[FICTION] L-19F and S-25F

In one of my course exercises, we were asked to write from the third person limited. These two short pieces are also potential spinoffs from one of my novel projects!

I publish every Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday!!

L-19F third person limited POV

After three months experiencing the torment of passing time, she finally realises her time is close. A piece of string coils around her swan-like neck, close to strangulation, with a nametag reading ‘L-19F #129’ in printed block capitals. That was her identity. Her desolate, dusty, singular cell containing minimal light, apart from the incoming rectangular ray that projects such a gift from a small barred window. That’s where she’d see the shadows of morning birds and projections of night owls, a show of nature televised onto bitter concrete. L-19F wishes she could remember what occurred before, but alas she was not allowed to. She does not remember becoming a criminal of the state, but instead has been indoctrinated to believe she is one… and she is where she belongs.

She wishes she had a watch. Oh, such a privilege to possess the awareness of time as every day drags along like a cat in two severed pieces on the side of the road, digging its bloody claws into the pavement to drag itself to its owner, with its last dying ounces of breath.

Until another arrives…

Thrown into the singular cell with her, covering that nature projection shining in her bruised face, squinting from the blinding light.

“I was watching that” L-19F soullessly murmurs.

The new one does not reply, but instead lets out a harsh cough and rubs her temple. L-19F notices the newcomer’s tag ‘S-25F #78’ resting against her slender ribs and attenuated breasts. The paper thin, mid-thigh length nightgown barely covered her damaged body. Chunks of her feet missing and twitching from the pain.

L-19F never liked insects before, but as lifelessness possessed her body and corrupted her mind, she allowed incoming arachnids to reside under the palms of her hands and within the forest of her mangled hair.

Although the newcomer let out a small cry and dragged her lifeless body to the corner of the box-cell, throwing up whatever she had left in her stomach, L-19F did nothing but direct her eyes back to the rectangle on the floor.

S-25F third person limited POV

That final hit, knocking her into a state of near unconsciousness on the ground. Blood splurging from her mouth and one coal black eye locked shut, wincing at the constant strikes of pain from the men in lab coats. They slice her feet with burning, sharp metal, cannibalistically peeling the rations of skin from heel to toe. Removing the thick layer of flesh and forcing her eyes open, presenting it to her naked eye and dangling it around like a ball on a string. Pain so excruciating for her, that she wishes she were dead.

Forcing her mouth open and grabbing the already weakened limbs loosely connected to her walking carcass, the lab coat men force the flesh into her mouth, battling the projecting blood and screams howling from her mouth.

“Eat up traitor scum” One laughs.

S-25F is forced to chew the coarse lining of her deformed body, tears ricocheting down her already scarred cheeks.

They make her walk on both feet, leaving prints of blood on the crimson stained laboratory floor. S-25F remembers entering Lab24 and being greeted by the lingering scent of bleach from its regular clean, perhaps too regular…

Two men drag her by those two purple limbs as she limps across an eternal corridor, feeling each step from her peeling soles, ejecting blood in every movement she makes, almost slipping on her own body fluid and smacking her head against the bars of a cell. Before she could even comprehend her surroundings, the impact of the frigid ground drastically meets her wounded body, and the sound of a cell lock echoes in her eardrums.

Blinded by the incoming rays she notices the passing robin and lingering bees.

“I was watching that” The braindead tenant opposite her groans.

S-25F drags her lifeless corpse to the corner of the room, wheeping when she reaches the corner and scrapes her nail-absent fingers along the dusted brickwork, tears moistening the dry and archaic floor.

“Lord kill me now” She mutters.

She sticks her fingers down her throat and vomits parts of her own flesh onto the cell floor.


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