A World at It's End

Reads: 1223  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 17

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Action and Adventure  |  House: Booksie Classic

Chapter 9 (v.1) - Quincy

Submitted: March 19, 2013

Reads: 86

Comments: 1

A A A | A A A

Submitted: March 19, 2013



The world blurred, and my room became a medical office. I lay on the usual slightly uncomfortable bed. Surrounding, surgical tools, an eye-blinding light, and me. What is this?

A doctor walks in. A tall, buff man with stubble, orange as sunset. His bright hair, neatly combed into gentle waves. His eyes, pale green, though hard to see through his thin eyes, and to tie it all in, a cleft chin.

My eyes focused on him as he paced into the room. He smiled thinly and put a broad hand on my cheek. “ Are you feeling alright?” He asked observing every inch of my eyes. I nodded. “ Everything?” I nodded again.

“ Dr. Whitman, we have the scan for her,” said a lady, peeking through the tinted door. He immediately took his gaze off of me, and ran towards to the lady.

“ Great,” He whispered to her. “ She says she’s fine, but she’s leaking gamma ray and toxic acid. This ultimately can kill her.”

I stared at the ceiling. If I were to die right this moment, I wouldn’t even be with my parents. Not even Jean.

I took one psychotic man to have this happen. Who’d think one person could literally change the world?

“Maybe we can set her up for experiments,” Dr. Whitman continued, below his breath. “ I can’t let her die.”

Dr. Whitman followed his gaze with the lady’s, who was staring at me. His eyes laid on mine lifelessly. Am I going to die? I asked him with my face expression. He took his glance off of me and whispered to the lady.

Dr. Whitman walked towards me and gripped my hand. “ Where taking a trip.” He tugged at my arm. I steadily found my balance and walked with him.

Outside of the medical room was like a prison. The hallway was colored with a dark grey, screams and shouts came from every room, each shrieking for help.

My bare feet pattered against the cold stone, sending even more chills up my spine. No shoes.

In front of our eyes, one gray door squeaked open. Two skimpy nurses came out, carrying a tall figure, a girl. Her head drooped at shoulder level, her blonde hair swaying carelessly. Her hair was tangled and in small clumps in certain places.

Suddenly, I noticed a burgundy strand sticking out. It was the same one I had.

When Quincy and I were seven, we begged our parents to let us get our hair dyed. They said no every time. One day, they got sick of our whining and pleading and promised us that we could get one strand dyed permanently. After serious thought, we chose burgundy.

“Quincy?” I whisper, blinking away my tears. Her head lifts to reveal her unusually beautiful lavender eyes. Her eyes were swollen from tears.

Suddenly, I feel a tug on my arm. I turn to Dr. Whitman. “What did you do to her?!” I screamed at him.

I snatched my hand away and tried to break Quincy free. The skimpy nurses fought against me, although my real challenge was Dr. Whitman. He had me in a body lock as I screamed. Quincy pushed the odds with me.

Finally, Quincy struggled free and ran for the exit. I caught up to her and ran alongside. After a few minutes of running, we reached a dead end.

We could hear the shouts from the medical people. I fell to my knees, tearing mercilessly. “Jean,” I cried. “If you can hear this, get me out, please.” I went on carelessly, by each please my voice became even more raspy.

Quincy slowly dropped to my level, crying along with me. Quincy joined me in pleading.

Sadly, Dr. Whitman caught up. He put his hand on our shoulders and led us away.

Was this it? The end of my life? Had Jean forsaken me, but I loved him. A very deep and dark part of me knew it was true.

Why couldn’t I die? I had two chances at it. Maybe it was him.

In front of us was a long sycamore door, freshly waxed. Dr. Whitman led us to our death. He sat us on the surgical beds and secured his hands with gloves.

Quincy’s eyes shimmered in the light that came close to her face, she was about to cry. Dr. Whitman sighed and trudged to us.

He held up his hand to reveal a thin, sharp needle consisted of a mysterious blue substance. Without warning, he stabbed us with it as we both shrieked.

The room became a blur and thoughts of worry trailed away. I gripped the bed because I had suddenly lost my balance. Without a doubt, I was drugged and high as a motherfucker.

Gradually, my eyes closed shut.

© Copyright 2017 Fern Snecker. All rights reserved.


Add Your Comments:


Booksie 2017-2018 Short Story Contest

Booksie Popular Content

Other Content by Fern Snecker

A World at It's End

Book / Action and Adventure

The Birth of Burner

Book / Action and Adventure

The Maple Tree

Book / Romance

Popular Tags