| Trust Is Death By:Ryan J. Cornelius |
 |
| I wrote this one in 9th grade; my first NaNoWriMo. I only got about 14,000, but eventually got up to 50,000(ish....I think, I haven't checked lately). It has a lot of holes in it and needs finishing, revising and rerevising. Or perhaps just a complete rewrite.... The story is that of Tristan Cillihan. He is in his mid teens when a corrupt government abducts him and kills his family. He is then saved by the British secret services and taken to England and after that everything gets kind of crazy. Somehow all the guns in the world are rendered useless and Tristan gets psychic powers.... So it's a SciFi/Low Fantasy/Conspiracy... I was an interesting kid when I wrote this. But creative, so I'm okay with that. Anyway, here's an exerpt: |
| Mark Ofkern was a man of power. Power in his mind, his body, and most of all in his command. Men would die at his command, men would live at his command; men would mostly die. He worked for The Secret Services of the United States of America. The branch that as its name implied, no one should know about.
Mark held the highest position in one of the most powerful organizations in the world. He was one of the men who really ran the country, and in his mind, he was the man who ran the country. In his mind, he was the only one fit to run anything. Every American citizen worked for him one way or another. From the highest politician puppet working for their own gain, and in doing so his, to the lowest tax payer having their earnings stolen from their every check. And in turn, he gave them a country to live in. He let them think that they were in control on Election day, and even let the presidents and congressmen and senators keep their illusions of power. Mark waited in a small almost cell-like room located a mile under the ground of Arizona. The hours slipped by quickly, as he thought of what he was about to become. The over funded lab rats had finally come up with something useful. If their theory proved true, Mark would become the most advanced human ever to live, and would prove his superiority to every one of them. Humans only use ten percent of their brain… and the other ninety percent? Was it dead? Dormant? Useless? It would all be answered as soon as he placed their invention upon his head. The room he was in had a solitary chair which he filled, and nothing else. The walls, floor, and ceiling were covered in white foam. It resembled a solitary confinement room too much for Mark to be comfortable, that kind of room belonged in a nut house. The one spot not covered by the foam held a mirror instead, ten feet by ten feet. It was probably one of those trick mirrors where people on the other side could see every thing he did. Mark heard the padded door open and a footstep. He turned his chair, that had been facing the other way, to face the door and saw one of the lab rats. “It’s ready, Mr. Ofkern.” It was an aging short man, with dominant gray hair and a bit of blonde peeking through. Mark ignored the lack of respect, and joyed at the man’s obvious nervousness. “Bring it in then.” Mark spoke with a strong, harsh voice, but kept it relatively quiet. Yelling exhausted the person and did less to the one who made the mistake. The man scurried away like the little rat that he was into another foam room. From there, Mark couldn’t see where he went. In a matter of minutes a different lab rat came, holding a clumsy looking helmet. The thing looked nothing like the smooth, sleek things he was used to, working with the government. It had a dozen metal rods sticking out of it from different sides, all brass in color. He placed it on Mark’s head carefully, making sure it did not fall and break. “Now don’t move, or all this will be for nothing.” He walked quickly out of the room with a grin that nearly split his face in half. Mark sat in the chair staring at the closed door, full of bliss at the nearness of the first test of the helmet. A voice came from the intercom above him. “We’re going to turn it on, all you need to do is keep your hands at your side.” The man went on, but Mark tuned him out. A tingle began to run up his arms and made its way through the rest of his body, only staying in one place at a time. His eyes rolled toward the ceiling, and he saw blue electricity shooting between two of the rods. It looked just like a Jacob’s ladder. The bolts moved to the rods on each side of the original two, and then all four were swapping electricity. The hair on the back of his neck started to rise, and the tingling grew to a tickle running through him. Two more rods lit up and the tickle sped through him like a bullet, until his entire body felt it. His hair stood completely on end, and he could feel his heart beating faster. Two more rods lit up and his teeth began to chatter. The tickle proceeded to an itch as specks of red and purple danced before his eyes. He cried out shakily as all but one lit. The specks became shapes and clouded his vision. The static was tangible as a thick oil, moving about his body in sickly waves. The itch was gone, and his whole body was numb. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, and his whole body convulsed. The final rods lit up and he thought he heard something like a bug zapper firing up. Mark screamed out once more and lost consciousness. |
|
| From Trust Is Death: Chapter I.i |