Two stories I've been thinking of for a while prt 1
Ok, I know this needs editing, so I'll come back to it in a few days because the mistakes are not as clear now
It was a bright and sunny morning when Clarice woke up in a box.
This box was around nine feet square and had a door, so it was not the usual things that worry people who wake up in boxes that bothered Clarice. Rather it was how the box had gotten here and why she was in it that troubled her. But Clarice was never one to panic, especially after some of the markedly horrible experiences she had been through.
The box's walls were pebbly and seemingly painted white.
Clarice was elevated around two feet off the floor by padding covered in some sort of brightly colored manufactured fabric. It appeared to be a kind of bed, taking into account its construction and noting the fact that Clarice had woken up on it.
Opposite Clarice was a pile of pull-out shelves with iron rings around the knobs which appeared to serve no use. The shelves were all inside a frame which kept them together. All parts of the construction were wooden.
Beside Clarice was what appeared to be a wooden desk and shelves. Both had primitive light sources on them which were shining, and both were cluttered with flattened triangular shapes around nine inches in length filled with sheets of some sort. The shelf had similar smaller objects that were rectangular in shape.
To Clarice's other side was a shelf with no backing containing stuffed animals. Of all the bizarre things in this scene this confused her the most. Why were the fuzzy, comforting creatures of her childhood here?
Everything in the room was pushed against the wall.
Some sort of shiny, glossy material was attached to the walls in places with pictures on it, pictures of people in clothing completely alien to Clarice. Fortunately, she understood the language. There where also slits in the walls near the bottom, small ones, two on top of two, where the light sources appeared to be connected to by a cord. These seemed somehow barbaric to her sensibilities.
Finally, Clarice got up, tread on some soft, pink material and went towards the main source of light in the room. Covered by drapery, a picture, painting? No, a see-through section, glass, a window! But it looked out onto boxes of a different shape. Boxed shapes with triangular tops, facing each other with a gash of black in the middle lined by two slightly elevated grey sides and cut in the middle with a dotted white line. Several ovaloid shapes were at the sides of the gray gashes, but Clarice's attention turned to one moving down the street. It seemed alive, radiating power.
The ovaloids were all different and yet shared the same features: what appeared to be eyes and mouths. Clarice did not know whether they owned this place. If there where humans in the picture, surely they where in charge? But why would humans allow such things to rest so comfortably wherever she was?
Clarice also saw one, lonely tree
Clarice went up to the pull-out shelves and opened it. She found garments and concluded that the thing was chest-of-drawers.
"But why?" Clarice wondered. "What are those ovals, what are those gashes? Where is our beloved AI, where are the cool fountains and the marble buildings intertwining the trees? Where is my bubble, floating up so gently, why is the furniture cut and not living? Where are the people out for walks? Where are our above-ground transportation? Why is the technology so unsubtle, unblended? I do not see any life. I do not feel a sense of peace."
Clarice picked up one of the rectangular things from the shelf, for she was now feeling slightly on edge and needed to something to throw. However, when she picked up the object she caught a glimpse of paper. "Paper? Paper is a thing from the long-ago past. But this isn't the past. I've been to the past. This does not remotely resemble it."
As Clarice headed to try the door, the last thought blossomed in her mind creating a sensation of panic quite unlike one she had ever known, for Clarice is not easily excited. But when your present in turned into someone else's, the mind tends to conjure up all manor of expletives and synonyms for feces.
"Shit, someone fucked with the time machine..."
It was a bright and sunny morning when Clarice woke up in a box.
This box was around nine feet square and had a door, so it was not the usual things that worry people who wake up in boxes that bothered Clarice. Rather it was how the box had gotten here and why she was in it that troubled her. But Clarice was never one to panic, especially after some of the markedly horrible experiences she had been through.
The box's walls were pebbly and seemingly painted white.
Clarice was elevated around two feet off the floor by padding covered in some sort of brightly colored manufactured fabric. It appeared to be a kind of bed, taking into account its construction and noting the fact that Clarice had woken up on it.
Opposite Clarice was a pile of pull-out shelves with iron rings around the knobs which appeared to serve no use. The shelves were all inside a frame which kept them together. All parts of the construction were wooden.
Beside Clarice was what appeared to be a wooden desk and shelves. Both had primitive light sources on them which were shining, and both were cluttered with flattened triangular shapes around nine inches in length filled with sheets of some sort. The shelf had similar smaller objects that were rectangular in shape.
To Clarice's other side was a shelf with no backing containing stuffed animals. Of all the bizarre things in this scene this confused her the most. Why were the fuzzy, comforting creatures of her childhood here?
Everything in the room was pushed against the wall.
Some sort of shiny, glossy material was attached to the walls in places with pictures on it, pictures of people in clothing completely alien to Clarice. Fortunately, she understood the language. There where also slits in the walls near the bottom, small ones, two on top of two, where the light sources appeared to be connected to by a cord. These seemed somehow barbaric to her sensibilities.
Finally, Clarice got up, tread on some soft, pink material and went towards the main source of light in the room. Covered by drapery, a picture, painting? No, a see-through section, glass, a window! But it looked out onto boxes of a different shape. Boxed shapes with triangular tops, facing each other with a gash of black in the middle lined by two slightly elevated grey sides and cut in the middle with a dotted white line. Several ovaloid shapes were at the sides of the gray gashes, but Clarice's attention turned to one moving down the street. It seemed alive, radiating power.
The ovaloids were all different and yet shared the same features: what appeared to be eyes and mouths. Clarice did not know whether they owned this place. If there where humans in the picture, surely they where in charge? But why would humans allow such things to rest so comfortably wherever she was?
Clarice also saw one, lonely tree
Clarice went up to the pull-out shelves and opened it. She found garments and concluded that the thing was chest-of-drawers.
"But why?" Clarice wondered. "What are those ovals, what are those gashes? Where is our beloved AI, where are the cool fountains and the marble buildings intertwining the trees? Where is my bubble, floating up so gently, why is the furniture cut and not living? Where are the people out for walks? Where are our above-ground transportation? Why is the technology so unsubtle, unblended? I do not see any life. I do not feel a sense of peace."
Clarice picked up one of the rectangular things from the shelf, for she was now feeling slightly on edge and needed to something to throw. However, when she picked up the object she caught a glimpse of paper. "Paper? Paper is a thing from the long-ago past. But this isn't the past. I've been to the past. This does not remotely resemble it."
As Clarice headed to try the door, the last thought blossomed in her mind creating a sensation of panic quite unlike one she had ever known, for Clarice is not easily excited. But when your present in turned into someone else's, the mind tends to conjure up all manor of expletives and synonyms for feces.
"Shit, someone fucked with the time machine..."