The World Jumper

This movella is for the New Direction project.
I'm a World Jumper, cursed to relive the worst of my memories again, and again, and again. But, only one thing can heal me. Easy as it may sound, another being is searching for what I seek, and I must find it before she does... I must. For it will surely mean the destruction of the world, as we know it.

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6. My journal

The four hours I spent in the door-less room felt like four days. A small section of the wall would open twice a day to give me food. The food wasn't terrible, but I had eaten better in the world which was made entirely out of seaweed. The stuff there was disgusting. But this was worse by far. A small lumpy bed was given too me after Myst had left on my first day. I wasn't sure how long I had been unconscious for but it was probably a while. As I was VERY hungry when Myst had left. The scientists she had talked about had run the tests and were confident enough to perform the surgery. Myst hadn't lied when she said the tests wouldn't hurt much, in fact she under exaggerated the tests. They were excruciatingly painful, it felt like a cattle prod was being dragged down my skin slowly. Today was the day of the surgery, yay for me. The scientists said that there was a 1 in 50% chance I would survive. At least Myst won't get her grubby fingers on my Power.

The surgery they will be performing is a special kind of surgery, they don't cut open my skin they implant a special chip into my brain through the use of teleportation. A much more simple way of implanting the chip, it causes a tiny amount of pain, more like one of those shocks you get when you touch a person who had developed enough friction, rather then cutting my head open. So I much prefer the first method.

I closed my journal, it's a book I use to keep track of the places I've been and what's happened so far. I keep it tucked away inside my pants back pocket. Along with a pencil and sharpener.

I heard the wall start to slide open, so I quickly stuffed the book and pencil back into my pocket with the sharpener.

'Are you ready Arthur?' A man asked.

I turned around to face him. He was wearing one of those light blue shirts, the doctors wear and had a surgical mask hanging around his neck. His mostly bald head had a single patch of grey hair at the front.

'As ready as I'll ever be.' I replied.

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