Act II
"I hate you. I hate you. I hate you!"
Sammy awakened to an entirely new pain, her heart pounding with an incredible, violent intensity. Much to her chagrin, she was animate; breathing. She was not broken, not completely.
"I...am...NO! I can't be!"
Her limbs were spindly and emaciated; she must have been out cold for at least three or so weeks.
"No, no this is wrong! This...This is..."
Suddenly, her head was light and her breaths were heavy; her view and lucidity slowly faded to black.
"You are broken, irreparable; a hopelessly shattered human being."
"Sammy, wake up, I need you to confirm your status analysis."
Sammy opened her eyes and sat up, making use of a new, unexplained stock of measure and calm; but the good was inevitably cut short by a piercing, terrible pain that erupted through her lungs.
"Oh, dammit, that hurts!"
Stitcher registered her distaste, "It's nice to know the extent of the enzyme's damage to your respiratory system, but I would advise that you use your manners when in pain, especially now."
"What the hell do you mean 'the extent of the damage'? And why use my manners now? Where the hell am I‽"
YOU ARE READING
The Horrors Below
Science FictionHaving your first and last kiss with the same person sounds like an obvious situation, high-school sweethearts fall in love, get married, and live happily ever after, right? For 16-year old Sammy Anderson, it's puzzlingly different.*** ***When eart...
