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Featured Author - March Bruekmann Story of the week: View past Author's of the Month |
Firstly, there was no blood on this side of the elevator, in marked contrast to where my dying comrade lay. Instead, the dominant color around Cadieux was white. It was splashed everywhere on the walls and floor; it even dripped lazily from the ceiling! It was as though an enormous water-balloon filled with white paint had burst when Cadieux was shot. I focused my attention back to her gaping chest wound. Her milky blood covered her hands and was being soaked into her sweater. Oddly, the fluid seemed to have a weak pulse, as if there was some artificial, plastic heart buried somewhere inside of her, pumping the weird lubricant or whatever it was around her body. Around the perimeter of the entrance wound, her plastic skin was singed black. Squirming and pulsating beneath her fingers were what looked like clumps of yellowish-white spaghetti strands, stretched over some kind of metal framework that had been twisted by the impact of the bullet. Here and there a bundles of wires and circuitry and even thicker cables laced artfully around until they disappeared from my view, diving into the thick medium of her bizarre innards. But one such cable had been severed and was sparking weakly but incessantly. It was these sparks which I had |
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