, pain. He knew he was naked, but not because of

 

any breeze, indeed, all he felt on his skin was almost overwhelming heat. He felt the

 

shame and embarrassment which came with being outside the confines of his safe, home

 

environment without the shield of clothing. He wondered if he were outside, and the

 

heat he felt was the sun, but he quickly dismissed the thought, there would be more

 

sound if that were the case.

 

Then the realisation hit him, causing such a feeling of uneasiness, he almost forgot the

 

pain movement brought, and had to fight the urge to struggle again. There was no

 

sound at all. He knew he wasn’t deaf, he could hear his raspy breathing, but that was all

 

he could hear. No sound of wind, waves, birdsong or civilization, he felt exposed and

 

without realising it, he tried to quieten his breathing to match his surroundings, as if he

 

were the prey of some unseen beast, and any sound would alert his hunter to his

 

position. No matter how slow his breathing, the sound coming from his lungs was like

 

stones grinding together, the uncontrollable noise shining into the silence like a torch

 

beam in a cavern.

 

WHERE THE HELL AM I?

 

Escape was his one concern now, and he knew he had to face the pain again. If he

 

could somehow free himself from his ankle restraints, then maybe he would find more

 

information by feeling his surroundings. He was aware that he might be some distance

 

from the ground, not once during his writhing had he felt his hands brush against

 

anything, so the floor could be several feet below him, and the thought of falling the

 

distance without the use of his eyes terrified him. The vulnerability he felt suspended

 

and naked, who knows where, how, or why, terrified him more.

 

It was decided then, and without another thought, he brought his hands up and

 

crunched his stomach. The shock of seeing his hands stopped the attempt short. He

 

relaxed his body again and allowed the pain to pass over and through him. He could see

 

his hands! He could see why he had mistaken the pitch blackness all around him for his

 

own blindness. He felt no relief with this new discovery however, only more questions

 

which needed answering. He had seen his hands so there must be light, though it had

 

been faint, but it was definitely there. As he waited for the pain in his muscles to pass,

 

he looked into the darkness surrounding him for any sign of light, for any sign of

 

anything, and finding none, twisted his head against the stiffness in his neck, hoping the

 

answers were behind him. His hopes soon lay dashed as he swung himself more and

 

more, there was nothing to be seen except darkness so thick that he wondered if light

 

could even survive in it. His fear swelling with his new discovery, a part of him wished he

 

still thought he was blind.

 

At least now he had a short term goal, easier to achieve than his idea of escape, he just

 

wanted to see his hands. Steeling himself against the agony of movement he began to

 

quickly lift his arms toward his face. His arms moved easier now, the pain in his muscles

 

muted by use, and though the journey his hands took was a great effort, the relief of a

 

less costly fare gave him strength.

 

All at once he regretted his decision. Ignorance is bliss, and he wished for that bliss now

 

as he stared at the skeletal hands just a few inches from his face. He fought his eyes

 

for focus, unable to stop looking, what he held in front of his eyes were the hands of a

 

dead man. No colour, no fat, no muscle, as he clenched his fingers to his palms, he could

 

see every working of his knuckle joints through his paper thin, white flesh.

 

The scream was beyond his control. Though relieved he could finally create sound, the

 

noise he produced brought with it only more confusion. He let his arms fall back to their

 

natural position as silence fell again, and he stared, mouth agape into the nothingness in

 

front of him. He knew what was missing, though he refused to believe it, he knew this

 

was something that couldn’t be faked by whoever was responsible for his situation, but

 

as the seconds went by, there was no explanation he could think of that provided him

 

with any comfort. He swallowed hard, feeling the warm moisture in his throat. Again he

 

swallowed, delaying the inevitable, terrified of what he would soon discover.

 

“Hello?” He whimpered, the words shaky and pathetic. No!

 

Again, louder, this time sounding like an enquiry; “Hello?”

 

The sound fell away from his lips, stolen by the emptiness, and as soon as he finished

 

the word, all sound ceased once again. Why was there no echo? It just couldn’t be.

 

“Hello?” Louder now, but still nothing. His words were consumed again and again, sucked

 

into the vacuum of the void.

 

His last effort filled with desperation, no longer a word, just a continuous vowel,

 

screamed with failing effort.

 

Impossible!

 

He surrendered, too scared to even cry out loud. Each word uttered had been paid for

 

with confidence, and the last attempt had left him in debt. He felt his body trembling,

 

despite the heat, as each factor of his imprisonment combined, and he felt utterly

 

without hope. Less than ten minutes had passed since he awoke, without a name or a

 

past, bound and stripped, in a desert devoid of light and sound, and he felt utterly

 

defeated, his strength sapped, and as he lost consciousness, he felt he would rather not

 

wake up again, than wake up here.