User blog:Bocaj910/New Story Idea! --- Bocaj Is Constructing a Wikia Thriller!

Hello guys! As the title hints (Or just straight-forwardly states...) I have come up with a new, complex, unique (As far as I know), intense, action-filled, science-fiction-y, romanatic novel. The story is called Figment. It's still in it's rough-draft though, so please excuse any typos, misspellings, or just overall mediocre quality as all these things will be changed, edited, revised, rinsed, and repeated.

The story is a thriller, with a very mystifying plot. I won't reveal much...

Why is Izzy the psychopath she is now? Who are Explosivo and E'scope? (Esquire is comfirmed as her last name, in the text) And why are the RCMP after her? All these questions, as well as the mystery withen the story, will be explained, but not all at once; you'll have to read to find out.

And now, here's the preview: (Remember, typos, misspellings, and overall quality will be improved after revising and editing)

Preface

I knew what I was in, at that moment, in a heartbeat; a dream. But this wasn't the usual dream, at all. There was a secret to this dreamworld, and it wasn't some fairytale-like Alice in Wonderland secret, like looking through a mirror, or falling in an abyss.

No. This is a place of many dreams, of nearly a dozen people. Everything made a little more sense now, but my head was still clouded. ''Why? Why was I here? ''I can't remember anything of my past, but there was one thing I was absolutely sure of.

My name is Izzy Esquire, and I am in love with a figment of my imagination.

Suddenly, the man I trusted stabbed me in the side, literally.

Chapter One - Deja Vu

''It's a little after sunset, twilight dimly coloring the sky. The snow pours down fiercely, and it's cold, very cold. I don't know exactly where I am running, but I feel an urge to speed up, although I am exhausted; I vaguely know that it isn't the frigid snow that is keeping my feet from slowing down. I'm crying, I think, but it's hard to tell with the merciless snowstorm, which is causing my teeth to shudder violently; I feel the early stages of pneunomia coming on.''

''Behind me, someone is pursuing me. I can't tell if he or she is faster or slower, but all I know is that I have to get away.''

''My setting is a vacant road --- no cars, no residents, so no one to call help to --- covered with snow, of course, but farther away, a small town resides on a gradual hill, but I can only see it from the lights in the residential areas, for the snow has blurred nearly everything in my view. ''

''I'm only wearing a faded brown, zipped-up jacket, with a black T-shirt layered underneath, blue jeans, and light-brown boots. No gloves, so my hands are numb. My face stings. I wish I could just curl up into a ball and die immediately, but the fear of the figure behind me is pushing me on.''

''When I reach the town, my adrenaline is running low. I can only think of one thing; scream for help.''

''"Help!" I scream hoarsely. "Help!" I shout again, louder this time.''

But it was too late.

''I tripped, slammed against the concrete sidewalk, and was knocked unconscious by my presumed assasin. ''

When I opened my eyes, I was underneath a small arched-bridge. A narrow strip of water flows peacefully across the middle of the above arch. I remember this place... It's the stone bridge from the park in that town... What town? I couldn't remember anything at all, other than that violent dream --- or had it been a dream? Had my persuer brough me here? But why? --- but everything else was... deja vu. It wasn't snowing here. It was mildly warm, with a cool breeze running from the sides. I was sitting in a perpendicular position against the stone wall, a yard away from the bank of the stream. What shook me out of my slightly tranquil state was the blood in the stream.

All around me were screams, screams of people dying. What caused those screams were the gunfire, the bombs, etc. It sounded like a warzone. Like in the dream, or memory, I felt anxiety and paranoia. Was the bridge about to collapse?

I didn't want to see the death, but I had to look. To my left, people were being shot, everywhere. The gore was excruciating to watch, so I turned my head and closed my eyes.

Where was I, and why? Why is it so much warmer, and no snow in sight? I couldn't have been unconscious that long. Who was my pursuer? And... why can't I remember anything? I couldn't even remember my name.Was it amnesia? I remember everything vaguely... but only vaguely. Some of the people I saw, all dying now, I remembered. Their names had been on the tip-of-my-tounge.

For some reason, I had a potent sense that I had to look to my right. It didn't feel like the thought had even come from me...

''Look to your right, damn it! Hurry!''

Okay, now I was sure I was crazy. This voice... I remembered it.

Of course I remembered it. But I couldn't name it. The voice had a tone to it. Alto, definitely male, fierce, demanding, slightly impatient...

Do it or you die!

That convinced me. With only the tiniest bit of reluctance, I looked to my right, and instantaneously I was grateful to the voice in my head.

Sitting there, ominous in itself, was a rectangular bomb. There was a clock on it that read 0:27. Tied up to the bridge was an obvious civilian, struggling to escape from the ropes. He was directly underneath the bomb...

I had twenty-seven --- now twenty-six --- seconds to get out, but could I save the man?

I ran over to him, and said --- my voice in no way drousy; the immediate adrenaline rush had woken me up, "D-don't worry, I'll get you free."

"No," he muttered. "Leave. We'll both die if you don't."

I ignored him, and started on the ropes.

"Please, you have to get away."

"I can't leave you behind."

I continued on the ropes, making some progress, but the knots were complicated.

He was tied around one of the support poles of the bridge, and whoever had made these knots sure worked to make it impossible to untwine. I knew I could never finish, but if I was to die, I was going to die with honor; die while attempting to save another. I knew it was corny, yes, but I could never find the heart to just leave him...

"You have to leave."

I ignored him, stubbornly. He sighed sadly.

You have to leave, the voice in my head ordered. You just joined.

Just joined what?

I quickly glanced at the clock. I had three seconds...

Suddenly, something bizarre happened. My body... it was like it wasn't my own anymore. Quickly, my body ran as far as it could get into the field. The bomb went off, and my body flew forward a few yards.

And then my body was mine again, but that didn't mean anything, because I couldn't move. My ears were ringing, and past the ringing I could still slightly hear the war.

Another question; what war?

My whole body was in pain, but the only thing I could think about was that man. He is undeniably dead, just because I couldn't untie the knots fast enough...

''It wasn't your fault, idiot! You couldn't have ever succeded in untying those knots in twenty-six seconds! It was meant to be impossible!''

The voice still caught me off guard, especially now that it was furious with me and my supposed idiocy.

''I was just... er... hating on myself. Everyone, uh, does it in their mind. It's meant to be personal... Who-who are you?''

No answer. Great. More questions.

You have to get up.

Why?

Because, if you don't find safety, they'll capture you.

''Capture? Why not just kill me?''

''Because, if they kill you... I can't reveal that.''

''What? Why not?!''

No answer, again. I've known this guy for five minutes and I already hate him.

I can hear everything you think, you know.

And why is that?

I didn't expect an answer; I expected correctly.

Slowly, I got up. I winced, at both the pain and the gore.

People surrounded me, all armed with machine guns. For some reason, they all wore plain, casual clothes, nothing warlike. Whenever someone approached them, they immediately shot at them. The park was simple. Just a small square of green, with a small stream running through it. A playground was in my peripheral sight. Surrounding the entire square were small buildings, comprised of houses, small businesses, and rubble, with smoke rising from the latter. I saw hardly any soldiers on the streets, so the park must of been the main war area. Great.

I stumbled to one of my guards --- why were they all protecting me? --- and asked, "What is going on here?"

"We're protecting you," the woman answered. She was a slightly overweigt brunette, with an oval shaped head. Of course. Deja Vu; I knew her somehow.

"I see that. Why?"

She remained quiet, shooting another attacking enemy soldier as an excuse to ignore me.

"Answer me!"

She sighed. "I can't tell you. Sorry."

"What is this army's vandetta?" I asked.

She quickly glanced at me. I think I understood.

"Why me? Why do they want me?"

"Long story, we'll talk later," she replied lamely, which annoyed me.

Convinced that I wouldn't be getting any answers, I awkwardly sat down cross-legged on the ground. It felt wrong, sitting down, when everyone else around me was risking their lives just to save me... But it was relieving to sit down, because of the soreness, which hasn't ebbed a bit; actually, it's only gotten worse, probably because of getting up.

More of the enemy soldiers came, and my circle of protectors defeated them with an onslaught of bullets.

Minutes passed, and just when I thought I might be stuck in this circle forever, something happened. Something bad.

Three of my guards --- two of them had arrived about two minutes ago to help out --- suddenly shot everyone else down. Among the three was the oval-headed woman, a middle-aged man clad in cowboy clothes, and an ominously sized African man. I was shocked, and taken aback by the sudden turn of events. Hopelessly, I got up and sprinted as fast as I could --- despite the pain --- towards the collapsed bridge. I was able to dodge the cowboy one, and I continued to run, each pace more painful than the last. Behind me, the cowboy ran toward me, but didn't shoot me. The other two were on his flanks.

Adrenaline high enough that I was able to ignore the pain, I curved around the ruins of the bridge, and made a beeline the streets, about ten yards away.

When I made it to the streets, I risked glancing back at the three. What I saw shocked me. About twenty soldiers were pursuing me, all with guns, but none shooting. Why not?

As I turned my head, I heard one shout, sounding exhausted, "Why can't we shoot her?"

"Because. She's a sleeper, and shooting would... Damn it! Just don't shoot her!" I recognized this voice as the black man's.

That sentence didn't make the least bit of sense. I'm a sleeper? What is that supposed to mean? And why did he cut-off mid-sentence? After a moment's thought, I realized why: They can't let me know. Of course. I can't know anything, it seems.

Ahead of me, there was nothing but rubble. I needed to think of a strategy... I needed to be able to hide, but, of course, I can't hide until everyone behind can't see me. All I needed to do was to get out of their sight for just one moment long enough for me to find a decent hiding place...

I quickly turned right onto the next street, and when I was sure they couldn't see me, I ran into one of remaining buildings. When I closed the door, I looked around the small home, and finally hid inside it's closet, engulfing myself in the clothes. It's a lame hiding place for hide-and-go-seek, in one house, maybe, but for an entire street, which I'm sure the soldiers will search thoroughly, it might do.

I couldn't hear anything from outside. No more gunfire, no more explosions. It could only mean one thing... Someone lost.

Hoping for the best, but expecting the worst, I closed my eyes and waited for my capture.

''I'm laying on a bed, and outside I hear shouting. Arguing. ''

''"I am so sick of that worthless kid!" a man shouts.''

"Honey, she's a nice girl. I like her. She's really talented," a woman compliments.

"At what? I haven't seen any talent from her."

"She has a creative mind. I've read her writing. She's a brilliant author."

"She's a writer on a fanfiction website! No one ever gets famous from those!"

"Are you saying she has to be famous to be our child?"

''The man's voice raises even higher, startling me. "No, I'm saying she's incredibly worthless, and unless she can do something worthwhile, I say we take her back!" I feel insulted. Tears resinate in my eyes. ''

''I strain to hear the next sentence. "She can hear you, Walter," the woman whispers. Well, that's an understatement.''

"I don't care! She has a right to know!"

"A right to know how awful you are?"

''The woman screams in pain. I can't help it anymore. I tried to be quiet, but the hurt is too much to hold in now. I start sulking, and the man storms in my room, his fist raised. I scream for help.''

I wake up screaming. When I realize where I am, why I'm under bundles of clothes, I cover my mouth. I wait for the soldiers to find me, to capture me, but minutes later, nothing happens. I wait a couple more minutes, and then I slowly and quietly get out of the closet. I tiptoe to the blinds, and peek through them.

Relief washes over me. Absolutely no one is on the street. I'm safe, for now.

Trying not to push my luck, I decide to stay in this small house for a while. The layout is simple. The front room has a small TV in the top-right corner of the room, with a tan couch against the other wall, and a matching chair beside it, the chair being slightly angled to face the TV. A fireplace resides on the left side of the wall, with chairs surrounding it, and a coffee table. One door leads to a simple bedroom with a bedside table and lamp, a closet (Which I had just finished hiding in), and a king-size bed. The other door leads to a bathroom. In the front room, there's an opening to the kitchen, with cupboards, a stove, a microwave, and a fridge. At the far-end of the kitchen sits a large white pantry stocked to the brim with food. Perfect.

This day ends on a good note, but it doesn't at all balance out everything else that has happened today.