SlamDunk! Studios

"creative and analytical writing"


Scarface (short story)

Posted on July 19, 2009 at 1:10 AM

  I woke up dazed. A mix of strange, flickering colours smudged my eyesight and I remembered feeling cold and dizzy, like I was going to throw up. I tried to move but suddenly felt heavy and weak, the only things that seemed operational were my eyes. As the odd colours began to form shapes, my eyes slowly adjusted to the bright, green light.

  I examined my environment. I appeared to be in a square-shaped room, lit by a green light, to which I could not find a source. I noticed that the room had small curves where each of the eight corners should have been. Two or three feet from where I lay stood a brown, sphere-shaped object (about four feet in diameter). I peered down at myself and realised I was naked, draped over a cold, white cylinder (about six feet long). It looked very uncomfortable but when I tried to wriggle off it, I found that the rest of my body below my chin was paralysed. Beside me was a flat, round, yellow disk that seemed to hover about a foot or so from the ground.

  As I lay there, motionless, with the gears in my mind beginning to turn again, my head was flooded with questions – “Where am I? Where was I? How did I get here? Am I still alive?” I tried to remember, but it just made my head ache. I couldn't remember where I lived or who my parents were. I couldn't even remember my own name. I started to panic, what's wrong with me, it's as if there's nothing there, I can't think of a single thing, I might as well have just been born. Perhaps I was drugged, or have amnesia.

  Suddenly, there was a strange humming sound. My eyes darted left just in time to see a tall, thin, silvery figure drift through a white portal that had just opened up in the wall.

  A feeling of immense terror swept through my body. “Leave me alone! Please! Let me go,” I wanted to cry out load, but my jaw just trembled weakly.

  As the figure drew next to me I noticed that it had no mouth or nose, just two large, black eyes which covered most of its long face. Its body looked very thin and brittle, and its skin was shiny like aluminium.

  “Please don't hurt me,” I tried to say, but nothing came out. Suddenly I heard a cold, robotic voice echo loudly in my head.

  It said, “Please… do not… fear. I mean you… no harm.” But the sound of its voice only made me more frightened.

  “Leave me alone!” I wanted to shout. “I'm scared. Take me home.” I felt tears pierce the back of my eyes. The figure stood there for a few minutes, as if sizing me up, and then glided over to the brown sphere-shaped object on the other side of the room. It placed its hand – or at least the part of its body that resembled a hand – on the object and pulled out a small, wet, pink sponge. It turned and lay the sponge down on the hovering disk beside me.

  All I could do was lie there, waiting for this creature to speak again, never in all my life have I known such fear.

  “I am just … looking,” the same robotic voice sounded again. My jaw seemed to shiver at the word “looking.” The creature spread his long, thin fingers across the sponge, closed its large, round eyes, and was silent.

  I lay there, limp and motionless, as my host studied this strange, wet object, whatever it was. For what seemed like long, endless hours I waited, both dreading and longing for something to happen. Eventually it opened its eyes and released the object from its grip. It then turned to the sphere and took out another object, this time it was a much smaller item, what looked like a round, black egg. It then proceeded to press the egg up against my temple. Suddenly there was a deafening, high-pitched screech, followed by a blinding, white light … and then I woke up.


* * *

  I sat up in bed, my face drenched in sweat, panting. I looked around to find that I was back in my bedroom. I turned to look outside and found that morning had just broken – 6:43 my alarm clock read.

  “Where do I live? Who are my parents? What is my name?!” I repeated my question out loud. I looked around again to make sure that it was really just a dream, and sighed with relief. “I live at 92 Oxford Road. My parents are Joe and Sally Smith. And my name is Alex.

  “What a terrible nightmare,” I laughed. “That loud noise was my alarm, and that bright light must have been the sun rising as I woke up. Just a dream,” I reassured myself once more.

  I stood up out of bed, walked down the hallway and into the bathroom for my morning shower. I was about to turn on the tap, but froze when I caught my reflection in the basin mirror.

  “Thank you . . . I only . . . looked,” a cold, robotic voice sounded in my head as I stared back at my terrified expression, an ugly, black scar winding its way around my forehead.

Categories: WRITING, Short Stories

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