The Last Three Calls
0
Here's a shorty quickly piled up by Rakan-han and Nate River. Enjoy =)
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[size=8]Menial Tasks were done by mnx[/h]
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He stood still in front of the entrance of a giant corporate tower, overwhelmed by the stream of endless traffic. The gentle breeze of autumn brushed past his shoulders as he lifted his head to take a glance at the clear sky. A smile, but not that of the impotent arrogance of a child's first taste at victory, no, it was a smile of joy, of excitement, of satisfaction, reflected by an earnest sincerity. The brief quietness in his mind dissipated the rumpus composed of footsteps and sirens. He drowned himself in a sense of contentment, forgetting everything that's to remember.
A 25 year-old MBA graduate from an institution of great prestige, Harvard. With his entire future ahead of him, he was ready to face the turbulent of successes and failures in the sea of opportunities. He was ready to face himself. After an offer was sent for him work as a financial analyst at a firm in the World Trade Center, he knew the time to take a step had come.
And there he stood, dressed with the well-groomed suit radiating a noble-like elegance. He took a long deep breath as if preparing to dive down the unknown. His pace was steady, his will, unfaltering. The door was no longer shut.
"First day?" He was greeted by the attendant at the counter.
"Yeah" He replied.
"Nervous?"
"Yeah, a bit" He answered with a soft grin.
"Don't stress about it" She advised. "You'll do fine, I'm sure"
"Thank you" His voice sounded gratified.
It was a day like any other. Countless white collars rushed in and out, forging the constant and perpetual flow of reality. He drifted away in the river of anxiety, merging into the industrial impulses of life.
After carefully instructed by the supervisor, he sat down at his designated desk, reviewing diligently the work which he was to do. He slowly pressed his head against his palm as support. Time started to gradually tick away.
"Coffee?" Asked a co-worker beside as he hands over a cup of.
"Oh" He instinctively replied. "Thank you... thank you very much"
"Don't mention it. If you want more, just grab it from over there, chocolate milk and stuff"
"Thanks, I'll remember that"
The vivid steam arose from the mug, emitting a sweet aroma of grinded coffee beans. He gently took a sip, savoring the warmth of relaxation.
Perhaps it was too sudden for him to realize. Perhaps it was too swift for him to grasp. Yet the instance of nightmare had already woken him up. The cinematic horror was drawn by the mist of chaos. His body, laying frigidly amidst the thick ashes. His ears, clogged with the agonizing cries of pain and suffer. His eyes, relentlessly inspecting the staggering scene of despair. His moment had begun to fade away. He drowned himself in the restless sentiments of life, remembering everything once forgotten.
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Two weeks have passed since the shocking incident of September Eleventh attacks. A young man was found buried under the remains. His hand clutched onto what seemed to be a cellphone. Later the investigation had revealed the traces of the last three phone calls which he had made before death. The first appeared to be an emergency call requesting assistance from the police department. The second call traced back to the cell phone of his girlfriend, whom claimed that it was a message telling her to "don't wait up for dinner." The third call, presumably the last phone call he had made, was addressed to his widowed mother. The message was simple, "Mom, I love you"
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The Last Three Calls
By:
Rakan-han
and Nate River
By:
Rakan-han
and Nate River
[size=8]Menial Tasks were done by mnx[/h]
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
He stood still in front of the entrance of a giant corporate tower, overwhelmed by the stream of endless traffic. The gentle breeze of autumn brushed past his shoulders as he lifted his head to take a glance at the clear sky. A smile, but not that of the impotent arrogance of a child's first taste at victory, no, it was a smile of joy, of excitement, of satisfaction, reflected by an earnest sincerity. The brief quietness in his mind dissipated the rumpus composed of footsteps and sirens. He drowned himself in a sense of contentment, forgetting everything that's to remember.
A 25 year-old MBA graduate from an institution of great prestige, Harvard. With his entire future ahead of him, he was ready to face the turbulent of successes and failures in the sea of opportunities. He was ready to face himself. After an offer was sent for him work as a financial analyst at a firm in the World Trade Center, he knew the time to take a step had come.
And there he stood, dressed with the well-groomed suit radiating a noble-like elegance. He took a long deep breath as if preparing to dive down the unknown. His pace was steady, his will, unfaltering. The door was no longer shut.
"First day?" He was greeted by the attendant at the counter.
"Yeah" He replied.
"Nervous?"
"Yeah, a bit" He answered with a soft grin.
"Don't stress about it" She advised. "You'll do fine, I'm sure"
"Thank you" His voice sounded gratified.
It was a day like any other. Countless white collars rushed in and out, forging the constant and perpetual flow of reality. He drifted away in the river of anxiety, merging into the industrial impulses of life.
After carefully instructed by the supervisor, he sat down at his designated desk, reviewing diligently the work which he was to do. He slowly pressed his head against his palm as support. Time started to gradually tick away.
"Coffee?" Asked a co-worker beside as he hands over a cup of.
"Oh" He instinctively replied. "Thank you... thank you very much"
"Don't mention it. If you want more, just grab it from over there, chocolate milk and stuff"
"Thanks, I'll remember that"
The vivid steam arose from the mug, emitting a sweet aroma of grinded coffee beans. He gently took a sip, savoring the warmth of relaxation.
Perhaps it was too sudden for him to realize. Perhaps it was too swift for him to grasp. Yet the instance of nightmare had already woken him up. The cinematic horror was drawn by the mist of chaos. His body, laying frigidly amidst the thick ashes. His ears, clogged with the agonizing cries of pain and suffer. His eyes, relentlessly inspecting the staggering scene of despair. His moment had begun to fade away. He drowned himself in the restless sentiments of life, remembering everything once forgotten.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Two weeks have passed since the shocking incident of September Eleventh attacks. A young man was found buried under the remains. His hand clutched onto what seemed to be a cellphone. Later the investigation had revealed the traces of the last three phone calls which he had made before death. The first appeared to be an emergency call requesting assistance from the police department. The second call traced back to the cell phone of his girlfriend, whom claimed that it was a message telling her to "don't wait up for dinner." The third call, presumably the last phone call he had made, was addressed to his widowed mother. The message was simple, "Mom, I love you"
END
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