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by Alvetra 

Posted: 28 November 2009
Word Count: 1497
Summary: Escaping the death room won't be an easy task for Dr.Floyd

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He hangs mid-air, shackled to the ceiling, secured by a pair of metal hand restraints that connected to a solid wooden beam. The inch thick metal cuffs wrap Dr. Floyds wrists preventing him from bending them. The two individual restraints were connected in the middle with a single link, looking like something you would find in a torture room back in 1810. Floyd’s eyes were transfixed on the chain links above that led to the beam only a few feet from his head. Beads of sweat run slowly down the side of his face as he hangs, patiently building up enough energy for his final play. His legs were a good five feet above the stone flooring which was damp and had green mildew growing between the slabs of concrete. The room was lit only by the flickering flame of the petrol doused touch hanging from the wall, whispering in the slightest of breeze that seemed to be coming from the passageway which stood ten yards in-front of Floyds dangling shell. The distance to the ground wouldn’t have bothered him if it wasn’t for fact that he hadn’t felt his legs in hours. Not being able to break his fall would make for a heavy drop. ‘But then again, what other chance have I got? This has to be my last.’ And with one more twist of his shoulders, he would be-able to break the thick rusty link that had looked weak and vulnerable when he’d been hoisted up earlier. His arms had been hanging, stretched above his head for as long as he could recall, and his shoulders were beginning to now chaff against the tops of his ears which only pulled the pain from one direction to the other, between that and the muscles on his back which were aching with fatigue as though he’d been logging for weeks on end. ‘One more time’ He says, grinding his teeth with an undertone of exhausted anger. He painfully turns his body, winding it, preparing to propel the twist that would free him. With all his summoned vigour, he throws his right shoulder round, unraveling his coiled spring causing his body to turn one-hundred and eighty degrees in a quick, sharp motion. The chain link breaks as he hoped it would, but before being able to think on the mini-victory, he drops. Not only did he feel at the absolute mercy to the sudden pull of gravity, but it felt more like a pre-meditated cannon ball which he would so often do as a kid while visiting the swimming baths by diving high into the air, tucking his legs then dropping to the splash of the chlorine rich blue. The stoned floor comes fast, taking all his weight at speed and his left ankle bends sideways, buckling from under him as he smashes to the floor.

Laying in a heaped tangle, he reaches down to the lower part of his leg, pulling his ankle round in-front. Floyd sees his foot twisted backwards on it-self. He puts his hands over his mouth, metal restraints still rigidly attached to his wrists. He muffles the cries of shock that come from within, but feeling no pain, not yet anyway. He could sense a distant feeling that wasn’t nice, but nowhere near the pain that a broken bone brings. The thought of the injury alone was enough to drive him to tears. But no pain was a good thing. His legs had been numb for so long now, according to his medical background he gave himself three or four minutes before the feelings would return. Sitting, thinking on that ticking clock that would bring agonizing pain his way only too soon, he scrambles around, getting to one knee before placing his fingers in the meshing that ran up the wall behind him, while being careful of his limp foot which now hung from the end of his ankle. He looks over towards the archway across the deathroom. He puts all his weight to his right, gripping the meshing that draped the walls surface. And with a managed stretch Floyd pulls himself five paces over to the arch, reaching for the wall, scraping the stone with his fingernails being overly focused on keeping his balance straight. He feels a floating sensation rise from his stomach. Followed by burning stomach acid, working its way up his throat and into his mouth. The taste alone nearly made him churn up some more. He spits it to the floor, keeping his arms tight to the wall. Shaking his head and looking through the ten foot concrete corridor. His eyes scurry for an aid to help him cross through without putting all his weight on his still numb legs noticing a cable. He ducks his head, moving through the small, circular tunnel only five foot high with narrow walls, reminding him of a sewer but just without the muck. He grips strong, holding onto a thin black power line that ran the ceilings length. It had been attached with small metal clasps, holding it to the concrete. He pulls himself along, slowly, shifting his weight to his arms and upto his hands that gripped the wet, slippery cable, causing one of the clasps to ping from its concrete base. He’s sent forward with the slack and jolts to a halt briefly, before another clasp pings out through stress. Floyd collapses to the floor of the tunnel. He lies there, in the darkened damp, hearing the distant screams of the others. ‘I can’t help them now’ he tells himself. His raised adrenalin helps him to his knee, arms pushed out either side of his chest, both pressed against the wall, sliding them upwards until he’s able to stand half crouched on his now conscious right leg. The screams bring a stronger sense for urgency. This made him hurry his hobbled stagger the remaining few feet.

Able to stand tall once more he emerges from the passage entering a longer corridor. He glances to the right, down toward the direction the screams were generating, seeing torch upon torch running the tall brick wall, lighting the near three hundred foot corridor. Grey slabs of concrete lay unevenly on the floor, pathing the way to more entrances just like the one that he’d painfully made his way down. Looking to his left there was another lengthy walkway leading to a set of large double doors that he told himself must have been the source of the breeze. Giving himself the hope that makes him move his foot quicker, hopping his way to the back wall, sliding along, moving his hands over the cold stone. Keeping his balance was his number one concern. Getting to his feet again would be a testing pitch right now. His damaged foot dragged the uneven floor and Floyd could begin to feel the prickly sensation of his left knee coming back to life, followed by the back mussels on his lower leg. ‘Six more!’ he tells his iner-self as he slides himself along with all his might. He hears the echoes of voices coming from the flame lit passageway. He glances over his shoulder seeing shadows growing larger in the noir shading. He knew he had little time to execute his escape and throws himself to the floor, pulling himself along, now able to use both his knees for extra mobility, eventually making it to the large metal doors that stood in his way. The footsteps from behind get loud enough for Floyd to sense the panic set in, throwing his arms up and batting down the long metal bar that released the lock.

The doors get torn open by a huge gust of wind. He pulls himself up the step and outside to a small docking area seeing a huge wave crash against the rocks that were directly in-front. Water at his feet there was no escape. He concluded that there was no possible way he’d beable to challenge these waves with his withered frame. So instead, he sat, listening. The birds were flying high above, calling to one another in song. The air brushed past him, cold against his skin. And just in that moment, finally appreciating the peace of being that he’d not thought about until the stage presented. Soul searchingly wishing he could get another chance. And fading back to reality, the sounds of bells come to his ear, sounding like a stores alarm. ‘You bastards’ he says, holding the tears of defeat back. The feeling was also returning to his ankle, the sharp increasing pain was like nothing he’d ever felt. He couldn’t help himself screaming out in cries of crazed torment. Quickly and suddenly a dark gloved hand appears over his shoulder masking his mouth, gripping with a tight squeeze the lower part of his face. And without pause, he’s dragged backwards into the darkened passageway that carry his dampened screams back the path he’d taken.


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