WA2 Draft 3

When he groggily came to, Darrell slowly raised his head, and as his vision slowly cleared Darrell’s hand came into focus. It was not until then until he began to realize his fuzzy surroundings.  He had seen the drab gray cinderblock walls before, their stark bleak faces stared back at him; dwarfing his prone body at over 18 feet tall, covered in sharp razor wire, crackling with electricity.  He knew his surroundings all to well.

Darrell heard a woeful cry in the distance, “God help me!” 

 The female voice floated over the charged walls, a desperate plea in such dismal surroundings.  He slowly worked his way to his feet and instinctively reached around behind his back but his scrabbling hands only grabbed air and shirt. As he brought his hands back around to his front he patted both pockets, but they had also been emptied.  He broke into a run towards the screams. The plaintive cry was closer now.  

“IM COMING” he yelled back.

Darrell Robert Randolph had worked for the UN-FIRM, the United Nations Foreign Institution for Rehabilitative Magnification, a task force used to drastically rehabilitate prisoners and terrorists.  He had been part of a unit that specialized in the construction of the labyrinth that he was now contained in along with his female companion. Its purpose had been to mentally torture its captives until they renounced their anti western ideas.

As thoughts raced through his head he too raced in the direction of the female voice, twisting and winding through the long fluorescent-lit corridors, his leather soles clacking against the immaculate floors. Floors and walls that no contained no direction or marks to indicate position; he was completely lost.  A blinding white light shown down on him that was made to penetrate the captives psyche and disoriented their thoughts. The desperate cry rung out again “PLEASE STOP” she cried, he yelled back in a measured tone “I’m coming, keep yelling and I’ll find you, just stay put." 

Darrell continued running towards the cries. Until he rounded the corner, where he stopped dead in his tracks. A woman was bound in a chair, a masked assailant held a small derringer in his hand, no larger a man’s hand, but lethal enough at close range.  Her mouth screamed but she made no sound, a whisper barely escaping her mouth, “Run he’ll kill you."

“Now don’t do anything irrational, I’m sure we can resolve this without violence”, shouted Darrell, but the masked man only smiled and tightened his grip on the gun now aimed at Darrell. 

It had begun to rain, a soft patter on the tin roof, which stood a good 30 feet above his head, a comforting sound.

“Who are you?” asked Darrell; the masked man responded, “ In the words of my brother Technique 'I’ve been to many places but I'm third world born. Guerrillas hit and run where I'm from, the third world son. You polluted everything, now the third worlds gone. The waters poisoned where I'm from. Revolutions come where I'm from, the third world son. Constant occupation, leaves the third world prone.'” He stared directly into the camera across from him. Abigail Cain you have been sentenced to death for your crimes committed against humanity and your inability to escape the paradigm that blankets the American civil service. For these crimes you are only worthy of death.”

 And with that statement he shot the blond woman in the chair. The fragments of her brain and chunks of skull rained down on Darrell.

Robert Darrell Randolph woke up in his suburban house and stared at his white wife, his heart beating madly.  His clock went off a second later Hip Hop blaring loudly, he quickly reached over to his bedside table slamming down on the smooth snooze button. After groggily kissing his wife Robert walked down the hall to the shower and turned on the radio; “Another beautiful day full of Sunshine and clear weather, put away your raincoats folks it’ll be a clear dry weekend. This is Bob Cain and I’m your AM host on CB—”.  Robert shut off the radio, and the knob broke off in his hand, “GREAT” he thought, one more thing on top of another beautiful day wasted in the lab testing rat intelligence. It was 9 hours of mazes, peanut butter and cheese.

 

WA2 Draft 2

As he awoke his head jumped to attention, but his mind reeled, and as his vision slowly cleared and Darrell’s hand came into focus he began to realize his fuzzy surroundings.  He had seen the drab gray cinderblock walls before, their stark bleak faces stared back at him; dwarfing his prone body at over 18 feet tall, covered in sharp razor wire, crackling with electricity.  He knew his surroundings all to well.

Darrell heard a cry in the distance, “God help me!”  The female voice floated over the charged walls, a desperate plea in such a dismal place.  He slowly worked his way to his feet and instinctively reached around behind his back but his scrabbling hands only grabbed air and shirt. As he brought his hands back around to his front he patted both pockets, but they had also been emptied.  He broke into a run towards the screams. The plaintive cry was closer now.  “IM COMING” he yelled back.

Darrell Robert Randolph had worked for the UN-FIRM, the United Nations Foreign Institution for Rehabilitative Magnification, a task force used to drastically rehabilitate prisoners and terrorists.  He had been part of a unit that specialized in the construction of the labyrinth that he was now contained in along with his female companion. Its purpose had been to mentally torture its captives until they renounced their anti western ideas.

As thoughts raced through his head he too raced in the direction of the female voice, twisting and winding through the long fluorescent-lit corridors his leather soles clacking against the immaculate floors. Floors and walls that no contained no direction or marks to indicate position; he was completely lost.  A blinding white light shown down on him that was made to penetrate the captives psyche and disoriented their thoughts. The desperate cry rung out again “PLEASE STOP” she cried he yelled back in a measured tone “I’m coming, keep yelling and I’ll find you, just stay put”. He continued running towards the cries. Until he rounded the corner, where he stopped dead in his tracks. A woman was bound in a chair, a masked assailant held a small derringer in his hand, no larger a man’s hand, but lethal enough at close range.  Her mouth screamed but she made no sound, a whisper barely escaping her mouth, “Run he’ll kill you”.

“Now don’t do anything irrational, I’m sure we can resolve this without violence”, shouted Darrell, but the masked man only smiled and tightened his grip on the gun now aimed at Darrell. It had begun to rain, a soft patter on the tin roof, which stood a good 30 feet above his head, a comforting sound.

“Who are you?” asked Darrell; the masked man responded, “In the words of my brother Technique I’ve been to many places but I'm third world born. Guerrillas hit and run where I'm from, the third world son. You polluted everything, now the third worlds gone. The waters poisoned where I'm from. Revolutions come where I'm from, the third world son. Constant occupation, leaves the third world prone.” He stared directly into the camera across from him. Abigail Cain you have been sentenced to death for your crimes committed against humanity and your inability to escape the paradigm that blankets the American civil service. For these crimes you are only worthy of death.” And with that statement he shot the blond woman in the chair. The fragments of her brain and chunks of skull rained down on Darrell.

Robert Darrell Randolph woke up in his suburban house and stared at his white wife, his heart beating madly.  His clock went off a second later Hip Hop blaring loudly, he quickly reached over to his bedside table slamming down on the smooth snooze button. After groggily kissing his wife Robert walked down the hall to the shower and turned on the radio; “Another beautiful day full of Sunshine and clear weather, put away your raincoats folks it’ll be a clear dry weekend. This is Bob Cain and I’m your AM host on CB—”.  Robert shut off the radio, and the knob broke off in his hand, “GREAT” he thought, one more thing on top of another beautiful day wasted in the lab testing rat intelligence. It was 9 hours of mazes, peanut butter and cheese.

 

WA 2 Draft 1

As he awoke his head jumped up instantly, but as his mind reeled, and vision slowly cleared Darrell’s hand came into focus and he began to realize his fuzzy surroundings.  He had seen the drab gray cinderblock walls before, their stark bleak faces stared back at him; dwarfing his prone body at over 18 feet tall, covered in sharp razor wire, crackling with electricity.  He knew his surroundings all to well.

 

Darrell heard a cry in the distance, “Help”.  The female voice floated over the charged walls, a desperate plea in such a dismal place.  He slowly worked his way to his feet and instinctively reached around behind his back but his scrabbling hands only grabbed air and shirt. As he brought his hands back around to his front he patted both his back and font pockets, but they had also been emptied.  In one swift move he raced in the direction of the female voice. “Help” she screamed again.

“IM COMING” he yelled back.

 

Darrell Robert Randolph had worked for the UN-FIRM, the United Nations Foreign Institution for Rehabilitative Magnification, a task force used to drastically rehabilitate prisoners and terrorists.  He had been part of a unit that specialized in the construction of the labyrinth that he was now contained in along with his female companion. 

 

As the thoughts raced through his head he too raced in the direction of the female voice twisting and winding through the long fluorescent-lit corridors his leather soles clacking against the immaculate floors. Floors and walls that no contained no direction or marks to indicate position; he was completely lost.  A blinding white light shown down on him that was made to penetrate a captives psyche and disoriented their thought processes. The desperate cry rung out again “Help” she cried he yelled back in a measured tone “I’m coming, keep yelling and I’ll find you, just stay put”. He continued running towards the cries. Until he rounded the corner, where he stopped dead in his tracks. A woman was bound in a chair, a masked assailant held a small derringer in his hand, no larger a man’s hand, but lethal enough to kill the woman held captive.  Her mouth screamed but she mad no sound, a whisper barely escaping her mouth, “Run he’ll kill you”.

“STOP”, shouted Darrell, but the masked man only smiled and tightened his grip on the gun that was now aimed at Darrell. It had begun to rain, a soft patter on the tin roof, which stood a good 30 feet above his head, a comforting sound in such his tense environment growing exponentially more difficult as each nuance was revealed.

 

“Who are you?” asked Darrell; the masked man responded, “Been to many places but I'm third world born. Guerrillas hit and run where I'm from, the third world son. You polluted everything, now the third worlds gone. The waters poisoned where I'm from. Revolutions come where I'm from, the third world son. Constant occupation, leaves the third world drone.” He stared directly into the camera across from him. Abigail Cain you have been sentenced to death for your crimes committed against humanity and your inability to escape the paradigm that blankets the American civil service. For these crimes you are only worthy of death.” And with that statement he shot the blond woman in the chair.

 

Robert Darrell Randolph woke up and stared at his wife, his heart beating madly.  His clock went off a second later Hip Hop blaring loudly, he quickly reached over to his bedside table slamming down on the smooth snooze button. After groggily kissing his wife Robert walked down the hall to the shower and turned on the radio; “Another beautiful day full of Sunshine and clear weather, put away your raincoats folks it’ll be a clear dry weekend. This is Bob Larred and I’m your AM host on CB—”.  Robert shut off the radio, and the knob broke off in his hand, “GREAT” he thought, one more thing and another beautiful day wasted in the lab testing rat intelligence. It was 9 hours of mazes, peanut butter and cheese.