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2 a.m. Adaptations
#WritcoStoryChallenge
The streetlights were dim as the mist enclosed it in its mysterious grip. She peered out of her window into the darkness, was there someone out there or was it her imagination?
The flickering neon light from a sign advertising cheap, imported computer parts revealed a tall silhouette on the fire escape, far below. The heavy mist made the figure appear hazy, but there was no mistaking his presence now. It wasn't her imagination or a trick of the light. He was there.
And he was climbing.
Leaving her window wide open, Maeve stepped back, settling in a chair a few feet away. He would come in regardless; it was preferable to not clean up broken glass.
A streaming cloud of smoke blew from Maeve's pursed lips, her electronic cigarette held between two elegant fingers. She didn't need the fix - there were no bodily needs or addictions for Synthetics - but the action soothed her, and she knew there could be no damage to her manufactured lungs.
A moment later, the silhouette appeared in her open window, as she had known it would. Stepping over the ledge, he entered her flat, pulling a long silver handgun from the back of his pants.
He pointed it at her.
"Stay silent and you won't get hurt," he instructed, his voice an urgent whisper.
The sudden appearance of the man and his...
The streetlights were dim as the mist enclosed it in its mysterious grip. She peered out of her window into the darkness, was there someone out there or was it her imagination?
The flickering neon light from a sign advertising cheap, imported computer parts revealed a tall silhouette on the fire escape, far below. The heavy mist made the figure appear hazy, but there was no mistaking his presence now. It wasn't her imagination or a trick of the light. He was there.
And he was climbing.
Leaving her window wide open, Maeve stepped back, settling in a chair a few feet away. He would come in regardless; it was preferable to not clean up broken glass.
A streaming cloud of smoke blew from Maeve's pursed lips, her electronic cigarette held between two elegant fingers. She didn't need the fix - there were no bodily needs or addictions for Synthetics - but the action soothed her, and she knew there could be no damage to her manufactured lungs.
A moment later, the silhouette appeared in her open window, as she had known it would. Stepping over the ledge, he entered her flat, pulling a long silver handgun from the back of his pants.
He pointed it at her.
"Stay silent and you won't get hurt," he instructed, his voice an urgent whisper.
The sudden appearance of the man and his...
