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Last Resort // for John
Feb. 5th, 2020 05:42 pm[cw: heavy emotional manipulation/cruelty, self-loathing, and some PTSD symptoms]
23 January, 2020
It is cold out, but not unnaturally so. Martin doesn't think much of it. The sky is still rather dark when he arrives at The Archive. The days are getting longer, but it's a slow lengthening, and he's come in early today. He goes into his office and sets his bag down on his desk, taking the laptop out.
It's in the process of taking an unusually long time to boot up when he realizes that he could hear a pin drop. He lifts his head, a little startled, as though only becoming aware of his surroundings. It is generally quiet in The Archive, but something about this quiet feels a bit wrong. It prickles under his skin. He abandons his blank-screened computer, stepping back out into the main area.
There is no one here, which should not surprise him. It doesn't surprise him, exactly, but there is that same wrong feeling, of something just slightly off that he can't quite place. It's like remembering he's mistyped a word but being unable to find it, or hearing a note in a song that's just slightly off-key.
John must be here. John's always here. He goes to John's office and knocks lightly before opening the door.
( . . . )
23 January, 2020
It is cold out, but not unnaturally so. Martin doesn't think much of it. The sky is still rather dark when he arrives at The Archive. The days are getting longer, but it's a slow lengthening, and he's come in early today. He goes into his office and sets his bag down on his desk, taking the laptop out.
It's in the process of taking an unusually long time to boot up when he realizes that he could hear a pin drop. He lifts his head, a little startled, as though only becoming aware of his surroundings. It is generally quiet in The Archive, but something about this quiet feels a bit wrong. It prickles under his skin. He abandons his blank-screened computer, stepping back out into the main area.
There is no one here, which should not surprise him. It doesn't surprise him, exactly, but there is that same wrong feeling, of something just slightly off that he can't quite place. It's like remembering he's mistyped a word but being unable to find it, or hearing a note in a song that's just slightly off-key.
John must be here. John's always here. He goes to John's office and knocks lightly before opening the door.
( . . . )
