The container creaked and groaned in agony. The screeching red light reverberated throughout the medical facility. The bolts in the container held as if their inexistent soul depended on it but it couldn't, how could it? The container came apart first with microscopic metal, then larger and larger chunks and then finally the whole door exploded open. Liquid busted out, it was a disgusting and filthy mixture. It was originally filled with SEMA fluid to preserve the human body but now it is no more than blood, shit and piss. The man inside, tall and mediocre. His body, if he had put in the work would not look as if he had a child at the age of 20. His face tired and crooked, his hair oily, brown. He fell, hitting his face, for the first time his crooked face has done him done some good. As he turned his head to see, his eye landed on a panel which stated his details:
[Jason Hide - age 20 years old.]
[Last check-up: 11/23/1976 10:25 - 200 years ago]
[EMERGENCY CHECK UP, EMERGENCY CHECK UP, EMERGENCY CHECK UP. PATIENT IS IN NEED OF AN EMERGENCY CHECK UP]
The man slowly stood, confused and tired. What he saw around him perplexed him more. It was quiet too quiet except for the now dying screeching alarm. As he scanned the facility he saw that he was not the only one who had awakened, in fact he was in capsule 311, so 310 people had awakened yet the place was quiet and empty. There is no signs of humans. Perhaps they are not in this facility the man had attempted to explain to himself.
As he (though with great difficulty) tried to walk around, he found nothing. Absolutely nothing. No humans, no animals, no insects, bugs, rodents, birds. No sign of anything or anyone. As he walked around the darkly lit facility which has little to no light. It croaked and hissed in anger as if he had disturbed it is peace and slumber. It hated him for it, it seems as if the facility did not like him. As he walked things fell apart around him. The doorknobs, the ceilings in some rooms, the walls, chairs and tables and whatever else the facility had wanted to do to kill him. Yet despite all, that was not what had distributed him the most. As he got to corridor 001 just before the door that led to the reception which would lead to the door to the outside, a single and solitary note lay there. No one was there with it, no blood or tears. Just a singular piece of paper, a meaningless piece of paper. However, it was also his saviour...? Or maybe saviour would not be the right word. The note was simple too simple in fact, but it got the point across. The note read as follows:
[The thing is here. It shall wait only three days]
That was all, no more no less. Who was the thing? Why three days? What happens in three days? Can he run away from it? ...
The note had basically decayed in his hand from the seem of things. As he opened the door to the reception and finally to the outside. There was nothing here, whatever hope he had held it was no longer there. Nothing lives here anymore. The outside was almost decayed, trees looked dead and tired. The grass if it existed was brown and dead. There is nothing beyond hopelessness here.
He walked around for an hour in hope for something, he would’ve walked more if he was not in great pain. If it were not for the fact that shops and businesses existence, he would likely die before 'the thing' gets him.
He managed to find a few things to eat. Canned food was what he ate for the most part. Nothing was edible beyond this, no fruits or vegetables other than canned food. The taste was off, but it was better than nothing. He began to question this soon, what is the point in eating if he will die anyway. Other than the feeling of hunger which will cease to exist once this 'thing' rips him apart and eats him to satisfy his hunger. The day had passed in a slow agonising way, he had nothing to do beyond walk around the town he was in, which was now no more than soulless concrete hell. Everything was decaying, nobody was/is taking care of the buildings anymore. And 'the thing' sure is not.
He found a place to sleep, it did not matter anyway no one will kick him out. The police sure will not. The place was a house that seemed in good condition, after all it had a roof and privacy. Though it did not matter anyway. The room he had chosen was simple and minimalist. It is a white room (though by this point the white is no longer white), bland and had nothing going for it. The furniture was also simple as well, a bed, a couch and a table. Simple as that. He lay on the bed and began to stretch, a common thing to do yet it hurt. It hurt like hell, he forgot that he spent centuries standing, his muscles were not used to this. His leg spasmed and ached because of the stretching. It felt wonderful however, there is feeling, and it was better than nothing. If there is one thing that humans crave more than money and socialising is to feel something; anger, sadness, happiness heck even murderers sometimes kill to feel something. Humans are greedy sometimes, he thought deeply. Why do we go out of our way to feel something even if it is bad, is what we feel day to day so boring that we seek other ways?
In his deep thoughts, it had exhausted him and put him to sleep. He did not know what time it was, it was late as the moon light shined on his oily face, as the wind howled. It was quiet, peaceful and calming, something that no other human will experience besides him and only him. As the moon cycled and the sun made its way peacefully, its rays shined on his face it was warm like a kiss from a loved one. It woke him up but slowly like a child waking up after being held by a loving parent. He felt at peace, his body relaxed and calmed. He got up and went to the bathroom and took a peaceful pee. It was rhythmic in the quiet world. The toilet however did not flush, not a surprise. He made his way downstairs to eat some more canned food, no point but might as well.
There was a noise that broke through for the first time, it was not a human to his demise. It was not an animal, insect, rodent or bird or anything for that matter. The noise was almost silent. It was a piercing noise, one that your ear might produce for no reason. It was a high pitched screeching noise. It did not stop, it continued and continued and continued. It was painful, his ears began to ring and was attempting to block the noise in the whatever way possible. It did not work; it was there, nothing could take it away. If it was not for the centuries of extinction, he might be able to find an earplug that was not decaying but he highly doubts it. After an hour or so, he was beginning to get used to it and eventually he blocked the noise entirely. But occasionally it would breakthrough and the cycle would continue. It was painful, that day was excruciating, worse than the day before. It was the second day and tomorrow would be his last and he is already suffering. Unlike others, he could not have a bucket-list. One, he thought it would not be achievable, he cannot sky dive because he did not know how to fly a plane. He could not travel because he would not make it anywhere else before dying. And so on, nothing would be possible. And second he thought frustratingly, what would be the point, he would die soon anyway so why bother. How would that benefit him, sure he might be a happy for bit if he somehow manages to do it but afterwards he will be filled with deep and utter sadness that it was meaningless because death was coming, literally.
He wondered around with his body aching, the screeching noise would sometimes breakthrough, he did not know the cause of it. It could an illness, it would not be surprising considering his history. He remembered the days in which his parents would take him to the hospital frequently for something new each time. It was not surprising that he ended up catching a horrifying disease which seemed to spread at a rapid pace throughout his body. It ate him from the inside and out, his body was beginning to look alien, rashes spread and broke, hives appeared suddenly, and he was bleeding often. He was put in that chamber to save his life but for what he thought reminiscing, why delay his death. His luck of course ran out the day he was born, from that moment everything went wrong. Heck, he thought the fact that he will die now anyway despite the likely successful effort to destroy the disease shows that everything sucks for him. He would have died then, and he will die now, how great...
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
It was night again, if there is one thing he is thankful for currently. Is that he can walk at night with no trouble, no one is going to rob him, stab him or kill him for that matter. He took in the moonlight and the cold breeze, he sunk in his last moments. He went back to the room isolated again in his life; he hated it.
As he put his head on the pillow, the noise broke through again, it was difficult to sleep. He would constantly wake up because of that noise, he cannot ignore it, he cannot pretend it does not exist. It exists that is all that mattered to his brain. It was painful. Painful. Painful. He would occasionally sleep for a couple of minutes in peaceful bliss but would suddenly be woken up by that noise. Eventually, through sheered tiredness he eventually fell asleep for a couple of hours.
As the sun rays broke through the shades bright and happy it woke him up, but what would it matter, he did not get any sleep anyway. He took a piss. He went down and ate breakfast. Breakfast to say, is a collection of canned food, sour tasting mystery meat, canned vegetables and canned soup. It was horrible and sour.
Then suddenly once more that noise came back and for a moment he thought it was the same oh but he was wrong. It hit him as a punch in the face and an even more excruciating noise. It was a mixture of high and low pitch just to make his life more miserable. This time he could not ignore it. Nothing worked. He tried to think of anything else, but it would not work. It hurt. It was painful. And what made it worse is that there is nothing he could do about it.
And then he remembered and theorised that this noise, maybe it was a sign from 'the thing'. It is already the second day but why would the beast announce itself. Should it not surprise him, kill him without him realising. He knew nothing of the beast, the note did not help much. It did not say what the beast would do or how would he know it will come. But it seems 'the thing' wants him to know. Otherwise, how or why could this noise exist. It was a nightmare.
That day he was hell. The noise was unbearable, horrible and excruciating, he could not stop it in any way. He had to live with it. But how could he?
ZZZzzzzZZZzzzZZZZZzzzzZZZZZZzzzzzzZZZZZZzzzZZZZZZZzzzZzzzzZzzZZZ
All day, every hour, minute, second and millisecond he heard that noise. In his beloved white he sat in a corner, he held his head to his knees and his hands on his ears. He slowly reached for his hair; he held it as if it was a destresser. Slowly, the hairs made a small hill of hairs bounded by blood and sweat. He began to scream and cry for help, his head once luxuriant and oily now was nothing more than patches of dry and dying hair. He cried for his mom and dad, he cried for his siblings, he cried for friends, and he cried for society. His cries for help went ignored.
ZZZZZzzzZZZZzzZZZZZzzzZZZzZZZzZZZzzzZZzZzzzZZzzzzzZZZZZzzzzZZZzzzzZZZZ
The noise continued. His hair no more. He scratched every inch of his body just to get rid of the suffering, to distract himself from this hell. His body bloody and ashy from the scratching. Hives and rashes spread throughout. They broke as he scratched some more leaving blood in their place. There is nothing that could distract him from this noise. No water no shower. No electricity no TV. No authors no books. He cried until his tears dried up, no longer is it a distraction. The dried blood was replaced with new ones as he continued to aggressively scratch the blood like a hard sebum. Out of shear tiredness alone did he manage to sleep. However, from the combination of having recently woken up from a centuries worth of sleep, the noise and self-mutilation; it was not a comfortable sleep, it was the opposite all night he turned trying to find a comfortable angel. He purposefully did not want to open his eyes as it would confirm his nightmare.
ZzzzzZZzzzZZZZzzzZZZzzzZZZzzZZZZZzZZzzZZzzzzzzZZZZzzzzZZZZZzzZZz
Unfortunately, he woke up nothing more he could not about it. The noise would not stop, there was no moment of rest. As he sat there awake as a crying baby, he got up and left the room but before he did he saw the mess he left behind, the once yellowed white walls were now stained bloody. He went down to the kitchen. He looked for something to eat to possibly distract him. But something shined in that rotten kitchen where the cabinets had fell and rotted. And the stove looked like somebody had taken a dump on it. What he saw would save him, yes indeed it would. It shined as his saviour, it cried to him as a mother would for her lost child. It spoke to him; it told him to come to it that it would save him. As God spoke to Moses through the burning bush, the knife spoke to him as his saviour. He rushed to the knife and held it as one would hold a holy object. It told him to place his trust on it and he did. Slowly, the knife made its way towards his ear, and it began the slow, methodical and surgical cuts. His left ear was first, the dull knife did not cut like butter, but it did its job, the pain was indescribable the pain was horrible; imagine 1000 paper cuts per slow and agonising cut. When the first ear was off, all the pain from the cut was gone for a couple of seconds as he felt great relief from not hearing that horrible noise. However, the operation went on for an hour straight as the knife stopped a few times to help ease the pain. His right ear now also gone, he felt great relief, like when you held a piss for hours and finally relieve yourself or when you’re tired and have not slept the whole day and then finally make it back to your beloved bed. He could longer hear the knife, but he made sure to thank it before going to sleep, he was sure that the knife had more to say but like a bond between friends he knew that nothing more needed to be said. He slept peacefully that day.
As the sun rose, he was already awake in fact he was in the kitchen where the bloody knife lay, next to it were the two ears sleeping in the pool of blood around it. He did not eat breakfast for he knew he would die anyway. He thought that dying on an empty stomach could not be worse than eating a shitty last meal. He would rather die knowing what good food taste like than having this shit in his body. He kept glancing at his ears with regret, he of course did not like the fact his ears were not detached from his body, but he also remembered that if he left them on the noise would get worse today; and he did not want that, not at all.
Today was going to be the last day he was not sure when it will end but it will eventually. The man walked around for hours on end, his ears and body bleeding. It dripped down to the pavement leaving a trail like a snail. He had no plan or purpose at this point. Before his inevitable death he found a stationary shop and found a pencil and paper that did not decay. The man wrote down his thoughts. His regrets in life, his regrets here, he wrote to his parents, siblings and friends but he knew the truth yet there was a great comfort in doing so. Tears slowly rained on the paper, he pushed the paper away and he sat there crying.
In the evening after crying for hours, he stood and got out of the shop. He walked no more than 100 feet before a sudden and unexpected revelation but before it could be realised the man who had endured more pain and suffering than most humans who had lived his last few days isolated; had died. His limp body fell to the ground with a sudden thud, his body still bleeding covering his corpse. The only human thing that remained of him, is the tears he cried in those moments and knowing what he knew.
On the other side of the country, a container groaned and hissed. It had opened and a women fell out, after adjusting she saw a note.
[The thing is here. It shall wait only three days].
[The End]