Scribblings

Just a collection of various stories I began with no intention to finish, or answers to writing prompts. Enjoy! Please visit my author page on FB! facebook.com/author.anrisaryn Also note, some of these may be removed later if I feel the urge to expand on them!

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8. Trapped

          I blinked.
         Glancing around, I found myself in a large room with a low ceiling. A piece of paper sat at my feet. There were many other people in the room and they were all sitting on the floor in rows just as I was. They were all bent over the paper, madly writing.
         Men in dark shirts and dark baseball caps circled the room, acting like proctors.
         "Hey, you ok?" someone whispered beside me. "You were out for quite a while."
         I looked over at the person and found it was an older woman who looked to be about the age of thirty, though the bags under her eyes defied my stereotypes.
         I blinked again, rubbing the back of my head. 
         "I think so..."
         "Stop talking and get to work!" 
         One of the guards had noticed our activities and stalked over.
         "It seems you have been working hard, number 5643," he said. 
         "Five...six...four three?" I said, perplexed.
         "That's you, isn't it?" the guard sneered. "Unless you forgot who were were."
         "Please forgive her, sir. She isn't feeling well."
         "I didn't ask you to talk!" the man barked at the woman beside me. Looking back over at me, he sneered again. "Well, 5643, you are one of our best workers.It seems it's time to set you free."
         I blinked again. "Set...me free?"
         "Of course!" he nodded. "We always set our hard workers free."
         I simply stared at him. 
         "Well, that's ok. It's easy. All I have to do is push this button..."
         He walked over to a series of buttons on the wall. He pressed a large button on a panel. A small ditty played as if in celebration. No one reacted. The woman that was beside me said nothing.
         The guard began to laugh. It wasn't a joyous laugh, but an evil, dark, sinister laugh - one that sends shivers up your spine. A massive vortex opened up in the wall and I looked at it as if it were normal. The guard continued to laugh as he pushed me in.
         "Oh, about being set free - I was only kidding. Welcome to the test zone, 5643. You will never escape!"
         The wall closed and I felt myself spinning as if being sucked down a drain. Yet again I didn't react. It all seemed so normal...
         Suddenly, a crack. Something short circuited. With a thud, I landed in the middle of a park. My shirt had changed somehow. It was the same as the guard's that had just sent me down the portal. If the guards were here, I could pass off as one of them without a hitch!
         Then, I realized something.
         I didn't have a name tag.
         Running down the sidewalk, the park turned into a small town. Guards circled the pathways, though not completely paying attention. I covered the area on the shirt where a name tag would sit in hopes to deter the guards.
         I came upon a slightly crowded booth in the main square. What made it odd is that it was nail salon, but it was set up like a diner. The seats were on the outside, while the workers were on the other side, painting women's nails and making coversation. If I could work here, maybe I could get a nametag.
         The owner approached me with a smile. She was a small woman with medium-length, very curly blond hair.
         She had a name tag.
         It said 5643.
         I slunk behind the desk, and the woman's eyes followed me.
         "Excuse me," I whispered. "You have my name tag."
         Her eyes widened in fear. She pulled me off the the side, out of earshot from everyone.
         "Are you 5643?" she whispered, gripped my arm.
         "Yes," I replied. "I just got freed, but something went wrong."
         She looked shocked.
         "They never really free anyone!" she hissed.
         "Well, I don't know what happened, but I have this uniform, and I need that name tag."
         "Maybe we could think of a compromise."
         Something struck me. This woman didn't have a name tag either. She had found mine sittng somewhere and claimed it as her own. Without it, she would lose her business and be thrown into jail, or whatever it was I was in.
         "If you can get me a job here," I suggested, "I can get a new name tag and you can keep mine."
         The woman seemed relieved. 
         "I can't call you by your birth name," she added, "though I doubt you even know it. You will be Yrae from now on."
         "Yrae?" I blinked. What an odd name. "What's your name then?"
         "You can call me Srila."

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