Aftermath
From Create Your Own Story
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| - | ''' | + | '''January 15, 2008''' |
| - | You wake up, your head aching. You blink, but the world is black. Rubbing your eyes, you blink several more times and wait for your vision to clear. You struggle into a sitting position and take in your surroundings. You are in a small apartment, the walls scorched and riddled with bullets. Smoke billows in through the only open window, preventing you from seeing anything outside. Using the wall as a support, you pull yourself to your feet. You feel a small bulge in your pocket. You reach in and pull out what appears to be an identification card. Holding it close to your face, you can make out the words "John Fletcher". Turning your head, you can see the wooden door that leads out from the apartment. It is closed. You can hear shuffling sounds coming from the hall outside. | + | You wake up, your head aching. You blink, but the world is black. Rubbing your eyes, you blink several more times and wait for your vision to clear. You struggle into a sitting position and take in your surroundings. You are in a small apartment, the walls scorched and riddled with bullets. Smoke billows in through the only open window, preventing you from seeing anything outside. Using the wall as a support, you pull yourself to your feet. You feel a small bulge in your pocket. You reach in and pull out what appears to be an identification card, but the part were your picture should be is burnt. Holding it close to your face, you can make out the words "John Fletcher". Turning your head, you can see the wooden door that leads out from the apartment. It is closed. You can hear shuffling sounds coming from the hall outside. |
Do you: | Do you: | ||
Current revision as of 23:03, 6 February 2010
January 15, 2008
You wake up, your head aching. You blink, but the world is black. Rubbing your eyes, you blink several more times and wait for your vision to clear. You struggle into a sitting position and take in your surroundings. You are in a small apartment, the walls scorched and riddled with bullets. Smoke billows in through the only open window, preventing you from seeing anything outside. Using the wall as a support, you pull yourself to your feet. You feel a small bulge in your pocket. You reach in and pull out what appears to be an identification card, but the part were your picture should be is burnt. Holding it close to your face, you can make out the words "John Fletcher". Turning your head, you can see the wooden door that leads out from the apartment. It is closed. You can hear shuffling sounds coming from the hall outside.
Do you:
