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"Half-Life - Part 2"

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Thu 16/01/03 at 14:17
Regular
Posts: 787
Brian Wainwright opened the door to his home, stepped inside and closed the door quietly behind him. He could quite plainly see that his recent news hadn't sunk in at all. Anyone else would have been in a state of shock. Either shock or despair. Brian currently felt nothing bar an empty feeling in his stomach, not unlike hunger.

He quickly scanned the coatrail, and noted that Jane's green jacket was missing. That was fortunate, he thought. She's out, which meant more time for him to think about what he was going to say. He was hoping for something a little more adult than the introduction he currently had running through his head. "Hi honey, I'm a dead man walking" wasn't going to get the conversation off on the right foot.

He walked right, through the door into the dining room and through into the kitchen. Picking up the kettle he began to fill it with water direct from the tap. He stopped with the kettle half full, and left it by the sink. Tea wasn't going to help him gather his nerves. Instead, he reached into the cupboard and grabbed a tall glass, then wet over to the larder, and from the top shelf, pulled down a bottle of Vodka. He half-filled his glass and moved on to the fridge, where he pulled out a carton of orange and topped up his drink.

Glass in one hand and vodka bottle in the other, he went back through the dining room into the hall again, and walked through into the lounge. He took his place in his favorite chair - a lovely (and not to mention pricey) number, but wonderfully relaxing. Made of quality brown leather, the chair was epitomising of comfort - put his drink down on the small side table, and picked up the TV remote. Brian began flicking slowly through the channels, of which there were several hundred, looking for something which interested him. After about 10 minutes, he conceded that there was nothing worth looking at at all.

"Typical," he said aloud to himself "Sixty quid a bloody month for 300 channels of utter crap." Brian had only really agreed to pay for all the channels because the sports channels were included, and there was rarely any decent sports activity on at this time of day midweek. Eventually, though, he flicked back to National Geographic and watched some garbage about rats breeding.

Bored, his glass quickly emptied. Going to refill it, he noticed he hadn't brought the orange through with him. Not a problem, he thought, and filled the glass with neat Vodka.

He awoke suddenly, not really knowing where he was. His head pounded magnificently. He quickly realised he wasn't in his lounge anymore. He wasn't in his house at all. He had absolutely no idea where he was. Looking about himself, he appeared to be, if anywhere, in some kind of tunnel. The place was very rocky, as though it were carved out of mountain stone, there was a faint glimmer of light - presumably the exit - to his left, and the tunnel seemed to carry on into darkness in the opposite direction. How the hell had he gotten here? How much had he drunk? Had he had the presence of mind to shut the front door behind him?

Crap
Crap
CRAP!

Bloody fool. God only knows how much Vodka he must've drunk to bring about this tragic circumstance. He was in the middle of a series of self-curses, when he heard a noise come from the stony darkness to his right. The sound was like a faint squeak, but it somehow conveyed a dark malevolence that chilled him to the bone. He strained his eyes to see farther down the tunnel in that direction, but couldn't see anything at all. The noise came again, and Brian slowly started backing away towards the tunnel exit as quietly as he could manage, which to the trained ear was not magnificently quiet at all. Brian had always been one for a little sport, but the art of silence was lost on him.

Backing away, the noise came again, and again. The noise was different in each occurance. Whatever was making the noise, there was more than one of it. Enough of this crap, he thought, and lost all sense of sneaking, and began to walk swiftly, if stiffly, toward the light.

Suddenly the noise was everywhere. Thousands of noises from as many sources, all coming closer from the darkness. Abandoning any sense of dignity, Brian began to run for the exit. Only a few metres on, he tripped and fell, cutting his knees and left hand on the rough stone. He looked back to the source of the noises, and what he saw terrified him.

Rats. Hundreds of them. Only, strangely, they were incredibly small, like a swarm of large, furry beetles. And they were upon him. Before he could stand, the rats were climbing his by the dozen. He tried in vain to brush them of, and while he succeeded in getting a few off him, they were replaced by yet more in moments. The rats charged for the cuts on his legs, and bit him.

Brian screamed, the bite impoosibly more painful than it had any right to be. It was followed by another bite, and another, and Brian folded over and fell to the ground in agony. More rats were upon him now, they were swarming him. Then the rats began to eat under his cuts, get into his skin. Brian, incoherrent enough already, saw dozens of the creatures running around inside him as tiny bulges on his skin in his legs, then his abdomen, his chest. Barely able to keep his eyes open through the pain, Brian saw a group of about 8 rats gather at the top of his chest, before surging toward his neck, where his brain awaited them. Gurgling on rats intent on entering him through his mouth, Brian managed to scream.

And he woke up, rather rudely awakened by a kick to the stomach. His head was pounding even harder now, and the air he was breathing smelled like acid.

"What..." he mumbled "What's going on? Where am I?"
"I'll tell you where you are, you bloody idiot" a familiar voice, which seemed extremely unhappy, it should be said "You're lying down on the lounge floor, in a pool of your own vomit."

Ah...

"And I'll tell you now, Brian, I'm not cleaning that crap up."
"Hi honey, I'm a dead man walking..." Brian said without realising it.
"You bet your behind you're a dead man. If that stuff stains, it'll cost a fortune to replace the carpet."
"Ah... Jane, there's something important I have to tell you."

If Jane was irritated now, she certainly wasn't going to like this one bit.
Thu 23/01/03 at 10:17
Posts: 643
*BUMP*
Thu 16/01/03 at 19:21
Regular
"no longer El Blokey"
Posts: 4,471
Didn't you leave?
Thu 16/01/03 at 16:10
"Darkness, always"
Posts: 9,603
In all seriousness, I would say that people should actually try to read the story.

I know as well as anyone how irritating it can be to have a thread hijacked. I'm guilty of it far too often.
Thu 16/01/03 at 16:03
Regular
"Bounty housewife..."
Posts: 5,257
You - you Narcoleptic Bartneder or is that Insane Insomniac ?
Thu 16/01/03 at 14:50
"Darkness, always"
Posts: 9,603
Goatboy wrote:
> Why use 2 accounts?

You asking me or him?
Thu 16/01/03 at 14:42
Regular
"Infantalised Forums"
Posts: 23,089
Why use 2 accounts?
Thu 16/01/03 at 14:30
"Darkness, always"
Posts: 9,603
For anyone who hasn't read Part 1:
http://ukchatforums.reserve.co.uk /display_messages.php?threadid=65395&forumid=423

And what's wrong with my name? I just thought it up on the fly, and what does a name matter anyway? Was it not Shakespeare who wrote "A rose by any other name would smell as sweet"?
Thu 16/01/03 at 14:26
Regular
Posts: 3
intersting post.....shame about the name
Thu 16/01/03 at 14:17
Posts: 643
Brian Wainwright opened the door to his home, stepped inside and closed the door quietly behind him. He could quite plainly see that his recent news hadn't sunk in at all. Anyone else would have been in a state of shock. Either shock or despair. Brian currently felt nothing bar an empty feeling in his stomach, not unlike hunger.

He quickly scanned the coatrail, and noted that Jane's green jacket was missing. That was fortunate, he thought. She's out, which meant more time for him to think about what he was going to say. He was hoping for something a little more adult than the introduction he currently had running through his head. "Hi honey, I'm a dead man walking" wasn't going to get the conversation off on the right foot.

He walked right, through the door into the dining room and through into the kitchen. Picking up the kettle he began to fill it with water direct from the tap. He stopped with the kettle half full, and left it by the sink. Tea wasn't going to help him gather his nerves. Instead, he reached into the cupboard and grabbed a tall glass, then wet over to the larder, and from the top shelf, pulled down a bottle of Vodka. He half-filled his glass and moved on to the fridge, where he pulled out a carton of orange and topped up his drink.

Glass in one hand and vodka bottle in the other, he went back through the dining room into the hall again, and walked through into the lounge. He took his place in his favorite chair - a lovely (and not to mention pricey) number, but wonderfully relaxing. Made of quality brown leather, the chair was epitomising of comfort - put his drink down on the small side table, and picked up the TV remote. Brian began flicking slowly through the channels, of which there were several hundred, looking for something which interested him. After about 10 minutes, he conceded that there was nothing worth looking at at all.

"Typical," he said aloud to himself "Sixty quid a bloody month for 300 channels of utter crap." Brian had only really agreed to pay for all the channels because the sports channels were included, and there was rarely any decent sports activity on at this time of day midweek. Eventually, though, he flicked back to National Geographic and watched some garbage about rats breeding.

Bored, his glass quickly emptied. Going to refill it, he noticed he hadn't brought the orange through with him. Not a problem, he thought, and filled the glass with neat Vodka.

He awoke suddenly, not really knowing where he was. His head pounded magnificently. He quickly realised he wasn't in his lounge anymore. He wasn't in his house at all. He had absolutely no idea where he was. Looking about himself, he appeared to be, if anywhere, in some kind of tunnel. The place was very rocky, as though it were carved out of mountain stone, there was a faint glimmer of light - presumably the exit - to his left, and the tunnel seemed to carry on into darkness in the opposite direction. How the hell had he gotten here? How much had he drunk? Had he had the presence of mind to shut the front door behind him?

Crap
Crap
CRAP!

Bloody fool. God only knows how much Vodka he must've drunk to bring about this tragic circumstance. He was in the middle of a series of self-curses, when he heard a noise come from the stony darkness to his right. The sound was like a faint squeak, but it somehow conveyed a dark malevolence that chilled him to the bone. He strained his eyes to see farther down the tunnel in that direction, but couldn't see anything at all. The noise came again, and Brian slowly started backing away towards the tunnel exit as quietly as he could manage, which to the trained ear was not magnificently quiet at all. Brian had always been one for a little sport, but the art of silence was lost on him.

Backing away, the noise came again, and again. The noise was different in each occurance. Whatever was making the noise, there was more than one of it. Enough of this crap, he thought, and lost all sense of sneaking, and began to walk swiftly, if stiffly, toward the light.

Suddenly the noise was everywhere. Thousands of noises from as many sources, all coming closer from the darkness. Abandoning any sense of dignity, Brian began to run for the exit. Only a few metres on, he tripped and fell, cutting his knees and left hand on the rough stone. He looked back to the source of the noises, and what he saw terrified him.

Rats. Hundreds of them. Only, strangely, they were incredibly small, like a swarm of large, furry beetles. And they were upon him. Before he could stand, the rats were climbing his by the dozen. He tried in vain to brush them of, and while he succeeded in getting a few off him, they were replaced by yet more in moments. The rats charged for the cuts on his legs, and bit him.

Brian screamed, the bite impoosibly more painful than it had any right to be. It was followed by another bite, and another, and Brian folded over and fell to the ground in agony. More rats were upon him now, they were swarming him. Then the rats began to eat under his cuts, get into his skin. Brian, incoherrent enough already, saw dozens of the creatures running around inside him as tiny bulges on his skin in his legs, then his abdomen, his chest. Barely able to keep his eyes open through the pain, Brian saw a group of about 8 rats gather at the top of his chest, before surging toward his neck, where his brain awaited them. Gurgling on rats intent on entering him through his mouth, Brian managed to scream.

And he woke up, rather rudely awakened by a kick to the stomach. His head was pounding even harder now, and the air he was breathing smelled like acid.

"What..." he mumbled "What's going on? Where am I?"
"I'll tell you where you are, you bloody idiot" a familiar voice, which seemed extremely unhappy, it should be said "You're lying down on the lounge floor, in a pool of your own vomit."

Ah...

"And I'll tell you now, Brian, I'm not cleaning that crap up."
"Hi honey, I'm a dead man walking..." Brian said without realising it.
"You bet your behind you're a dead man. If that stuff stains, it'll cost a fortune to replace the carpet."
"Ah... Jane, there's something important I have to tell you."

If Jane was irritated now, she certainly wasn't going to like this one bit.

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