SkyHolt
The wheel spun, sending sparks of hot white electricity along uncovered wires leading to the pond. It wasn't a safe set-up, but it was the best way to revive his pet, Jerry - or so Joey had read. He gave the handle one more turn for good luck, and then opened his box and retrieved the golden fish from its surrounding ice cubes. He crossed his fingers, and then his toes for good measure, and tossed Jerry into the water.
A maze of goods, stretching up to the ceiling. Tins upon tins, walls upon walls, stacks upon stacks! It wouldn't be too hard to get lost in here, and there's probably a skeleton or few sitting in dusty ends, surrounded by containers from a century ago.
I consult the Map, hoping I won't be one of the unlucky many to be lost to the chaos. I mark my route with a red marker, check my current location, and set off towards sector E/apple.223*fish - tomato soup.
The cycle continues, whether or not we want it to. It starts with the fields, and the farmers with the deepworms in their pits. Eventually, the deepworms eat the farmers, and slither over the regurgitated corpses and out of the pits to the sea. There, they - we don't know what they do. But it has been observed that not only do areas where deepworms are seen to enter, have thousands more deaths recorded yearly than anywhere else; but far higher fish rates. The fish feed the fishers, some of whom become farmers, and the cycle continues.
The box won't be opened, because it can't. It's the safest place for these documents. You'll put them in, and then you'll go away, and then it'll be safe. Years will pass, and everyone will forget. The box will lie in some undiscovered room, steadily gathering a coat of dust, and then who knows? It could be obliterated in the next world war. It could never be found, and die with the Earth when it gets swallowed up by the sun to form into new atoms and make new things. It could be discovered in centuries, and then in a way you'll be famous from mystery. The important thing is, nobody will know.
Sometimes, safety lies in anonymity.
Since the very beginning, there's been something to discover, and since there's been something to discover, they've been there. And they always will be, so long as curiosity remains and there is something new to learn..
John sighed as the box was passed to him, wishing he could keep his money just for the one week. As he hesitated in shaking out his pockets, he could feel the eyes of the entire community on him - he'd be expected to give up his hard-earned cash exactly like every other week.
He was almost tempted to simply walk out then and there, but there were too many people between him and the exit: he'd be forced back anyway.
Eventually, he pulled out his wallet and dumped the whole thing in there. He'd have to get a new one between now and the next week, but it would give him the temporary satisfaction of knowing Louis and Kelly would have to sort through the thing and return his bits and pieces.
The box passed on.
DearMarie,
Thank you for completing the form for finding a criminal partner, and I hope that you and I have a great time together as accomplices. I hope to contact you soon (do not try to find me first. I assure you, you will not succeed), to begin our time as partners together.
If you no longer wish to become an accomplice, a payment of $200 to me (collected straight out of your bank account) plus a donation of £800 to a charity of your choice (once again collected directly, for your convenience - please write your prefered organisation on your smaller fridge in magnetic letters) will be necessary.
Thank you in advance for your commitment;
Sincerely, the Puppeteer.
"You can't win. You can't win!"
The shouts fill the air as he lines up at the start, one foot on the white line, the other bent and slightly further back. He's breathing quickly, knowing it's not good to start on a bad breath but he's so damn nervous he thinks he has an excuse at least.
The crowd slowly stops yelling, and the taunts stop for a microsecond.
And the starting pistol goes off.
They'd tried. They'd made the promise to the group, a promise to win, to get somewhere at least, but they didn't. Who could win against those odds? Not them, at any rate.
If only there were second chances.
Footsteps in the corridor, clipping on stone like a fast-paced pony. Heels.
I only have seconds now, and I'm nowhere near to finishing the task.
She wasn't meant to come back this soon, and now I'm too late. I clamp the backup bug to the underside of a desk drawer, feeling certain that she can't find both (or at least not fast enough to do any serious damage to the Campaign), step away, and busy myself looking guilty as she opens the door.
At least that's not too hard.
And as I raise my hands and try to force my heart back out of my mouth (they treat you worse if you actually look guilty as opposed to just being it), there's a part of my brain that's just slightly triumphant. She'll never find it.
We're gonna win.
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