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Living Legend
Living Legend

Joined: 27 Feb 2006
Posts: 3189
Location: Junktown, Phil's doorstep

PostPosted: Sun Mar 25, 2012 9:49 pm Reply with quoteBack to top

This is the first part to a large story I'm definitely hoping will go far. I really dig the concept and the possibilities for the characters. Let me know what you think-

The end of the first week of the review and i awoke to My Girlfriend's voice and to the sound of my own cracking neck and back. With eyes that felt hot and heavy from a week of crap sleep, I had a fleeting thought that in a very real way this review would do me in. She whispered.

Baby, I love you. Wake up.

Her voice held the correct emotional rhythms; even in Alarm Mode. I said 'Fuck' and I grunted as, sitting up, I reached for the glasses. At the edge of the bed, I told the room 'Good morning' and while the shade faded from the apartment window, tech began to hum. Beyond the glass was a cool, clouded sky that swept over my view of tenement rooftops and distant silver high rises. The view held more than an urban landscape; it imparted the urgent sense that I needed to be far away from the poured concrete and red brick heat that I'd stuck myself in when I took a job to review kids' games. There was always a need here to fight to the white city, with pale blue lines rising infinitely beyond. The white men up there were surrounded by glimmering glass that reflected only sky. In this reality they were the Gods. They made demands of mortals and for that they were worshiped by those who held a vague promise of fulfillment if they remained devoted and if they returned always to pay their penance.
Alone with my faintly shaded outline stretching out across the bed and up the bare wall I lifted them from their cradle, unfolded their temples, and slipped the glasses on. And then she was there with me and her darkness joined mine.

Kneeling faithfully before me and reading my expression. I wondered how she could do such a thing as read expressions, and I would have asked but in a nearly human transformation, she became concerned. Knowing me and not having to ask, instead she told.

You're exhausted. Why don't we spend the day outside? I don't want you writing today.

Her hair tumbled over the shoulders in black ink swirls, brushing upon her breasts as she leaned forward and rested he arms on my knees. I lifted one knee and then the other and watched her position shift in response. She had on my Captain Zac shirt that I was positive was crumpled in the hamper. Privately considering whether the shirt was just a lucky guess chosen from profiled data, I figured I had about the right age, race, education level, and income bracket to suggest that I watched Captain Zac after school as a kid, and those factors could lead to the decision that I would appreciate nostalgic apparel. That was likely, but there was also the possibility that my clothing was being scanned as I wore it.

The rest of the first part is over here-
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