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PercytheCadavrMachne-chapter1

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Percy Gibbons and the Extraordinary Cadaver Machine

Chapter One
On a cold February's morning (or was it afternoon, that he could not tell) Mister Percey Gibbons awoke  very peculiarly. Usually he awoke face down in his pillow (usually a wet spot on his cheek from overnight drooling), but now he found himself face up. But this did not jostle him in the slightest at this present moment in the time line of this tale, his first thought being “Oh my. I have forgotten to buy flowers for Valentine's Day.” Not that Percey had anyone to give these flowers to, he just bought them to put in an overly average vase in his overly average apartment, where he (an overly average guy) would look at occasionally throughout his overly average Saturday (for Valentine's was on a Saturday this year).
But this thought was made on the assumption that this was that Friday before said Saturday. Since time is, in fact, relative, to him it was this time. But if it truly then, our overly average Mister Percey Gibbons wouldn't be in the predicament he is in. The predicament to which his eyes were opening to.
He had before recognized the white walls of the room he was in as the white walls of his room, but he never remembered taking any of his overly average art off of them, and now upon inspection of these walls, they gave him a nightmarish sense of sterility, almost like a visit to the doctor's office from when he was a kid.
Now as his extraordinarily cloudy mind (had he been drunk the night before? Somehow partied even though he never has before? Drugs and such toxins had never before entered his body, but the question still nagged at him) finally realized that his ceiling fan was missing from the wall above, and no traces of it or the popcorn that was there before, he slowly began to think that maybe this was not his overly average bedroom.
Now as this thought entered his mind, it became clear that he was definitely not on his bed. Instead a flat metal table of some sort hurt his stiff back. But upon trying to get up (as all of before had happened within five or less seconds, no matter what the length of the previous text tells you) he realized that he could not move any of his body parts.
His joints stiff, his muscles ached; the possibility of a somehow different Thursday night than he remembered still rang through in his head, but all he remembered was walking home from the store. What store, though? And what had he bought? For if he hadn't bought anything why go to a store?
These questions were useless to Percey as he tried to shake himself free of their clinging and almost painful grasp on the small amount of consciousness he held as his mind still tried waking up from its cloud. Once he quieted his overly average mind, his thoughts began where was he, and why couldn't he move, and along with those, why can't he speak? Upon the reflex of trying to vibrate his vocal chords, his throat felt no soothing message. In fact his neck stiffened worse, furthering his pain and halting any more attempts.
Finally he heard footsteps coming down from a hallway or something, he could tell by the echoing of the sound. But he could not try to see who it was, because moving his eyes ached them beyond anything he felt around those precious organs. Having them in a relaxed “forward only” position relieved them of the pain, and he was thus encouraged to keep them there.
These footsteps entered the room, a type of boot Percey thought, as a person marched into the room and stood in the space to his left, half at attention, half looking at him. Percey couldn't quite make the face, it was pale-ish, and his black pinstriped pea-coat style jacket and pants and formal cap gave him the impression of some sort of mix between the Navy and a train conductor.
An old, but young, raspy, but fresh, and dark, but bright voice escaped the mouth of this pale person, saying “Well, you know what time it is.”
At this time Percey really wanted to say “What time is that?” but he was not able, as the reflex to speak caused his throat to constrict and ache, and after a few seconds he was able to calm himself back down to let it relax itself in a comfortable manner.
The pale figure cocked its head to one side and that bizarre hypocritical voice came out again “Look, I'm sorry I'm late, I guess your time wasn't exactly... prepared for, but we really need to go.”
Percey's eyes began to throb in pain as they widened and slowly inched to look at this man who spoke of such bizarre things. As the pained eyes watered, the man got out of focus quickly and his eyes returned back to their relaxed position. But the image of the man for the brief second was enough to scare Percey silly. This man was a skeleton. Shorter than average, so he could not be any of overly average friends trying to play an overly average trick on him. At this time Percey began to worry, as the lack of communication with this... thing put a curtain before it's motives for Percey. But Percey knew that this day was not going to be any overly ordinary Friday. Or was it even Friday? His whole reality was being questioned in his mind, as his overly average beliefs were slowly being eaten away. Science could never explain this.
Percey's feeble overly average mind soaked in all of this with no question. For what was to question? It was obviously happening, and whatever fabric of reality our Percey was on, he just had to go with whatever bizarre events and customs it had.
The pale skeleton-man leaned over Percey (with many a creaks and pops, for all he was was just bones, of course) and it's empty sockets where eyes should have been peered oddly into Percey (as Percey recounts the story, he literally felt invisible arms reach out in a gelatinous rage and sifted through our notreallyahero). The skeleton grumbled a bit to himself, but it was audible eough for Percey to hear, since its head had halted above Percey's.
“Rigor Mortise, and Death Exhaustion. Bizarre qualities for a spirit to have.” were the words that hissed from between the teeth of the bleached unmoving jaw of the skeleton man, who stood himself back up.
Percey's mind skipped over the word “spirit” of course, as feeble unwilling overly average minds tend to assume words in place of the actual words said. And as such, Percey went on without a care, until twenty two and a quarter seconds later when his mind had delved back into the recesses of time to the past when the skeleton said that and concurrently snapped off.
Our poor Percey lay there, mindless, knowing now that the skeleton had called him a spirit. Which is a very lucky thing, considering the number of questions floating in his mind about now. And as such this became the longest second of his life, without his mind to keep track of time and all. Or maybe it was his fastest? Time is relative it does not matter. All of this could have been a second for all he knew. But it had felt like an entire day, just laying there. And as such mindless thoughts floated around the empty space around his head while his brain began to reboot itself, the skeleton prepared something, rolling up its stylish sleeves revealing bleached bones in preparation for something.
Chapter one of the story im writing, titled
Percey and the Extraordinary Cadaver Machine

this will be an interesting trip through my mind travelled by a man who woke up one morning dead =P

comment amap annnd gimme edit tips or something, because i wasnt feelin it towards the end of that, but i pulled through =o
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Read-the-Wind's avatar
There's a "When" that's spelled wheen or something towards the end. Other than that, I can't wait until chapter two!