3.50am. Nightmare. Seriously freaked
Aug. 5th, 2009 03:50 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
slowfoxSo, there's me and this other guy, person unknown, and we're working - writing code - in a warehouse in The Middle of Nowhere™.
The warehouse is one of three, arranged in a horseshoe formation, centred around a huge scrap-heap of rusting cars, discarded appliances and the like. There's no tarmac - the ground's just compacted, dry earth (it's not rained in a long, long, long while), and me and my compatriot are coding away in our warehouse, with the main goods door wide open - it's a warm summer's day, and the only sound you can hear is some birds singing in the surrounding trees.
I'm not sure what we're working on - I think, bizarrely, it's for Microsoft - but it is important - Important in the 'cutting edge, new stuff that isn't anywhere else'.
We hear a car roll up outside, and someone gets out and walks into what we think of as 'our office'.
The guy who comes in is wearing jeans and a blue checked shirt, he's got some kind of fleece jacket carried in the crook of his arm, and upon arrival simply says, "Give me the code."
Colleague and I share a glance, slightly puzzled, and then look at our guest, and reply in the negative.
So visitor unfurls the fleece and pulls out a gun and shoots us both, picks up some CDROMs from colleague's desk, about turns and leaves.
The gun didn't shoot bullets. Instead it seems as though it was a water pistol - colleague had the desk nearer the door, so he's soaked, and only a bit of it catches me. He's collapsed on the floor, but I follow the visitor back outside, about to shout after him and ask him what he's up to when the nausea hits.
I then realise that the stuff, whatever it was, that he sprayed on us both is a virulent green gloop, and as he climbs into his late 90s white Ford Fiesta, I collapse onto my hands and knees, and start throwing up violently, shivering and the like.
I'm still there, on my hands and knees, when colleague staggers out of the warehouse, looking pretty much like death, and looks at me. I look at him, shake my head slowly, when we hear the car returning.
The Fiesta comes into view round the scrap heap, and the visitor is driving with the window down, his arm outside holding an axe.
Colleague runs one way, in a lolloping sort of stagger. I crawl off headed behind the warehouse, just trying to get away. The nausea's starting to recede, so I get back on my feet, looking at the wooden fence that bounds the warehouse property from the surrounding fields, wondering whether to climb over and try and hide by lying down in the long grass, when the car trundles round the corner.
I'm standing in the middle of the... perimeter space about the warehouse, as the visitor drives towards me, spinning the axe in a circle.
He stops right by me, and says, in a rather clipped, upper-class tone of voice, "My blood will be on your hands. Witter!" He smiles cheerfully, but vacantly, as he says this.
He then tries to hit me with the axe, but misses. Remember, he's still sitting in the car at this point, and can't swing the axe very well.
On the next swing, I thrown myself at his arm, pinning it (and the axe) between me and the car.
He drops the axe, and I pick it up, and look at him. I still don't know what's happened to my colleague.
The repeats himself: "My blood will be on your hands. Witter!"
I step back from the car, to give myself room to move. He's sitting there alongside me, with his arm dangling down from the window.
I swing the axe, and sever his arm just below the elbow, the blade going straight through flesh, muscle and bone on the first hit, its head embedding in the door skin.
The arm drops to the ground and I, horrified, drop back onto hands and knees, and start throwing up again.
He changes the words slightly now: "My blood is on your hands. Witter! My blood is on your hands. Witter!"
He smiles vacantly, his eyes a watery blue, and then drives off.
My blood is on your hands. Witter!
I wake up, and slap the light button on the alarm clock, at exactly 3:33:33, which the geek in me thinks is kinda cool. It's pouring outside, and I can hear the drip, drip, drip of water hitting the bin that I park in the front yard as it funnels off the bay window's roof.
Those vacant blue eyes are still in my head, though, as I type this.
My blood is on your hands. Witter!
no subject
Date: 2009-08-05 04:45 pm (UTC)*hugs back*
no subject
Date: 2009-08-05 05:18 pm (UTC)Is that what they're calling it these days? :D I hope it sufficiently distracted you. And I hope tonight is a lot more peaceful.
Btw, you never said - did you have a good birthday?
no subject
Date: 2009-08-06 07:16 am (UTC)Birthday was fine, thanks - very, very quiet :-)