A writing blog for writing. Short stories, stream of consciousness musings, and anything else that comes to mind.
The Heaviest Soul
You wake up to the scratching of a pen on paper.
You recognize the noise because it is the most annoying thing you've ever heard in your entire life. Seriously, you'd rather claw your own ears out than listen to the scritch-scritch-scritch--and that's really what it sounds like, like a mouse or something else vaguely rodent--of someone doing something vaguely smart with a pen and a piece of paper.
"Are you fucking done yet?" you groan into the air.
The creature with the pen looks at you like it thinks you're the least interesting human in the entire world. Honestly? You probably are. You're barely Top Ten.
"Not yet," it says. "I still need the Big Man's signature."
And you fall asleep again, because you weren't supposed to wake up that first time. That kind of, well, breaks the rules? The rules say that you have to stay asleep until the processing is finished--whatever the hell that means--and then you get to go to--to--wherever it is people like you go to.
You wake up again--still against the rules--and ask again, this time getting visibly more pissed off. It's not like any time has passed or anything. But every time you go to sleep--or pass out or whatever--it feels like you're getting your head caved in.
The creature looks at you sadly.
"No," it says in answer to your perfectly reasonable question.
You barely squeeze out a "FU--" before you lose consciousness again.
You wake up again and the creature is still writing and your head is ringing like someone smashed it with a hammer.
"Are you fini--?" you start.
But you pause this time because you realize you're not getting anywhere.
"What are you doing?" you ask very politely and nicely.
The creature stops writing for a second, looking at you with curiosity for the first time and making you very very uncomfortable in a weird sort of way.
"Sins," says the creature. "I always get--I always get stuck here. Because it's--well, it's usually very long, and then--then it's stats..."
You pass out before it can finish. You realize you're going to be here for a very long time. Not here here, but in this room.