Creepy Online short story assignment

CHARACTER

500 Hours: The Theta Six star system

Elizabeth fled.  Maxing out her thrusters as fast as they would go, she helplessly watched as her beloved battleship, now hazy in the distance—vanished into an angry blue fireball.  Pieces—pipes, armor plating, gun turrets, and other flaming debris, scattered in all directions.  The heat of the blast could be felt even inside the cocoon of her escape pod, and she began to perspire and shake uncontrollably. 

The view outside gave her mixed feelings.  The last fuel cells of her capital ship—the Transvestite, were detonating in pink plasma blooms.  Plasma reactors—especially the pink ones, were expensive as hell, but Elizabeth couldn’t help but marvel as the shimmering aura of turquoise mixed with that of the bleeding fuel. 

Her sense of monetary loss, however, was winning—she slumped to the floor, curling her body into a tight ball of misery.  Thoughts raced through her mind, her brain chasing phantom memories of the past hour.  One hour.  Just a short hour ago she was still lounging on her ship’s luxurious bridge, sipping coffee, and now she was trapped in a cramped, dimly-lit prison of a pod. 

This wasn’t supposed to happen, she angrily cried to herself.  What could’ve possibly gone wrong? 

Elizabeth wasn’t sure how long she stayed in this fetal position when the control dashboard sputtered to life.  A garbled voice popped intermittently through the static, but it was a voice that she knew all too well.

Hello... …are you there? …you …all right?  …pieces—…everywhere!  Anybody?

Jake.

Elizabeth painfully picked herself up off the floor and pressed the button. 

“Jake.”

The voice paused for a few seconds and a small holographic image of a man appeared. 

“Jesus, Liz, what happened to you?  You okay?”

“Help me, please.” Elizabeth was taken aback by how raspy her voice sounded.  “My ship…”

“I know, I know.  I saw the explosion—I think you hit a mine.  Look— (pause) that guy J-slab’s after you again.” 

“J-slab?!?  I thought…”

“I know—I know, relax.  Just relax.  I’ll protect you; setting up rendezvous coordinates as we speak… here.” the dashboard beeped, “Meet me here.”

“I’m in a pod.” Elizabeth blurted out.  “If J-slab finds me, I’m dead.”

“Right.  I see—uhh, alright.  Meet here then—Theta Six; Theta Six Service Station.  Is that okay?”

“I guess.”

“Good.  I’ll meet you there.”

“Love you, Jake.”

“Ditto, my dear.”

“Jake?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

“No problem.  Over and out.” There was something about Jake’s voice in last tine that seemed a bit odd, but given the circumstances she figured she would have to ask him when she met him. 

Elizabeth sat back down and smiled.  For the first time, she was aware of the throbbing lump on the back of her head—the memories were back now and she remembered them, albeit somewhat dimly.  Images flashed before her—of her ship flying parallel to his, her delicate white hand enclosed in his, his warm lips on slowly parting hers and… 

She shivered in pleasure at the last memory. 

Destination: Theta Six.  Arriving.  The AI’s nonchalant announcement snapped her out of her reverie.  Far ahead, the aurum lights of the orbiting station beckoned welcomingly to her.  Quickly, she adjusted her hair—straightening the singed and frazzled strands and wiped the grime off her cheeks. 

Jake, I love you.

The pod docked into the hangar with a smooth purr.  The engines whined, then slowly winded down as she cut the power.   A tall, middle-aged man was already waiting on the dock—Elizabeth didn’t even need to look before she rushed into his open arms. 

“Hush, my dear.  You’re safe.”  His embrace was solid and warm.  This is pure bliss.  Elizabeth closed her eyes. 

“Happy Anniversary… Miss.”  An undeniably familiar voice—Elizabeth whirled around and saw a man in a long trench coat, and immediately began to tremble.  The brim hat, worn low, hid most of the stranger’s face, but she needed no facial features to recognize the distinctive scar on the man’s chin or the brutish firearm aimed at her. 

“J-slab.” She whispered. 

J-slab fired once, and Elizabeth ducked as the first bolt of white-hot steel imbedded itself in the opposite wall.  There was a silent click, and Elizabeth let out a small gasp.  Her back arched in pain, and she sank to the floor, but something caught her from behind and lifted her back up.  Agonizingly, Elizabeth’s eyes darted between the emotionless eyes of Jake, the glowing slug imbedded in the wall behind her, and the eerily silent figure of her nemesis.  It then dawned upon her that J-slab’s single shot had missed.  

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Norman couldn’t believe it—his character was being killed before his very eyes; and there was nothing he could do about it.  Desperate, he jammed his pudgy fingers onto the keyboard in an attempt to resuscitate his love, but J-slab had already emptied his clip into the ragdoll figure slumped on the floor.   Norman’s frantic movements and screams perfectly mirrored his avatar’s feeble twitches and gasps; across the bridge of the computer screen, “Elizabeth” could clearly see her mangled body lying in an ever-spreading pool of scarlet, her wide eyes flitting about in terror as her life slowly ebbed out from the five fresh gaping holes in her chest. 

_________________________________________________________________________________

The two men watched in grim silence as their victim’s limbs paled and gradually went limp.

“You really overdid yourself there, Amber,” one said over Skype, “One of the best performances I’ve ever seen.” 

“This will make a very interesting story, won’t it?” The other responded in a feminine voice.

“What?”

“Oh, you know—how Agent Amber actually faked a year-long relationship with the mission target—that she knew all of the target’s personal secrets?"

“You were aware that there was no need to pursue that level of deception for this mission.”

Both were silent for a moment. 

“You’re getting a promotion.” J-slab finally broke the silence.

“Thank you, sir.” Amber saluted wearily.

               

                J-slab’s face had the look of concern.

                “You alright?”

“It’s over, isn’t it?” Amber asks softly. 

“Yes—mission complete.  Well done.”  J-slab’s shadow moves to pat Jake’s shadow on the shoulder, but Amber turns and cracks her fist hard across his face.

“Your trap didn’t work,” Jake’s voice snarls. “You were never a good shot.  If the target had actually intercepted the full message, it would’ve been over.”

Hello, J-slab, are you there?  The trap you set worked all right.  The pieces of that little dipshit’s ship are everywhere—do you really think there’ll be any bodies? 

J-slab wipes blood off his lip as Amber angrily hurls her silencer across the room. 

“Jake, don’t tell me you actually fell in love with her…”

Jake shakes his head. 

“My name is Amber,” she shrugs coolly.  “Amber likes playing as Jake—cold and personal.”  

Descriptive Essay

The Quest for the Shining Serpent

Weifan Chang

Behind the Science Park, not too far from where I used to live, there is a valley.  The only roads that lead into it are faded and cracked, long-forgotten avenues of winding asphalt tucked behind corporate parking lots and idyllic groves—their existence unknown or a mystery to most.  The only inhabitants of the valley are a handful of farmers, an agricultural community that scrapes out a living by growing rice and vegetables in small plots of mountain land, mountain land shadowed by the hulking monoliths of industry and modern technology.  The futuristic factories just over the hills manufacture 90% of the world’s microchip processors; while the faded red-brick houses standing in front of me are identical to the ones found in historical museums.  Old traditions and lifestyles of a century ago are juxtaposed with the glossy skyscrapers standing just a couple hundred meters away; a poignant contrast between two worlds; the modern world which we now inhabit with the one that our grandparents knew.   To the west, one faintly picks up the grating melody of urbanized industrialization; from the east, an organized mess of iron ribbon, electric wire, and concrete knick-knacks bisects the narrow valley in a straight line—stretching unbroken as far as the eye can see.  The silent murmur from the multitude of crickets and cicadas remains unbroken. 

From afar, Taiwan High Speed Rail seems unobtrusive and unimposing; the white electric poles peeking about the hilly landscape the only betraying hint of its existence; the electric trains glide effortlessly over the welded rails as if made of glass.  The orange and black streaks, thematic colors of Formosan hospitality, contrast vividly amidst the surrounding green.  Up close, one is greeted by high, unending walls of concrete and formidable embankments laced with barbed wire.  Faded signs of “Warning – High Voltage” line the fences.  Entire swathes of forestry are gone, as if a gargantuan beast had taken a hunk out of the mountain, and replaced it with landslide barriers.  Gaping holes have been hewn into the mountain’s face, defacing the natural features of moss and stone.  Tunnels are dark and mysterious caverns that lie in wait with open mouths—patiently waiting to devour their prey whole. 

This is the valley of the shining serpent.  Standing beside the railway tracks, aside from the quiet buzz from the 25kV/60Hz AC voltage dangling a few meters away and the unceasing shrill of summer insects, the valley is quiet and still. 

One always hears the serpent before one sees it.  If it is headed for the southern beach resorts of Kaosiung, one hears a peculiar sound; the rails—they sing.  Resonance—the contact between steel wheels rotating at over 1000 RPM and steel rails bolted down to ballastless slab track, creates a melody of varying pitches and notes; a symphony unique and unlike any other.  A metallic quiver, gentle and soft as the flute, imparted with the exciting tension of a violin, and the tremulous solemnity of a cello; all fused together in an eerily feminine crescendo.   Deftly, she announces her master’s arrival, her melodious voice graceful and unabashed.  It is only after one’s ear has drunken deeply in the sound of her voice that one will see the pair of glowing lights rounding the bend…   

To the south of the valley, the gentle curve of the railway tracks disappear into the Great Abyss; the maw hewn into the mountainside.  For northbound express trains heading for Taipei, the confined space in the tunnel generates a different type of music; sound waves are distorted, compressed, and amplified.  Multiple voices, tied up into one—from the soprano rail squeak, to the eclectic choric hum of triple-V electric inverters, to the very sound of air being pushed aside by the great iron-serpent’s aerodynamic nose-frame; the chant reverberates in the throat of the tunnel.  It is an unbridled performance of fury, a brutal and masculine power that makes the very earth beneath one’s feet tremble with its coming.  The intonation of ten-thousand angry men starts in a low growl, a guttural hymn that begins in such a gentle quiet that one often initially mistakes it for a sinister ambience.  Unlike the short limerick composed by the railheads of the north, which lasts only but for the few seconds that the train takes to scream past one’s vantage point, the Canon of the Deep resounds long and clear like a brass orchestral fanfare, heralding the train’s savage rebirth from the depths of the Underworld back into the land of the living.  The low rumble quickly increases in intensity; a climax rising in both pitch and fervor.  As the train continues further in the tunnel, more air is compressed in front of the train; more sound waves are generated and echo in the natural terrain’s deep vocal chords—more seething men that join in the throng of voices clamoring for a violent exultation.  The cup overflows. 

The rolling thunder breaks. 

A burst of white, a sliver of orange, and a tinge of black; the world is swept into a maelstrom as all hell seems to break loose.  The pantographs atop the roof of the train angrily hiss and spark, the violet electrical arcs exploding in pretty pyrotechnical arrays.  The motors scream.  The ground shakes, as five hundred tons of steel hurtle past with a force nearing that of a small nuclear warhead, and the air itself quivers, palpitating under the immense aerial shockwave and violent eddy currents.  It is a heart-stopping show of strength, an ostentatious exposition of power and aesthetics combined; that of a mighty eagle spreading and flexing its majestic wings.  The two halves of the experience: the graceful, elegant dance-steps of Venus combined with the thundering, herculean footsteps of Mars, represents the union of the two sexes—a dazzling display of modern magic and technological grandeur.   An indescribable sense of euphoria and wonder tingle my bones and sends shivers up and down my spine. 

At full speed, a high-speed train covers the distance of a running track in a little more than a second—a kilometer a little just over ten; a brief whirlwind of chaos, and all is still again—the tail of the train already disappearing behind the curve.  This valley is a magical land; a land frozen in time, populated by mythical serpents and Camelot wonders, tales of heroic knights and adventurous treasure seekers.  The only people who live here are farmers, peasants and serfs who labor this land in the shadow of beasts; for the roads that lead to this valley are faded and cracked, and few are those who tread them.  Already, Nature has reclaimed the blighted areas—blanketing the concrete with a rich carpet of grass and moss, and threading ivy and flowers into the padlocks and through the barbed-wire meshes.  All is still. 

The silent murmur of crickets and cicadas remains unbroken.