literature

'This Is Nobody Speaking'

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Literature Text

Washington DC is place of history where monuments sparkle in the open area known as the Washington Mall, and is place of power where one of the most powerful country's governments is centralized.  The crystal buildings and awesome skyscrapers provide a shocking experience to the new comers, and the busy streets will overload your senses.  People of all ethnicities, styles, and beliefs walk among one another.  Buildings of all shapes, sizes, and texture sit side by side, and the city seems to flow with harmony.

The Metropolitan Police Department is burdened with the job of protecting the people of the Washington District of Columbia, and this is a daunting task.  With homeless, drug dealers, and murderers this task is not only difficult but dangerous.  Calls come and go everyday, ranging from minor neighbor issues to drug deals and murders.  The caller everytime is in need of help, and they do their best to provide it.

Today, a call has come in, and a woman answers the black, office phone.  She is a one of the operators, and works in an office filled with computers.  Buttons flashing, screens flickering, modems beeping, the room is lit only by the screens and a small lamp hanging from the ceiling.  The walls are a dull, grey plaster and the floor is a cheap tile.  A steel door with a small window seperates the operator from the outside world in her information cacoon.  She speaks, "This is 911, what's your emergency?"

As if hesitating to answer, a calm yet grainy voice replies, "This is Nobody speaking, and I have an emergancy."

The operator is confused by the statement, "Excuse me sir, what's the emergancy?  What's your name?"

The voice continues as if ignoring the statement, "Inform the police chief that the hotel five blocks away has two suspects in relation to the marijuana bust two weeks ago.  They will be locked in on the first floor, in the right hallway, in the second room to the right.  Be there in no less than three minutes or you will scare them off.  Have a good day..."

The man hangs up, but the operator tries to get a response, "Hello... hello?  Are you still their?"  She switches her priority to relaying the message, and calls the police chief on the phone, "We have a suspicious call..." she continues, "the caller asked to arrive in no less than three minutes."

Meanwhile, the two drug dealers approach the hotel mentioned in the call, and stare at the closed building.  It was shut down a week ago due to forecloser, and boards now cover the windows, and cobwebs have formed on the wooden structure.  A worn white wood covers the exterior, while the entrance is a steel door that sits at the top of a cement four-step staircase.  The railings are black and the bars are shaped in the elegant design of a vine, but rust and cobwebs have dissolved its beauty.  Around four stories high, and five rooms long, the building is small, old, and rotting.  One of the men pulls out a note and reads it allowed to the other, just restating the address, "Well, I guess this is where he wants to meet us," he says.

The man reading the message is tall, thin, dark hair, brown eyes, white, and was wearing a beader and jeans.  The other was the same, but shorter, and more broad in stature.  The two stood outside with a lazy appearance, and spat on the ground from time to time.

Leading the other man, he walks up the steps and turns the metal door knob.  Slowly opening the door, their is a slight resistance, and he shoves the door open with his shoulder.  Unknowing to him, a fishing line was running across the doorway, and the forceful push had snapped the line.  Entering ignorant of the line, they slowly make their way to the center of what once was the lobby.  Arrows written in chalk pointed toward the other end, directly in front of them, and they followed the arrows slowly.  Becoming impatient, the first man yells, "Hey, you said you had drugs for us!  Come on out!"

Stopping at the other end, they pick up a note left on the ground, and the man reads it to his companion, "Wait for the clock to ring?  What the hell is that supposed to mean?"  Just a few seconds later a loud bang is heard from the left, and the floor boards explode thirty feet away.  The same happens back at the front door, and the explosions seem to creep toward them, to twenty-five feet, twenty, and so on.  Retreating down the right hall way, they sprint until the roof in front collapses, blocking their way.  Dodging into the open door two doors down on the left, the two hurry inside, and trip over another wire.  The wire causes the door to shut and lock behind them, and they rush back and pound on the door screaming for help as the explosions cease.  They pound and scream until a ring inside the room catches their attention.

The room is dusty and neglected, with old wooden floorboards, dusty oak furnature, and a queen sized bed with a flower spread in the center.  The only light in the room poked through the cracks of the boarded window, and illuminated the room enough for them to spot the cell phone ringing.  The man answers the phone as fast as he can, "Hello!?  Hello!?  We need help!"

The voice from the call to the police replies, "You are under arrest...  you have the right... remain silent... anything you say... can... and will be... used against you... in the court of law... you..."  He is interupted by the drug dealer, "Who the fuck are you man!?"

A small chuckle eminates from the cell phone, "Who am I?  Who am I?  I am Nobody.  Who are you?  Are you somebody?"  The dealer panics, "Shit man!  I ain't play'n wit you!  Let us the fuck out!"  He laughs again, "Trapped like a rat... without a hat... to keep dry... those wet eyes..."  The man interupts, "Shut up," but the voice continues unresponsive, "Don't cry my son...  soon it will be done."  And with those words, a crashing thud is heard from outside the room, and the dealers begin to panic and pound on the wooden door with fury.  Footsteps approach, and the two yell as loud as possible for help, and as the doorknob is smashed off outside, the dart through the doorway into the clutches of the policemen waiting outside.  Throwing them against the wall, they respond in a rather suprising manner by thanking the them, "Thank you!  Thank you!  The son of a bitch is crazy!"

Entering the room, an officer spots the cell phone and picks it up, "Hello?"  A breath can be heard in the background and the officer asks again, "Who is this?"

The voice responds, "I am Nobody," and almost with sorrow he continues, "I am dead," and hangs up.  The officer looks at the cell phone, and closes it as she walks out the door.  Meanwhile, another officer yells from inside another room down the left hallway, "I need some help over here!"

The others rush to through the hallway, and make a hard left into the third room down, and stop next to the officer.  They all stare down at the wood floor in shock, and one of the officers covers their face.  A woman lies facedown with her hands tied behind her back, executed, with her son to her left with the same done to him.  Their bodies have slightly decayed, and a gutrenching odor fills the room.  The officers exit as their radios blare the message of the newly discovered homicide, and they walk out the door as reinforcements arrive.

Meanwhile, Captain James MacDonald sits in his leather chair as he fills out a file.  His desk is mostly metal, with metal drewers, and a red oak top.  A small lamp at the top right of his desk is turned on and illuminates the file, while casting a shadow over a family photo at the top of his desk.  Well built, white, black hair, brown eyes, some stubble, and wearing a white formal shirt, black tie, and black dress pants, he sits filling out the file.  His shoes are black, cheap, and worn, but in contrast he wears a gold chain around his neck, with an object hanging from it hidden under his clothes.

An officer walks by his desk, and drops another file on the table, and he stops writing.  Looking at the file, he opens the manilla folder, and begins to read.  A picture of the crime scene shows the mother and son lying on the wooden floor of the hotel, and shows the weird traps that riddled the building.  Fishing wire, bombs, and pullies were photographed, and their aftermath was as well including the holes in the ground.  Looking at the photos in shock, he jaw hangs slightly open as he rubs his cheek with his free hand.  Throwing his pen down, he grabs his coat and rushes out to the crimescene.

Upon arrival, the once dead street was now full of excitement with flashing lights, officers, and a crowd of onlookers.  Exiting the unmarked mustang, he ducks under the caution tape that blocks the steps, and enters the building.  Looking around, he watches the investigators hurry around the complex, and stares in a daze at the activity.  Hist trance is broken by his cell phone ringing.  Answering it, he speaks, "Captain MacDonald..."

Interupting, Nobody speaks, "MacDonald... now that's an Irish name."
I thought I'd work on a mystery story, so enjoy! Nothing like a psychopath who is framed for a crime he didn't commit. I think you'll learn to like "Nobody".
© 2010 - 2024 SH9DOW
Comments3
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PuppetsPoisonInk's avatar
Critique- I rate from 1-10, 10 is the best.

Base: 6
I like the idea of this piece. The mostly invisible Nobody is definitely cool. However, this concept is a bit of a cliché, as are the drug dealers.

Style: 4
I've definitely noticed some awkward wording, spelling mistakes and grammar issues. I would suggest re-reading and fixing where there are run-ons and the aforementioned issues. I would also suggest reading to find things that you could take out without hurting the story. For example, your first sentence could be changed to a bunch of little sentences that are easier on the eyes and add emphasis: Washington DC is a place of history. Monuments of past wars and victories sparkle in the open area known as the Washington Mall. It is a place of power, where one of the most powerful country's government is located.

You also describe settings and characters too much for my personal tastes. At the beginning, your prose was refreshing, but it gets a bit dull to have to you just tell us what everything is. Every character and setting doesn't have to be told, let the reader use their imagination!

Execution: 5

Your plot is a bit cliché. Your formatting is also a bit offputting at times. I was a bit confused about why Nobody was doing this, and he didn't really feel like a psycopath to me. The pacing was pretty decent, though.

Impact: 2

Ultimately, I wasn't impacted. This definitely has enormous potential, and I loved the ending line. :)

Overall- 5.5

Again, I see enormous potential. When you edit and rewrite, just keep awkward phrasing and character motive in mind.