Young Writers Society

                                                           Chapter 2

                                                                     The Exchange

this chapter was a bit long so i decided to divide it in two parts, enjoy...

He awoke on a single lighted tile surrounded by pitch darkness, yet still, he was surprisingly tranquil as if he had been in this same situation multiple times. He sat still, decided not to venture into the unknown blackness, waiting for a signal. After eons that passed in an instant, not far away, yellowy lights flashed.

He squinted his eyes in an attempt to examine the source of light; it proved to be a modern street lamp, which he confidently took for an inviting gesture. He moved towards it carefully, before he would make a step, a convenient lighted tile would materialize for him to step on, while the previous one would disappear in an instant he took off his foot. There was no going back. I doubt whether he even realized this notion as his face was consumed by the desire of reaching the goal and fully concentrated on the task on hand. And it was no easy task, he had to keep balance while advancing forth as the tiles were far too small for his liking, a small misstep would result in him falling to the unknown nothingness.

Luckily, he reached the lamp wholesome and in an instant appeared to be standing in a city that touched the faint memories locked within his subconscious mind. He had been here before, whether in a dream or reality his memory was too weak to recall.

As he rested his hand in the pockets of his exquisitely tailored manteau and prepared for aimless wander, his face brightened at the discovery of a small but heavy feminine pouch, stored in his left pocket. Once shaken, it made a jingling sound, meaning it was rich of coins.

From a first look it was a busy city, not distinguishable from others, brimming with crowds hurrying on their business, cars polluting the air and the cacophony of steps, turning wheels and random exclamations that, if heeded attentively, would drive one to sheer madness.

It needed another, a more thoughtful, refined and innocent glare, which James E. had at the time, to fully appreciate its peculiarities. The city was not so spiritless after all, as James E. observed greenery sprouting between the blocks of cobblestone he walked on, a plant flowering on the top of a grey wall of unfinished masonry, a cat preparing for a jump to reach a leaf which lay in a middle of a great puddle. It all made him happy for a short while, but then he started to notice faces, faces empty of human emotion, cold faces which he did not like at all, they were not right.

He journeyed down the street with other passersby. The implication of blending in so easily made him feel uneasy; thus, alarmed, he nimbly distanced himself from the populated main street. In an attempt to find solitude, he came upon a conveniently titled 'factory street'.

It was a large, soulless road passing between two factories; neither of them had doors or any windows, they were both fiendishly huge and made of red brick, when he looked up he noticed that each had three giant tubes omitting black smoke which made the sky scarcely visible.

The air was, at the very least, unpleasant to breathe and the absence of people, which he was hitherto seeking, was now getting on his nerves. But a mysterious shape, too large for a human but not great enough to be considered a goliath, standing still at what he took for a dead end, enticed his interest.

He moved towards it in eerie silence, as the city clamor was absent in this part of town, the only audible sounds were the ones of inner factory workings, random soft gusts of wind rubbing the area, and the rhythmic padding of his footsteps. He didn't really know what he expected to see, or what would be the risk of doing so, it was just a step to satisfy his egoist curiosity, of which he once used to be full of.

As he neared the enigmatic figure, he discovered it was not standing at the dead end at all; it was guarding a sole entry to the other side, otherwise blocked by Auschwitz-like electrified fence. The figure itself was an abnormally huge man dressed in a police uniform; he stood motionless, like a fine statue, totally apathetic to James E.'s presence.

He approached the man and tried to start a conversation, but him being not tall enough and the policeman paying no heed made the whole situation look absurd and uncomfortable. James E. looked up in an attempt to examine his face but a very British police helmet cast a dark shadow over it, it was unseeable.

Then, in order to tempt policeman's patience, he blatantly neared the open steel door. Policeman did not move. James E., although warily, touched the door and peeked in. Policeman stood motionless nonetheless. James E. saw a sign which read, 'Non-practical remains of finely tuned, factory-made tools.'

“So it is a basically a junkyard.” Thought he unimpressed, the moment he turned back the more adventurous of his instincts caught a word, wonderful thing, a children's song...