Post by DarkPhoenix on Jul 13, 2010 20:26:11 GMT -6
Chapter One: Countdown’s Begun
Elizabeth strode down the street, head held high. Her feet struck the cement walkway firmly, her tread guided by the inner drumbeats of her mind. Pallid, with frizzy brown hair, she was as good as invisible in a crowd. She was not likely to attract much attention, especially given that she was not wearing her work uniform. Only an idiot would wear her lab coat out in public, with everyone as high-strung as they were lately.
She smirked to herself and shook her head. They don’t know what problems are, she thought derisively, eying a small cluster of protestors. She checked her watch, and, deciding that she had time to waste, she leaned against a battered stone wall nearby and decided to watch for a while. Chaos always did amuse her. She squinted, trying to get a closer look at the protestors. Much to her surprise, several of the people participating in the demonstration were quite elderly. Thought they mostly got killed off years ago, she thought. Guess a few managed to slip through the cracks. She looked over to her left and noted, with little surprise, that a large group of officers were already hurrying over to the small group, weapons at the ready. Well, that didn’t last long, she thought, sighing.
The demonstrators, seeing the officers, held their ground and even began directing many of their words toward them.
“How many victims have fallen? How many more have to die?” one woman screamed. She was quickly beaten down with nightsticks and dragged away, blood trailing behind her.
“What is the price of a bullet?” another protestor shouted at the officer who was quickly approaching.
The officer put his gun to the old man’s head and responded calmly, “Another hole in the head.”
Elizabeth looked away before the trigger was pulled.
Several more protestors were killed or beaten down. One woman, who was much younger than the others and perhaps around Elizabeth’s age, clutched at one of the dingy pillars of the building and continued directing her words to the people inside the building. “You poison the air that we breathe!” she shouted, refusing to let go of the pillar. “You keep us chained to industrial need! You destroy the souls that you seal! You--”
She was cut off when she received a sharp whack on the side of the head from a nightstick. The woman crumpled to the ground, unconscious, and the officers gathered around her. They quietly conferred with each other for several minutes, looking quite troubled, and deposited her in the back of one of their vehicles.
Elizabeth watched these happenings with surprise. Never before had she seen the police react to one protestor in such a manner. Probably the rebel brat of some bigwig, she thought derisively. Still, she could not get the image of the woman out of her head. The woman was around her age; at most, she couldn’t have been more than three or four years Elizabeth’s senior. Like Elizabeth, she was pallid and had brown hair, but her hair wasn’t a frizzy mess. She was clad in the youth fashion of the day, which sought to rebel against the stuffy and ridiculously old-fashioned fashion of the well-to-do; yet, her clothes did not have the look of the upper-class stores that tried to appeal to adolescents and young adults who thought themselves rebellious for wearing frayed and torn clothing. She did not wear the clothes awkwardly, the way so many rich brats did; the clothes were like a second skin to her.
The similarities between herself and the protestor troubled her deeply. I left all that behind way back when… when… she told herself. I’m nothing like her. Not anymore. I can’t want to live like that anymore.
Turning away from the bloody mess, Elizabeth continued on her way to work. She frowned; she did not like having to pass through this part of town. There were all kinds of crazy people and drunks and homeless people. She took a deep breath, then squared her shoulders. On the street corner was an old woman, clad in a gaudy dress and head wrap. When she spotted Elizabeth, her eyes brightened, and she began yelling, “The end! The end is near! There is not much time left for you, Miss! The countdown has begun! Armageddon is nearly upon us!” She reached out to grab Elizabeth’s arm.
Elizabeth scowled and pulled her arm out of the woman’s reach. “I’ve got news for you, lady: it’s already here. And you know what else? I don’t need a self-made prophet; the doomsday clock was made by mankind.”
“But, Miss, you must listen--”
“I don’t need to listen to anything you have to say, old woman,” Elizabeth interrupted. “I have to go to work.”
“Probably going to go work for the damned government,” the old woman snapped.
“And what if I am?” Elizabeth called over her shoulder as she walked away. “Better than being homeless and scaring people with idle threats! I should call the feds on you; they‘ll make sure you never bother another honest citizen again.”
The old woman stood and watched Elizabeth until she could no longer be seen. “Well, I did warn her,” she sighed. “She really ought to have listened.”
Elizabeth strode down the street, head held high. Her feet struck the cement walkway firmly, her tread guided by the inner drumbeats of her mind. Pallid, with frizzy brown hair, she was as good as invisible in a crowd. She was not likely to attract much attention, especially given that she was not wearing her work uniform. Only an idiot would wear her lab coat out in public, with everyone as high-strung as they were lately.
She smirked to herself and shook her head. They don’t know what problems are, she thought derisively, eying a small cluster of protestors. She checked her watch, and, deciding that she had time to waste, she leaned against a battered stone wall nearby and decided to watch for a while. Chaos always did amuse her. She squinted, trying to get a closer look at the protestors. Much to her surprise, several of the people participating in the demonstration were quite elderly. Thought they mostly got killed off years ago, she thought. Guess a few managed to slip through the cracks. She looked over to her left and noted, with little surprise, that a large group of officers were already hurrying over to the small group, weapons at the ready. Well, that didn’t last long, she thought, sighing.
The demonstrators, seeing the officers, held their ground and even began directing many of their words toward them.
“How many victims have fallen? How many more have to die?” one woman screamed. She was quickly beaten down with nightsticks and dragged away, blood trailing behind her.
“What is the price of a bullet?” another protestor shouted at the officer who was quickly approaching.
The officer put his gun to the old man’s head and responded calmly, “Another hole in the head.”
Elizabeth looked away before the trigger was pulled.
Several more protestors were killed or beaten down. One woman, who was much younger than the others and perhaps around Elizabeth’s age, clutched at one of the dingy pillars of the building and continued directing her words to the people inside the building. “You poison the air that we breathe!” she shouted, refusing to let go of the pillar. “You keep us chained to industrial need! You destroy the souls that you seal! You--”
She was cut off when she received a sharp whack on the side of the head from a nightstick. The woman crumpled to the ground, unconscious, and the officers gathered around her. They quietly conferred with each other for several minutes, looking quite troubled, and deposited her in the back of one of their vehicles.
Elizabeth watched these happenings with surprise. Never before had she seen the police react to one protestor in such a manner. Probably the rebel brat of some bigwig, she thought derisively. Still, she could not get the image of the woman out of her head. The woman was around her age; at most, she couldn’t have been more than three or four years Elizabeth’s senior. Like Elizabeth, she was pallid and had brown hair, but her hair wasn’t a frizzy mess. She was clad in the youth fashion of the day, which sought to rebel against the stuffy and ridiculously old-fashioned fashion of the well-to-do; yet, her clothes did not have the look of the upper-class stores that tried to appeal to adolescents and young adults who thought themselves rebellious for wearing frayed and torn clothing. She did not wear the clothes awkwardly, the way so many rich brats did; the clothes were like a second skin to her.
The similarities between herself and the protestor troubled her deeply. I left all that behind way back when… when… she told herself. I’m nothing like her. Not anymore. I can’t want to live like that anymore.
Turning away from the bloody mess, Elizabeth continued on her way to work. She frowned; she did not like having to pass through this part of town. There were all kinds of crazy people and drunks and homeless people. She took a deep breath, then squared her shoulders. On the street corner was an old woman, clad in a gaudy dress and head wrap. When she spotted Elizabeth, her eyes brightened, and she began yelling, “The end! The end is near! There is not much time left for you, Miss! The countdown has begun! Armageddon is nearly upon us!” She reached out to grab Elizabeth’s arm.
Elizabeth scowled and pulled her arm out of the woman’s reach. “I’ve got news for you, lady: it’s already here. And you know what else? I don’t need a self-made prophet; the doomsday clock was made by mankind.”
“But, Miss, you must listen--”
“I don’t need to listen to anything you have to say, old woman,” Elizabeth interrupted. “I have to go to work.”
“Probably going to go work for the damned government,” the old woman snapped.
“And what if I am?” Elizabeth called over her shoulder as she walked away. “Better than being homeless and scaring people with idle threats! I should call the feds on you; they‘ll make sure you never bother another honest citizen again.”
The old woman stood and watched Elizabeth until she could no longer be seen. “Well, I did warn her,” she sighed. “She really ought to have listened.”