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Right, I had an idea for two stories. One I started a while ago and I'm still working on. It won't be unleashed upon your unsuspecting souls until I'm satisfied with it. The second, I wrote last night in a fit of inspiration. There's much more scope in the second story so I hope you enjoy it. It's quite long but stick with it ok? Any ideas/suggestions would be handy or how you'd like it to develop. With reference to the ideas and scientific rational behind them, I've wisely chosen to ignore them all so that the story can run its course without being bogged down by a myriad of technical jargon, which could be heavy going for some of you.
SR staff, sorry for the swearwords, but they are integral to the story.
Enjoy.
Liquid Crystal Display - Part 1
Every journey starts with a single step. Brendon Hunt started his by leaping into the abyss of unknown. He liked the unknown and he always daydreamed in lessons about the mysteries of the world; the unexplained phenomena that graced his life, the random acts of chance that sculpted his future. In short, Brendon lived a vacuous life and his thoughts never hovered long enough to dwell on one singular aspect of his life.
In actual fact, Brendon had died long before his heart stopped breathing. The constant bullying and endless bantering between the perpetrators of the mental anguish had caused something fragile and delicate within him to lose any semblance of meaning in his turgid life. He saw each day in a different shade of grey and couldn't differentiate between the good actions he tried to take in life and the cruel streak in his previously cheerful disposition. Brendon lived in a world of fear - a harsh oppressive type of fear that increased by increments the longer he spent in school.
'Another boring day, another day of the useless ribbing and trying not to catch anyone’s eye. I wish I could beat some of them senseless,' Brendon considered to himself, 'with their stupid language and pathetic squabbles, the fools don’t see there’s more to life than their cretinous petty arguments'
"...which will equal the root tangent of x.. So what would the answer be if x was 17? Brendon? BRENDON!" bawled Mrs Ansell, "Pay attention, will you?"
Brendon was startled out of his ruminating by his maths teacher. He'd never liked her much and the feeling was mutual. She constantly picked on him, so much so, that even other classmates were amazed by the amount of useless questions he had to answer for her.
"Yes, miss. Sorry miss. I was just thinking, that's all." Brendon calmly replied. She didn't faze him at all. In the greater scheme of life she had less influence than an atom. He remembered reading somewhere that if you were to plot time since it began on earth onto a clock, the reign of dinosaurs would last for about an hour or so but the reign of humans would only last four to five minutes. In his case, if you were to plot his life on a clock he regarded Mrs Ansell lucky to get even ten seconds....
"Well think of the question will you! I'm not going to repeat myself so tell me the answer. Well?", Mrs Ansell cuttingly replied.
The rest of the class tittered in amusement and Brendon felt a red flush creeping up the back of his neck. Yet again she'd managed to embarrass him in class. It was like a daily ritual and he suppressed a sigh as he prepared to tell her he didn't know. There was no point in asking her to repeat the question, he surmised, because she'd refuse. As he was about to answer in the negative, his only friend Stuart Lepton (also known as Smeg but no-one had a clue where it originated from. Probably rumour and the grapevine as does any questionable nickname) surreptitiously nudged him and minutely signalled with his pen. Written on his exercise book was the number 76.
"It's seventy six, miss" smirked Brendon with a hint of arrogance in his voice. Mrs Ansell's voice was chill as she replied irritably, "And how did you contrive to reach your answer?".
"I don't really know, miss," Brendon said dryly, "It just seemed to leap into my head like a bolt out of the blue."
"THAT'S IT!" shouted the teacher, "I've had enough of your indifference in this class. You will go to the head of year and explain to him why you can't answer a simple maths question."
The chair screeched as Brendon pushed it back. It tottered on its' back legs before crashing to the floor with a loud bang.
'Might as well go for broke if you're going to be insubordinate,' Brendon thought ruefully. He picked up his rucksack and stuffed his exercise book into it.
"Hey, w@nker, you're getting it this luchtime. Just like yesterday. We're gonna have you and you 'aint getting away like yesterday," Vincent Smith fiercely whispered to him as he leaned out and poked a leg out to try and trip Brendon over. Brendon stumbled and almost hit the floor but managed to keep his balance. Contemptuous sniggering accompanied the proclamation and he felt an icy tendril of fear creep down his back. Lunchtime was only 45 minutes away and he inadvertently hoped he'd be set a detention so that he could avoid the attentions of Vincent and his mob. Casting a fearful glance towards the back on the class he noticed Chris Pollard and David Whitby both brandishing their fists at him and stimulating a forceful blow to the head. Brendon shivered inwardly and glanced toward Stuart but his so-called friend was rigidly looking forward and trying to pretend he didn't exist.
'I suppose I'd do the same if it was me, but I wish he wouldn't ignore me so much when we're not in class. Then again, if I was in his shoes, I’d avoid me as well,' Brendon mused. The fear was affecting him and he knew with a certainty one day it was going to come to a head.
He trudged out of class with his head held low. The corridors of Granville High School were empty. It was so peaceful and quiet that on impulse he wanted to run down them shouting at the top of his voice and shattering the reverie that had settled on the school. But he carried on walking, his mind working furiously to see how he could evade the physical punishment that would be meted out to him at lunchtime. By the time he'd reached the Head of Year's office, he knew he was no closer to any solution to his problems. He clenched his fist and sharply rapped the door.
"ENTER!" shouted an authoritarian voice. Brendon turned the door handle slowly and entered the room. Mr Flack was sitting with his back upright behind his desk. His office was liberally spread with certificates of achievements and military insignias. He was a firm believer in old teaching methods and he ruled his classes with an iron fist. Schoolchildren likened him to Hitler and his wide moustache, coupled with his broad frame and precise movements only served to reinforce his unwitting nickname. He looked up curtly and barked in a rough voice, "HUNT! What have you done this time to pleasure me with your sullied appearance?"
Brendon blinked uncertainly and swallowed before answering, "Mrs Ansell sent me out of class, sir, and told me to tell you why I can't explain a maths question."
"Is that so?" Mr Flack replied, his shoulders hunched slightly as he pulled open a drawer and withdrew a plain sheet of paper, "You will sit here and do all your maths work. Before that, you will write out 50 lines for me," he thrust the piece of paper towards Brendon who nodded. He'd resigned himself to this fate and fully expected this sort of punishment.
" 'I shall not be disobedient in class and will pay more attention to Mrs Ansell.' Fifty times, you hear me? Then you will sit hear quietly and complete your work. Where's your report card, boy?"
"I left it in class, sir" Brendon mumbled almost incoherently.
"Doesn't matter. I'll get Mrs Ansell to return it later. Now sit there quietly and work. I don't want to hear a peep from you, Hunt. Do you hear me? Not a peep." commanded Mr Flack
Brendon nodded his assent and sat down at the head of Mr Flack's desk. A pity he didn't have a watch or he'd be able to gauge how long he had until lunchtime.
‘Ah well it doesn't really matter, does it? I'll be here throughout lunch and that'll mean I'll avoid d@ckhead and his mob,’ Brendon realised with a hint of hope.
He had names for all of the bullies, childish infantile names that served to make him feel a bit better whenever he encountered them. Thinking about a few ways he'd like to torture them, he set about writing out the lines, a meaningless and repetetive task made harder by the fact that Mr Flack's notion of writing lines didn't enable him to fit the sentence on one ruled line of paper, especially in his uncultured script.
An age seemed to pass until he'd finally completed the lines. He passed two sheets of paper (he'd had to ask for an extra A4 sheet halfway through) to Mr Flack who paused his own marking to examine and discrepancies in the dictation he'd issued.
"Good, Hunt. Now finish your maths." he brusquely ordered. Brendon rummaged through his rucksack and fished out his exercise book and maths textbook. He whisked off the lid of his biro with a flourish and imagined stabbing Mr Flack with it in the eye, while proclaiming "The pen is mightier than the sword, sir!" He stifled a guffaw of laughter and set about working through his questions.
Just then, the phone on Mr Flack's desk started ringing. Even though it was inches from his hand, he waited for it to ring twice before grasping it in a large hand.
"Granville High School. Flack speaking." he almost shouted into the phone. Brendon started - what kind of madman spoke like that on the phone? He must think he's still in army, he thought incredulously. Ignoring the conversation he concentrated on trying to finish his questions but it was hard going. He didn't have much of a notion on any of them, probably because he used to spend the whole time daydreaming and copying off Stuart. There was no chance of looking in the back of the textbook for the answers - Mr Flack was notoriously vigilant of such things__
"Right, Hunt! Sit here and finish your work. Don't touch anything." Mr Flack ordered before smoothly rising out of his seat and, with a speed that belied his size, marched out of the office, firmly closing the door behind him with a loud crash.
"Yes, Hitler," Brendon replied with insolence dripping from his voice. He hated Flack and his stupid idea that school was a glorified young offender’s institution. He also hated his school.
He stood up and looked around the office. There was a long cupboard in the corner and, feeling impulsive and rebellious in equal measures, he quietly stepped over to it and pulled a door open.
He gasped in amazement at the sight within. Contained in the cupboard was every single toy, weapon electronic device neatly stowed on a shelf with a sticker on it reading 'confiscated'. He glanced at the inside of the door and noticed everything had been neatly catalogued with information pertaining to who the item was taken from and on what date and time. From black widow catapults, humble peashooters to mighty Gameboys and mobile phones, they were all here. He whistled softly to himself and quickly stopped when he thought he heard footsteps. Nervously, he was about to shut the door and sit down when his eyes noticed a black and white strap wedged at the back of the shelf. Curiosity overcame his caution and he hurriedly pulled out a watch. Looking for whoever it belonged to, he realised it wasn't contained in the inventory list. Marvelling at his good fortune, Brendon quickly shut the door and sat down. It took him a moment to adjust the strap and then it was on his wrist. He forgot about his work for a moment and examined the watch.
It was a cheap and worthless looking digital watch with an LCD display. It resembled one those Casio watches that were frequently given away with magazines but there were a few subtle differences. The maker's name was 'Gap Systems' and it had a tiny flashing orange light on the side of it, as well as normal stopwatch functions - pause/play, forward, rewind and reset.
At least it can tell the time, thought Brendon, as he made sure it was synchronised to the clock on the wall. He selected 'mode' and found to his mild surprise that it boasted a second time function as well as a stopwatch and alarm. He wondered how long it had been since he'd been sitting in Mr Flack's office and estimated it had been around 40 minutes.
Setting the alternate time to when he thought he'd left the maths class, he pressed play.....suddenly there was a massive rushing noise in his ears and a white light so bright that he had to close his eyes. His head felt as if it was imploding and he felt a plethora of lacerations all over his body, as if thousands of tiny razors were being applied to every fibre of his torso. He was in agony and didn’t even have enough breath to open his mouth and scream in anguish. Just as suddenly as it came, the pain was gone and he was left gasping with the memory of every nerve ending still reeling with the after effects of pain.
"What the hell was going on?" he wondered aloud, as he heard laughter, mocking and insipid in its' timbre. Prising his eyes open he saw he was in maths class!
‘What the f@ck's happening?' he fearfully speculated, ‘Why the hell am I still in class, standing here like a lemon? Has the whole world gone insane?’ He glanced down at his watch and idly noticed the orange flashing light was now blue but still flashing...
"GET OUT NOW, BRENDON HUNT! I'm not going to tell you again. Or you'll have more than the Head of Year to contend with", shrieked Mrs Ansell. Brendon gaped at her and suddenly questioned whether he was sane or not.He decided to obey and duly walked forward, when his legs tangled up in something and he crashed to the floor, his bag flying out of his hands. Laughter echoed in his ears and he slowly rose to his feet, dusting himself down and looking at the cause of his fall. Vincent kicked him again and turned to him and rasped, "Got you again, you ******* ****, Hunt." he laughed slowly, a mocking taunting laughter that magnified in Brendon's ears as he reached for his bag. "You ******* ****, Hunt!" he cruelly murmured, "I'm going to kill you at lunchtime and me and my boys__"
His words were drowned out by a snarl of rage. Brendon felt blood rushing in his head and felt an overwhelming pressure building up within him. He unleashed the very definition of fury in an instant upon an unprepared Vincent Smith by taking his biro out and thrusting it as hard as he could into Vincent's eye, screaming , "Die you ******, **** off and die!" as he repeatedly stabbed it into his eye socket until there was nothing but a pulpy mess and blood was pouring out of out the gaping wound. Vincent was thrashing about in his seat and screaming in pain, gibbering like a mental inmate but this only spurred Brendon’s actions. He started kicking Vincent in the body, head, anywhere that was unprotected. Like a wild animal freed from its confines he resorted to stamping on Vincent’s head. Loud sickening crunches emanated from his boot and Vincent’s fervent movements were becoming more feeble by the second. Jumping up, Brendon laughed in delight as he delivered the final savage two footed blow to Vincent’s cranium, which collapsed like a deflated balloon. The squelching noise it made was satisfying to Brendon’s ears and he stared at his hands which were covered in Vincent's blood as his last death throes racked his body. With a last sigh, Vincent’s last breath was extinguished forever and Brendon slowly raised his head, crowing in glee.
He noticed pandemonium everywhere; girls were screaming in fear and disgust and most of the other boys in the class were ashen faced looking shocked and astounded. There was a brief moment of palatable silence broken by a thud as Deborah Burke fainted.
‘She always did hate the sight of blood’ recalled Brendon, remembering the time she had collapsed after seeing a woman give birth in sex education. Mrs Ansell was standing by the blackboard frozen with indecision and horror. Vincent’s friends were clambering over the desks with looks of pure murderous rage painted upon their pale faces.
"So you’re not just a bunch of cowards who band together and pick on people," Brendon sneered at them.
They quailed at the sight of him and all the schoolchildren cowered from the sight of their classmate turning into a rabid animal taken by a frenzy of violence.
Brendon came back to himself, he shook his head and gazed at the corpse at the base of his feet. Girls started moaning in despair and revulsion and children were swiftly exiting the class. Raised shouts were echoing, Brendon could make out individual words, "Police...sick ******...he murdered Vince!"
Brendon started panicking and glanced at his watch. The blue light was still flashing. With prescient intuition he quickly selected the later, original time and depressed the 'play' button....the rushing noise was even more violent and there was a myriad of different colours radiating through his mind....he felt as if his heart was exploding and his entire body felt wreathed in flame...he screamed in pain...and just as quickly as it started, it had stopped.
Brendon's breath was loud in his ears, his heart was pounding as he noticed he was back in Mr Flack's office. He stared down at the watch with an expression of bewildering realisation on his face and he concluded he had warped forward in time to his original destination. A slow feral grin illuminated his mien as ideas rushed into his head.
SR staff, sorry for the swearwords, but they are integral to the story.
Enjoy.
Liquid Crystal Display - Part 1
Every journey starts with a single step. Brendon Hunt started his by leaping into the abyss of unknown. He liked the unknown and he always daydreamed in lessons about the mysteries of the world; the unexplained phenomena that graced his life, the random acts of chance that sculpted his future. In short, Brendon lived a vacuous life and his thoughts never hovered long enough to dwell on one singular aspect of his life.
In actual fact, Brendon had died long before his heart stopped breathing. The constant bullying and endless bantering between the perpetrators of the mental anguish had caused something fragile and delicate within him to lose any semblance of meaning in his turgid life. He saw each day in a different shade of grey and couldn't differentiate between the good actions he tried to take in life and the cruel streak in his previously cheerful disposition. Brendon lived in a world of fear - a harsh oppressive type of fear that increased by increments the longer he spent in school.
'Another boring day, another day of the useless ribbing and trying not to catch anyone’s eye. I wish I could beat some of them senseless,' Brendon considered to himself, 'with their stupid language and pathetic squabbles, the fools don’t see there’s more to life than their cretinous petty arguments'
"...which will equal the root tangent of x.. So what would the answer be if x was 17? Brendon? BRENDON!" bawled Mrs Ansell, "Pay attention, will you?"
Brendon was startled out of his ruminating by his maths teacher. He'd never liked her much and the feeling was mutual. She constantly picked on him, so much so, that even other classmates were amazed by the amount of useless questions he had to answer for her.
"Yes, miss. Sorry miss. I was just thinking, that's all." Brendon calmly replied. She didn't faze him at all. In the greater scheme of life she had less influence than an atom. He remembered reading somewhere that if you were to plot time since it began on earth onto a clock, the reign of dinosaurs would last for about an hour or so but the reign of humans would only last four to five minutes. In his case, if you were to plot his life on a clock he regarded Mrs Ansell lucky to get even ten seconds....
"Well think of the question will you! I'm not going to repeat myself so tell me the answer. Well?", Mrs Ansell cuttingly replied.
The rest of the class tittered in amusement and Brendon felt a red flush creeping up the back of his neck. Yet again she'd managed to embarrass him in class. It was like a daily ritual and he suppressed a sigh as he prepared to tell her he didn't know. There was no point in asking her to repeat the question, he surmised, because she'd refuse. As he was about to answer in the negative, his only friend Stuart Lepton (also known as Smeg but no-one had a clue where it originated from. Probably rumour and the grapevine as does any questionable nickname) surreptitiously nudged him and minutely signalled with his pen. Written on his exercise book was the number 76.
"It's seventy six, miss" smirked Brendon with a hint of arrogance in his voice. Mrs Ansell's voice was chill as she replied irritably, "And how did you contrive to reach your answer?".
"I don't really know, miss," Brendon said dryly, "It just seemed to leap into my head like a bolt out of the blue."
"THAT'S IT!" shouted the teacher, "I've had enough of your indifference in this class. You will go to the head of year and explain to him why you can't answer a simple maths question."
The chair screeched as Brendon pushed it back. It tottered on its' back legs before crashing to the floor with a loud bang.
'Might as well go for broke if you're going to be insubordinate,' Brendon thought ruefully. He picked up his rucksack and stuffed his exercise book into it.
"Hey, w@nker, you're getting it this luchtime. Just like yesterday. We're gonna have you and you 'aint getting away like yesterday," Vincent Smith fiercely whispered to him as he leaned out and poked a leg out to try and trip Brendon over. Brendon stumbled and almost hit the floor but managed to keep his balance. Contemptuous sniggering accompanied the proclamation and he felt an icy tendril of fear creep down his back. Lunchtime was only 45 minutes away and he inadvertently hoped he'd be set a detention so that he could avoid the attentions of Vincent and his mob. Casting a fearful glance towards the back on the class he noticed Chris Pollard and David Whitby both brandishing their fists at him and stimulating a forceful blow to the head. Brendon shivered inwardly and glanced toward Stuart but his so-called friend was rigidly looking forward and trying to pretend he didn't exist.
'I suppose I'd do the same if it was me, but I wish he wouldn't ignore me so much when we're not in class. Then again, if I was in his shoes, I’d avoid me as well,' Brendon mused. The fear was affecting him and he knew with a certainty one day it was going to come to a head.
He trudged out of class with his head held low. The corridors of Granville High School were empty. It was so peaceful and quiet that on impulse he wanted to run down them shouting at the top of his voice and shattering the reverie that had settled on the school. But he carried on walking, his mind working furiously to see how he could evade the physical punishment that would be meted out to him at lunchtime. By the time he'd reached the Head of Year's office, he knew he was no closer to any solution to his problems. He clenched his fist and sharply rapped the door.
"ENTER!" shouted an authoritarian voice. Brendon turned the door handle slowly and entered the room. Mr Flack was sitting with his back upright behind his desk. His office was liberally spread with certificates of achievements and military insignias. He was a firm believer in old teaching methods and he ruled his classes with an iron fist. Schoolchildren likened him to Hitler and his wide moustache, coupled with his broad frame and precise movements only served to reinforce his unwitting nickname. He looked up curtly and barked in a rough voice, "HUNT! What have you done this time to pleasure me with your sullied appearance?"
Brendon blinked uncertainly and swallowed before answering, "Mrs Ansell sent me out of class, sir, and told me to tell you why I can't explain a maths question."
"Is that so?" Mr Flack replied, his shoulders hunched slightly as he pulled open a drawer and withdrew a plain sheet of paper, "You will sit here and do all your maths work. Before that, you will write out 50 lines for me," he thrust the piece of paper towards Brendon who nodded. He'd resigned himself to this fate and fully expected this sort of punishment.
" 'I shall not be disobedient in class and will pay more attention to Mrs Ansell.' Fifty times, you hear me? Then you will sit hear quietly and complete your work. Where's your report card, boy?"
"I left it in class, sir" Brendon mumbled almost incoherently.
"Doesn't matter. I'll get Mrs Ansell to return it later. Now sit there quietly and work. I don't want to hear a peep from you, Hunt. Do you hear me? Not a peep." commanded Mr Flack
Brendon nodded his assent and sat down at the head of Mr Flack's desk. A pity he didn't have a watch or he'd be able to gauge how long he had until lunchtime.
‘Ah well it doesn't really matter, does it? I'll be here throughout lunch and that'll mean I'll avoid d@ckhead and his mob,’ Brendon realised with a hint of hope.
He had names for all of the bullies, childish infantile names that served to make him feel a bit better whenever he encountered them. Thinking about a few ways he'd like to torture them, he set about writing out the lines, a meaningless and repetetive task made harder by the fact that Mr Flack's notion of writing lines didn't enable him to fit the sentence on one ruled line of paper, especially in his uncultured script.
An age seemed to pass until he'd finally completed the lines. He passed two sheets of paper (he'd had to ask for an extra A4 sheet halfway through) to Mr Flack who paused his own marking to examine and discrepancies in the dictation he'd issued.
"Good, Hunt. Now finish your maths." he brusquely ordered. Brendon rummaged through his rucksack and fished out his exercise book and maths textbook. He whisked off the lid of his biro with a flourish and imagined stabbing Mr Flack with it in the eye, while proclaiming "The pen is mightier than the sword, sir!" He stifled a guffaw of laughter and set about working through his questions.
Just then, the phone on Mr Flack's desk started ringing. Even though it was inches from his hand, he waited for it to ring twice before grasping it in a large hand.
"Granville High School. Flack speaking." he almost shouted into the phone. Brendon started - what kind of madman spoke like that on the phone? He must think he's still in army, he thought incredulously. Ignoring the conversation he concentrated on trying to finish his questions but it was hard going. He didn't have much of a notion on any of them, probably because he used to spend the whole time daydreaming and copying off Stuart. There was no chance of looking in the back of the textbook for the answers - Mr Flack was notoriously vigilant of such things__
"Right, Hunt! Sit here and finish your work. Don't touch anything." Mr Flack ordered before smoothly rising out of his seat and, with a speed that belied his size, marched out of the office, firmly closing the door behind him with a loud crash.
"Yes, Hitler," Brendon replied with insolence dripping from his voice. He hated Flack and his stupid idea that school was a glorified young offender’s institution. He also hated his school.
He stood up and looked around the office. There was a long cupboard in the corner and, feeling impulsive and rebellious in equal measures, he quietly stepped over to it and pulled a door open.
He gasped in amazement at the sight within. Contained in the cupboard was every single toy, weapon electronic device neatly stowed on a shelf with a sticker on it reading 'confiscated'. He glanced at the inside of the door and noticed everything had been neatly catalogued with information pertaining to who the item was taken from and on what date and time. From black widow catapults, humble peashooters to mighty Gameboys and mobile phones, they were all here. He whistled softly to himself and quickly stopped when he thought he heard footsteps. Nervously, he was about to shut the door and sit down when his eyes noticed a black and white strap wedged at the back of the shelf. Curiosity overcame his caution and he hurriedly pulled out a watch. Looking for whoever it belonged to, he realised it wasn't contained in the inventory list. Marvelling at his good fortune, Brendon quickly shut the door and sat down. It took him a moment to adjust the strap and then it was on his wrist. He forgot about his work for a moment and examined the watch.
It was a cheap and worthless looking digital watch with an LCD display. It resembled one those Casio watches that were frequently given away with magazines but there were a few subtle differences. The maker's name was 'Gap Systems' and it had a tiny flashing orange light on the side of it, as well as normal stopwatch functions - pause/play, forward, rewind and reset.
At least it can tell the time, thought Brendon, as he made sure it was synchronised to the clock on the wall. He selected 'mode' and found to his mild surprise that it boasted a second time function as well as a stopwatch and alarm. He wondered how long it had been since he'd been sitting in Mr Flack's office and estimated it had been around 40 minutes.
Setting the alternate time to when he thought he'd left the maths class, he pressed play.....suddenly there was a massive rushing noise in his ears and a white light so bright that he had to close his eyes. His head felt as if it was imploding and he felt a plethora of lacerations all over his body, as if thousands of tiny razors were being applied to every fibre of his torso. He was in agony and didn’t even have enough breath to open his mouth and scream in anguish. Just as suddenly as it came, the pain was gone and he was left gasping with the memory of every nerve ending still reeling with the after effects of pain.
"What the hell was going on?" he wondered aloud, as he heard laughter, mocking and insipid in its' timbre. Prising his eyes open he saw he was in maths class!
‘What the f@ck's happening?' he fearfully speculated, ‘Why the hell am I still in class, standing here like a lemon? Has the whole world gone insane?’ He glanced down at his watch and idly noticed the orange flashing light was now blue but still flashing...
"GET OUT NOW, BRENDON HUNT! I'm not going to tell you again. Or you'll have more than the Head of Year to contend with", shrieked Mrs Ansell. Brendon gaped at her and suddenly questioned whether he was sane or not.He decided to obey and duly walked forward, when his legs tangled up in something and he crashed to the floor, his bag flying out of his hands. Laughter echoed in his ears and he slowly rose to his feet, dusting himself down and looking at the cause of his fall. Vincent kicked him again and turned to him and rasped, "Got you again, you ******* ****, Hunt." he laughed slowly, a mocking taunting laughter that magnified in Brendon's ears as he reached for his bag. "You ******* ****, Hunt!" he cruelly murmured, "I'm going to kill you at lunchtime and me and my boys__"
His words were drowned out by a snarl of rage. Brendon felt blood rushing in his head and felt an overwhelming pressure building up within him. He unleashed the very definition of fury in an instant upon an unprepared Vincent Smith by taking his biro out and thrusting it as hard as he could into Vincent's eye, screaming , "Die you ******, **** off and die!" as he repeatedly stabbed it into his eye socket until there was nothing but a pulpy mess and blood was pouring out of out the gaping wound. Vincent was thrashing about in his seat and screaming in pain, gibbering like a mental inmate but this only spurred Brendon’s actions. He started kicking Vincent in the body, head, anywhere that was unprotected. Like a wild animal freed from its confines he resorted to stamping on Vincent’s head. Loud sickening crunches emanated from his boot and Vincent’s fervent movements were becoming more feeble by the second. Jumping up, Brendon laughed in delight as he delivered the final savage two footed blow to Vincent’s cranium, which collapsed like a deflated balloon. The squelching noise it made was satisfying to Brendon’s ears and he stared at his hands which were covered in Vincent's blood as his last death throes racked his body. With a last sigh, Vincent’s last breath was extinguished forever and Brendon slowly raised his head, crowing in glee.
He noticed pandemonium everywhere; girls were screaming in fear and disgust and most of the other boys in the class were ashen faced looking shocked and astounded. There was a brief moment of palatable silence broken by a thud as Deborah Burke fainted.
‘She always did hate the sight of blood’ recalled Brendon, remembering the time she had collapsed after seeing a woman give birth in sex education. Mrs Ansell was standing by the blackboard frozen with indecision and horror. Vincent’s friends were clambering over the desks with looks of pure murderous rage painted upon their pale faces.
"So you’re not just a bunch of cowards who band together and pick on people," Brendon sneered at them.
They quailed at the sight of him and all the schoolchildren cowered from the sight of their classmate turning into a rabid animal taken by a frenzy of violence.
Brendon came back to himself, he shook his head and gazed at the corpse at the base of his feet. Girls started moaning in despair and revulsion and children were swiftly exiting the class. Raised shouts were echoing, Brendon could make out individual words, "Police...sick ******...he murdered Vince!"
Brendon started panicking and glanced at his watch. The blue light was still flashing. With prescient intuition he quickly selected the later, original time and depressed the 'play' button....the rushing noise was even more violent and there was a myriad of different colours radiating through his mind....he felt as if his heart was exploding and his entire body felt wreathed in flame...he screamed in pain...and just as quickly as it started, it had stopped.
Brendon's breath was loud in his ears, his heart was pounding as he noticed he was back in Mr Flack's office. He stared down at the watch with an expression of bewildering realisation on his face and he concluded he had warped forward in time to his original destination. A slow feral grin illuminated his mien as ideas rushed into his head.
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For every time he uses the watch to go backwards in time, an alternate reality must either be created or tapped into - he has the watch in the maths class, when he didn't have it before, so it must be an alternate reality.
I think you showed just how much difference one little thing can make to a person's life and their reaction - first time round he kept upright and walked along, the second time he fell over and metaphorically it really pushed him over the edge.
Nice story, even if the concept of finding something that takes you back in time is a cliché.
I think you showed just how much difference one little thing can make to a person's life and their reaction - first time round he kept upright and walked along, the second time he fell over and metaphorically it really pushed him over the edge.
Nice story, even if the concept of finding something that takes you back in time is a cliché.
Ok, no probs. I'll endeavour to add as much as I can in the next installment.
It's a story I've always pondered upon but never have been able to express what I wanted to do with it. Hopefully, I'll be able to fashion it to my desire...
It's a story I've always pondered upon but never have been able to express what I wanted to do with it. Hopefully, I'll be able to fashion it to my desire...
Unbeliever wrote:
> Yeah, i see what you mean. Therefore, I'll steer clear of any
> scientific rationale and make it a dark fantasy instead.
>
> Oh, I've got lots of ideas in my head about Brendon. Just you wait...
I'd be interesting in discovering exactly what the device does?
Not how it works, but does it send Brendan back in time in his own lifetime, can he go forward in time, what happens if he travels outside of his own life? Is it a time machine at all, or does it just simulate acting out his darkest fantasies, or something else.
Would also like a little more of Brendan's background to unfold.
just suggestions ;)
> Yeah, i see what you mean. Therefore, I'll steer clear of any
> scientific rationale and make it a dark fantasy instead.
>
> Oh, I've got lots of ideas in my head about Brendon. Just you wait...
I'd be interesting in discovering exactly what the device does?
Not how it works, but does it send Brendan back in time in his own lifetime, can he go forward in time, what happens if he travels outside of his own life? Is it a time machine at all, or does it just simulate acting out his darkest fantasies, or something else.
Would also like a little more of Brendan's background to unfold.
just suggestions ;)
Yeah, i see what you mean. Therefore, I'll steer clear of any scientific rationale and make it a dark fantasy instead.
Oh, I've got lots of ideas in my head about Brendon. Just you wait...
Oh, I've got lots of ideas in my head about Brendon. Just you wait...
Unbeliever wrote:
> Hopefully a few more people will read it and tell me what they think.
I though that it was pretty interestin. Fairly shocking, but interesting.
> I wanted to make the story as open ended as possible but I'll have to
> consider other scientific factors to make it fairly plausible.
I shouldn't worry about that. Although you haven't yet pinned down the true nature of this special device if it is intended to be what it seems it's already pretty impossible as far as I can tell, but that doesn't take anything away from your story. I think it's probably more interesting as a study of what that sort of power might do to an individual. How the fact that he has killed someone effects Brendan, whether he believes what has just happened etc.
I look forward to the next episodes.
> Hopefully a few more people will read it and tell me what they think.
I though that it was pretty interestin. Fairly shocking, but interesting.
> I wanted to make the story as open ended as possible but I'll have to
> consider other scientific factors to make it fairly plausible.
I shouldn't worry about that. Although you haven't yet pinned down the true nature of this special device if it is intended to be what it seems it's already pretty impossible as far as I can tell, but that doesn't take anything away from your story. I think it's probably more interesting as a study of what that sort of power might do to an individual. How the fact that he has killed someone effects Brendan, whether he believes what has just happened etc.
I look forward to the next episodes.
Nice one, I'm looking forward to it.
I'll be working on part 2 this weekend. Part 1 only set the scene. There'll be retribution galore in the next installment...
Very good!
Can't wait for the next part.
Can't wait for the next part.
Yeah, there's nothing better than a bit of magic! Obviously, Brendon's soul shall go down the dark path of life for a time...
Well, you don't want to close yourself in with technical difficulties. I'm sure we can all just imagine that there is a little bit of magic involved...
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