what's this?
The Professor
The professor woke to find himself on his backpack, like a turtle upside down. Wind blew in from the ledge, rustling dried leaves and bringing the scent of forest and must. He sat up awkwardly and placed his pack on the least muddy part of the floor. The room he was in was square, with three lichen covered walls and a wall-sized window that faced out to the forest. The door farthest the window had been barred shut by a desk and he hypothesised, as professors do, that in his delirium he gave one last burst of energy to shove the metal office desk against the door. He felt the wind blow again and this time it was strong enough to make the ruin suddenly shift; he heard the loud groan of metal on metal before he felt the ground beneath him shift gently. Outside, the other buildings were swaying with the trees, as if they were metal brothers.
He realized he was holding something wet. At first thinking he may have placed his hand on one of the puddles of the office floor, he put his hand to his face. Through his blurry vision he saw blood so thick and red it could have been webbing between his fingers. He looked down and realized the blood was from the front of his green canvas shirt.
He panicked a moment, letting out a monosyllabic wail as his mind seemed to pulse within itself in his scream.
The first aid kits were in the second bag. He walked over to the ledge that had once been made of impact-proof glass to prevent suicidal lawyers from smashing through. The window caught his greying blond hair and he stared down 30 stories to the ground below. He almost imagined he could see the green rucksack down among the dirt and water that made up the Manhattan river. He could have seen them if he had his binoculars, but those were also in the second pack.
He resolved to calm himself. Pulling himself back from the ledge, he sat on the desk that blocked the door and thought.
He felt it before he saw it. A small flash of purple light from behind his eye lids. He opened his eyes to ensure he hadn't imagined it, but only the orange setting sun over the city-forest shed any light. Resolved to continue his search, he closed his eyes and his personal program came back on. Black he preferred his "screen saver" as did 90% of the population (so Newsweek said). However, at the bottom of his eyelid's screen saver he saw the blinking purple light attempting to connect. He rubbed the back of his neck where the thin wire antenna was and tried to shake it to gain reception.
He held his fingers on his neck and studied the little purple icon on the inside of his eyelids and tried hard to find the Pulse. The purple turned red and his face changed to almost child-like look of frustration. He tried again and again, but he failed again and again. He tried the other three networks he was connected to, but Earth was too far away from any Pulse satellite.
So he sat on the edge of the desk as he began to grow dizzier every few minutes, resolved to die.
He turned to look out the little window in the office door he was blocking and the face staring at him, sniffing at him through the glass, made him jump up in a panic.
The Smoker and the Chamber
The helicopter circled the skyscraper a few times before deciding that whether it was stable or not wouldn't stop them from landing. Below, what were formerly streets were now thick forests and rivers, rife with bears and lions and worse, primal and tribal people who could be nearly invisible in the jungle.
[end for now]
You know, I've never written sci-fi. Let's see what happens together.
The professor woke to find himself on his backpack, like a turtle upside down. Wind blew in from the ledge, rustling dried leaves and bringing the scent of forest and must. He sat up awkwardly and placed his pack on the least muddy part of the floor. The room he was in was square, with three lichen covered walls and a wall-sized window that faced out to the forest. The door farthest the window had been barred shut by a desk and he hypothesised, as professors do, that in his delirium he gave one last burst of energy to shove the metal office desk against the door. He felt the wind blow again and this time it was strong enough to make the ruin suddenly shift; he heard the loud groan of metal on metal before he felt the ground beneath him shift gently. Outside, the other buildings were swaying with the trees, as if they were metal brothers.
He realized he was holding something wet. At first thinking he may have placed his hand on one of the puddles of the office floor, he put his hand to his face. Through his blurry vision he saw blood so thick and red it could have been webbing between his fingers. He looked down and realized the blood was from the front of his green canvas shirt.
He panicked a moment, letting out a monosyllabic wail as his mind seemed to pulse within itself in his scream.
The first aid kits were in the second bag. He walked over to the ledge that had once been made of impact-proof glass to prevent suicidal lawyers from smashing through. The window caught his greying blond hair and he stared down 30 stories to the ground below. He almost imagined he could see the green rucksack down among the dirt and water that made up the Manhattan river. He could have seen them if he had his binoculars, but those were also in the second pack.
He resolved to calm himself. Pulling himself back from the ledge, he sat on the desk that blocked the door and thought.
He felt it before he saw it. A small flash of purple light from behind his eye lids. He opened his eyes to ensure he hadn't imagined it, but only the orange setting sun over the city-forest shed any light. Resolved to continue his search, he closed his eyes and his personal program came back on. Black he preferred his "screen saver" as did 90% of the population (so Newsweek said). However, at the bottom of his eyelid's screen saver he saw the blinking purple light attempting to connect. He rubbed the back of his neck where the thin wire antenna was and tried to shake it to gain reception.
He held his fingers on his neck and studied the little purple icon on the inside of his eyelids and tried hard to find the Pulse. The purple turned red and his face changed to almost child-like look of frustration. He tried again and again, but he failed again and again. He tried the other three networks he was connected to, but Earth was too far away from any Pulse satellite.
So he sat on the edge of the desk as he began to grow dizzier every few minutes, resolved to die.
He turned to look out the little window in the office door he was blocking and the face staring at him, sniffing at him through the glass, made him jump up in a panic.
The Smoker and the Chamber
The helicopter circled the skyscraper a few times before deciding that whether it was stable or not wouldn't stop them from landing. Below, what were formerly streets were now thick forests and rivers, rife with bears and lions and worse, primal and tribal people who could be nearly invisible in the jungle.
[end for now]
You know, I've never written sci-fi. Let's see what happens together.