Optimism (A BATIM X OC Fanfic)

CHAPTER 9: Sleep Deprivation.

Jack loved the quiet. But quiet was a hard thing to come by in times like these, where a person could barely afford a meal to get them through the day, or could barely afford a shelter to keep them warm. So when quiet came, he sat back, and appreciated it while it was still there.

In the sewers though, quietness remained in the air. And with enough silence, Jack had enough time to think—an old lyricst like him needed to think. He needed to think of poetic words to go with the melodies Sammy would always provide. Lyrics, in of themself, were an art just as music was an art. And art needed to be perfected.

Jack leaned back in his wooden chair as he let out a rough sigh, twiddling the pen in his slender fingers. A thin paper lay on his desk. His sigh echoed across the sewer—across the large, empty, vast sewer. The sewer was better than any company he could possibly have up there. For unlike the people here, the sewer seemed to know how to be silent.

A hollow, empty feeling held itself in the sewer. Jack could feel the ink-scent pouring into his nostrils the more he seemed to let his focus drift off into nothingness. The longer he sat, the more he seemed to notice the heavy feeling that was growing in his head. The heavy feeling of his mind searching for ideas for what he could possibly write down.

He leaned over, pressing himself closer against his wooden desk. The only thing Jack could hear were the sounds of the faint droplets of ink falling down into the river of midnight-black below. He tapped his foot, and let out a groan, his finger tapping against the side of his cheek.

"C'mon, Jack.." He spoke aloud to himself, hearing his voice speak back to him in a slight echo across the sewer. "The job isn't gonna finish itself if you just sit there."

He knew he had ideas. He knew he did, they were innthere somewhere! But his brain seemed almost.. stuck. Like it just couldn't think. He found himself blinking repeatedly, as if that would do anything to whirl any sort of idea into his brain. He felt almost as if he were on auto-pilot at this point.

Jack ceased the repetitive motion of his foot tapping against the wooden ground. And groaned. Sammy wasn't going to exactly be pleased if he didn't finish what was needed on time. He—

...he heard a swishing sound, in the distance.

The noise was quiet. Somewhere, most likely a little bit farther down into the sewer, he heard the sound of something swishing. Something that sounded like it was moving within the black liquid of the ink. It sounded slow. And every few seconds, the swishing noise sounded again.

Jack arched a brow, puzzled. Was someone down here? But what for? Did Mr. Connor have a repair job to do in the sewers again?

Jack leaned in his chair slightly, causing the stools of it to rise and nearly fall back onto the ground. He tried to lean his head foward so he could see around the corner where the noise was coming from, but his neck ached. He couldn't reach his neck that far.

The noise started to sound closer. Jack pressed his feet against the wooden ground, and let his feet lift him upwards. His shoes were coated with dry ink, the once brown texture of it now darkened. Jack sniffled a little, the area now seeming a bit more damp than it previously did. He began to feel something in his chest beating sharply, but for what reason did it do so?

He didn't know. Perhaps the scenario of being alone down here with another person with no other individuals in sight was the source of how harshly his chest seemed to thump with such paranoia. Jack only shook his head, shutting his eyes.

'Be more realistic, Jack.' Jack thought, 'It's probably just one of the employees. It might be someone you know.'

Jack then leaned foward, and let his eyes open as he took a look around the corner of the wall that blocked his vision. Though once he did, he blinked.