Read Online Scary Holiday Tales to Make You Scream by Various - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Various
Tags: Suspense & Thrillers
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me that I would never ascend to 24-G, that none of us would, that no one ever did… And then I dreamt that I was one of the Elite of 24-G and that I was looking down on the lower levels through the eyes of god and that I saw all but saw nothing. None of the struggle, none of the strife was seen through those all-seeing eyes. Only the dedicated hard work, the clean streets, the happy pedestrians-joyous celebration and the steadfast working for their ascension-even the lower levels, even the Red Rings, were seen through a blurred, myopic lens. The filth was airbrushed until it seemed smooth and clean. None the cyber-sluts or human trash were about, all cleverly hidden just out of the eye's view. Not a pinhead in sight. The Refuservoir was totally obscured beneath a pleasant valley of clouds drifting easily along the city's lowest tier.
I awake to find that my stomach has swollen to twice its normal girth. It's distended and hurts to touch, and it jiggles unnaturally at the slightest movement, as if filled with jelly or sludge. Chills wrack my body, as a shrill, cold wind shrieks over the crater's edge, stirring garbage in tiny whirlwinds and biting my exposed skin.
I start to cry.--
***
Neural Log: 23:72-56-
--A gentle, warm breeze stirs me, and turning my head I notice a small passage in the crater's floor. It is from this downward opening that the warm air billows.
The passage is tight, but wide enough for me (distended belly and all) to squirm into. Garbage and the crust of the city floor scratch my raw, sensitive skin, but the warmth eases my aching muscles. My nose is beginning to run, but the foul smelling belches from my gut are becoming less frequent. Perhaps it's my imagination, but the skin of my stomach feels slightly softer, not as pinched and taught as before.
As I worm my way down into the tunnel, it occurs to me that this might be the end-that I could just curl up in a cozy ball here and die. But something urges me on. Pushing with my toes and pulling with my fingers I inch my way downward. The tunnel floor is illuminated with the pervasive light of the city above, or perhaps there is a chemical phosphorescence to the walls, it's hard to be sure. And then I see it.
A small sign, white on red, set into the floor of the tunnel. Dirty but legible:
SALVATION
I pause for a moment, my muddled brain attempting to decipher the significance of this strange omen.
I begin to dig and scratch at the crust embedding the sign. I pick and claw at the petrified garbage for what seems like hours, before pulling away enough debris to read another single word. ARMY.
What is this? With bleeding fingers I dig some more-desperate before exhaustion, hunger, sickness, or death overtake me to uncover another bit of this mystery-when the ground suddenly gives way beneath me.
The fall is painful, my swollen stomach feels ready to burst, but nothing seems to be broken. Once I get my bearings I can see that I am in a large room filled with strange, whirring machinery. I'd fallen through the ceiling.
Conveyor belts along the walls carry bits and pieces of unidentifiable electronic and mechanical components in from openings in the walls and out through similar passages. Large pot-bellied steel machines rumble and shake beneath tremendous pipes that extend from the floor and into the walls and ceiling. I appear to be in a factory of some sort.
Around me on the floor is the debris of the sign and the ceiling. The sign, freed from the crust of the city floor lies at my feet. Apparently there is little more to the mystery than I'd already uncovered, it reads simply SALVATION ARMY.
What strange army of the past was this? I'd never heard of it, but then, the neural teachings seldom spoke of the past, but rather we were taught to look forward to ascension. But even Dexter's history lessons (which admittedly, I only half-listened to) had never, to my recollection, mentioned such an army.
With further inspection of the debris, the
I awake to find that my stomach has swollen to twice its normal girth. It's distended and hurts to touch, and it jiggles unnaturally at the slightest movement, as if filled with jelly or sludge. Chills wrack my body, as a shrill, cold wind shrieks over the crater's edge, stirring garbage in tiny whirlwinds and biting my exposed skin.
I start to cry.--
***
Neural Log: 23:72-56-
--A gentle, warm breeze stirs me, and turning my head I notice a small passage in the crater's floor. It is from this downward opening that the warm air billows.
The passage is tight, but wide enough for me (distended belly and all) to squirm into. Garbage and the crust of the city floor scratch my raw, sensitive skin, but the warmth eases my aching muscles. My nose is beginning to run, but the foul smelling belches from my gut are becoming less frequent. Perhaps it's my imagination, but the skin of my stomach feels slightly softer, not as pinched and taught as before.
As I worm my way down into the tunnel, it occurs to me that this might be the end-that I could just curl up in a cozy ball here and die. But something urges me on. Pushing with my toes and pulling with my fingers I inch my way downward. The tunnel floor is illuminated with the pervasive light of the city above, or perhaps there is a chemical phosphorescence to the walls, it's hard to be sure. And then I see it.
A small sign, white on red, set into the floor of the tunnel. Dirty but legible:
SALVATION
I pause for a moment, my muddled brain attempting to decipher the significance of this strange omen.
I begin to dig and scratch at the crust embedding the sign. I pick and claw at the petrified garbage for what seems like hours, before pulling away enough debris to read another single word. ARMY.
What is this? With bleeding fingers I dig some more-desperate before exhaustion, hunger, sickness, or death overtake me to uncover another bit of this mystery-when the ground suddenly gives way beneath me.
The fall is painful, my swollen stomach feels ready to burst, but nothing seems to be broken. Once I get my bearings I can see that I am in a large room filled with strange, whirring machinery. I'd fallen through the ceiling.
Conveyor belts along the walls carry bits and pieces of unidentifiable electronic and mechanical components in from openings in the walls and out through similar passages. Large pot-bellied steel machines rumble and shake beneath tremendous pipes that extend from the floor and into the walls and ceiling. I appear to be in a factory of some sort.
Around me on the floor is the debris of the sign and the ceiling. The sign, freed from the crust of the city floor lies at my feet. Apparently there is little more to the mystery than I'd already uncovered, it reads simply SALVATION ARMY.
What strange army of the past was this? I'd never heard of it, but then, the neural teachings seldom spoke of the past, but rather we were taught to look forward to ascension. But even Dexter's history lessons (which admittedly, I only half-listened to) had never, to my recollection, mentioned such an army.
With further inspection of the debris, the
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