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Ravanna's Writing > (A book) Personal Hell.

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message 1: by Ravanna Dee (last edited Sep 05, 2015 12:15PM) (new)

Ravanna Dee (ravannadee) Okay I'm working on this new story. About this girl who is trapped in her own mind. And she has to live in her own personal hell. Solitude. Being alone. You get the point? Anyway she was forced into a government program, called the "Personal Hell," where the government monitor's there process. She is one of the ten guinea pig's that are stuck in the program. She and a guy [don't have the names for them yet.] search for a way to escape. There's some romance, action, and lots of suspense. Do you think it would be a good story for me to do?


message 2: by Ravanna Dee (last edited Aug 14, 2015 01:32PM) (new)

Ravanna Dee (ravannadee) Prologue.

Three months. That's how long I've been stuck on this island. This hell hole. Tired. Hungry. Cold. Scared. Alone. Ninety two days of scavenging for scraps of food. Being burned by the roasting sun. Sleeping under palm leafs to protect myself from the harsh weather. But the worst, I've spent ninety-two days, alone. That means 2,208 hours of isolation. 2,208 hours of talking to no one but myself. 2,208 hours of loneliness. Emptiness.
At first I tried not to think about it. But on a deserted island, with the facts repeatedly smacking me in the face, It proves rather difficult. So instead, I decided to do only that. Think about it. To just repeat the facts over and over to myself. "I'm on an island. I don't know how I got on the island. My names is Marissa. I'm sixteen years old. I'm an orphan. I'm alone."
In a way it keeps me sane. Allowing me to remember whats real and whats not. So I just repeat these six things to myself over and over again. Reminding myself.
Sometimes when the silence feels like to much. I sing. Clap my hands. Scream. Anything to fill the empty air. The silence on this island is unnatural. The waves make no sound as they crash onto the burning sand. The fire doesn't even make a crackling sound as the wood burns. Birds do not squawk. There are no animals, or snapping twigs in the darkest of the night's. No anything. Just me and a soundless island.

As I lay down on the ruff palm leafs. Shifting my weight onto my back. Looking up towards the star filled sky. With its bright twinkling lights and endless miles of emptiness. I sigh. At least there's one thing on this lonely island that feels the same way as I. I try to count the stars. Find shapes in them. A heart. A bird. A lions paw. As I search out shapes in the stars my eyes start to drop. My vision swirls. I fall into a dark, dreamless, sleep.

My eyes rip open. My heart starts to pound. I sit up so quickly my head spins. But that's not what bothered me. I heard something. A noise. Voices! I look around the island. But I see and hear nothing. It's still dark. I couldn't have been sleeping longer then an hour or two. But I know, with an absolute accuracy, that I heard voices. It wasn't my mind playing tricks on me. I just know it. I get up and search the small island for an hour before I finally decide to lay back down. I'm feeling so many emotions. Confusion, over how I got here in the first place. Anger, towards the silence. Restlessness, from waiting. Hopelessness, with the fact that I might never get off this stupid Island. Worry, for my sanity. But the worst and most painful of them all. Is the loneliness. If I have to go another day without seeing or hearing another living thing. I will end it.
My breathing slowly goes back to normal. My heart's not pounding into my lungs anymore. And I'm just about to fall back into the dark sleep, when I see the stars. Or rather no stars. There is not one star in the sky. Its empty. Desolate. Its just a black hole. Leading nowhere, but everywhere at the same time. My heart is in my throat. Choking me. I barely get out my gasp.
Voices and now this?
Now I know, somethings wrong. More wrong then usual.
A light. So bright and so blinding fills the dark starless sky. Shadows dance in it. Sweeping across my vision. And then I hear it. Machines. Voices. Feet shuffling. Everything comes back to me, and I wake.


message 3: by Sorarin (new)

Sorarin | 569 comments yesyes


message 4: by Ravanna Dee (new)

Ravanna Dee (ravannadee) Thanks. So do you think I should continue on with it?


message 5: by [deleted user] (new)

YES! I'M HANGING ON THE Chandelier!(Figure of Speech)


message 6: by Ravanna Dee (new)

Ravanna Dee (ravannadee) Well, I would hope so. Cause hanging on a chandelier while typing would have been quite difficult. :P


message 7: by Ravanna Dee (new)

Ravanna Dee (ravannadee) And thanx!!!!


message 8: by Ravanna Dee (last edited Aug 27, 2015 08:27AM) (new)

Ravanna Dee (ravannadee) Chapter one:The failed escape.

My eyes pop open. It wan't real! That's the one thing I keep repeating silently to myself. An illusion. Fake. It wasn't real. Just like all the other times. All the other simulations I've been in. The island was fake. Created to torture me. Scare me. And it worked.
I'm sitting on a hospital bed. Or rather strapped to the hospital bed. Doctors scurry around me, mumbling to themselves. And making notes on our process.
I try to stay still, hoping they wont notice I'm a wake. My head hurts. And I can feel the tubes that are lodged into my arms. Some are for food, and water. Others are to fill me with the serum that puts me into a state where I have to live in my own personal hell. That's what the government calls the program. "Personal Hell"
Sometimes I think the men who created the serum actually laughed when they came up with the name.
Other times I wonder why they would take ten orphaned teenagers, to experiment on when they had a project called that in the first place.
After a few minutes I scramble up some courage, and slowly turn my head to look around the room. Nine other hospital beds are squished together. Like sardines in a can. They are all asleep. I'm the only one awake. Five girls and five boys. We all look the same with our blue and pink bed sheets, and how we all have tubes sticking out of our arms. Some even have tubes in their mouth to help them breath. Thankfully I'm not one of them.
I'm not like most of them in more ways then one.
I must have given some kind of sign, because one of the doctors closest to me calls out, "She's awake!" So I decided to just drop the act, and turn towards her. She looks to be in her late twenty's with her pencil skirt and red lipstick. I glare at her.
"I can't believe it!" She says in exasperation. "You have woken up twelve times in the last six months." She look's at me curiously like I'm some kinda bug under a scope. I shiver. Because here that's all I am. They even call me by my code number instead of my name. M48. It stand for 'Marissa, fourth girl and eighth member of the Personal hell project.' I even have it tattooed on my right collarbone. Fun right?
She starts to pull out my tubes and hang them up. The entire time the other doctors all hover around my bed poking and prodding me. Trying to find out how, out of all these kids I'm the only one that seems to continue waking up.
A few of them have waken up three or even four times in the last six months. But I have been able to wake up twelve. When they ask, I just say nothing at all. But the truth is I do know.
It's like when you have your bedroom all put together, and stuff then someone comes in a moves something around, and you know that somethings off but you just can't place it?
It's like that.
When I'm in the simulation I know that somethings off, and then there's only a matter of time till I find it. And escape.
But I don't tell them this. I try to find joy in the small things around here. Where everything is white and painful. And I guess watching them struggle to find out what's wrong with me, can be a little humorous.
After the doctor's are done one of them calls out, "Bring M48 to her room." And when they say room, they mean cell. A bright, cold, empty cell. A place to keep me in, while they reset the area for the simulation. As one of the other doctors begins to follow the instruction, by pulling off the straps that secure me to the chair, I wait. Wait until the straps have completely been pulled off me. Wait until the doctor leads me to the large, white, push, door. Wait until we are down the hallways, heading too my cell. Then right when I see it, the emergency exit door, do I attack. I rip my arm from the surprised doctor, and punch him. Right in the nose. I loud "Pop" echoes threw the empty hallway. Blood starts to pore out of his old wrinkly nose. And as he reaches with his bony hands to stop it, do I start to run. I run for the door. I run to escape. I run for my freedom. My heart starts to pick up, as my bare feet slap the tiled floor. My lunges start to burn. My breathing starting to falter as I make my way down the long hallway. My body not used to the excursion sense it's been in a hospital bed for most of the last six months. But I don't slow. I don't stop to take a breath. I don't even turn to see if they are after me. It's just me and that exit door. Me and my beating heart. Me and my freedom.
When I'm nothing more then ten feet from the door. I smile, I might actually make it! I let my hope numb my senses. Because I don't hear the feet that catch up to me or the voices that yell stop. It wasn't until someone's hand clasped around my upper arm that I realize I wont make it. I struggle to lose the strong arm that captures me. Fighting dirty, I get a few good kicks, and some great elbow shots. But more and more men join us and it becomes harder and harder to fight. Finally, one of the men get's so sick of my struggle, he takes out his taser. The pain is fast and blinding. The electricity zooms through my whole body lighting all my nerves on fire. I convulse, and the men pick me up easily now.
As they carry my pathetic body back to my cell, I manage to peek over one of their shoulders. I watch as the red exit door disappear. As my one chance at freedom slowly slips through my fingers. I let a single tear fall down my face, just as my eyes start to close. And the white world goes black again.


message 9: by Ravanna Dee (new)

Ravanna Dee (ravannadee) Okay so now what do you think? Continue?


message 10: by [deleted user] (new)

YES! *on the edge of the chandelier*


message 11: by Ravanna Dee (new)

Ravanna Dee (ravannadee) I was rereading it and I found some things that I could have changed or added [mainly towards the beginning] but I'm to tired tonight to do it... lol!


message 12: by Ravanna Dee (new)

Ravanna Dee (ravannadee) Oh, and thanks Shine for checking it out.


message 13: by [deleted user] (new)

You're Welcome!


message 14: by Ravanna Dee (last edited Aug 28, 2015 06:00PM) (new)

Ravanna Dee (ravannadee) Chapter two: Gabe.

I have been siting here, with my legs drawn to my chest. In a 55 degree cell, on this thin, hard cot. For eight hours. Nine. Ten. There is no clock. But I'm aware of the hours. Why? Because in a cold cell, with blinding white lights, and nothing else but my cot and a screwed down toilet to accompany me, I count. I count the hours, the days, the seconds, the feet between me and the blank wall I'm facing. Everything and anything I can. But between counting, and the simulations I forced into, I also plan. I plan my escape. The day I will finally be able to get out of here. This cold, empty room. The merciless doctors and the painful government project. I plan, count, plan, count, eat a little, and start all over again. That and the project have been my life for the last six months. I haven't spoken a word in five months, three weeks and two days. I had no use for my voice when I learned that they wouldn't answer any of my questions. So I stopped answering there's.
My cell is seven by eight feet. The locked door is six feet and seven inches tall. I only get two meals a day, one in the morning and one before bed. I see no one, while I'm sitting in this cell.
The pain and electricity from the taser had already worn off before I woke. And now as I sit, I morn my failed attempt at escaping. But I don't cry. I wont allow them the satisfaction of knowing they broke me. I can't. So I sit, and keep counting. Pushing aside my loneliness and bitterness, I wait.

The door creaks and my eyes fly open. Panic fills my empty stomach, but I try, with success, to not let it cross my sharp features.
"Good morning, M48." I male doctor says as he opens the door the rest of the way. He looks to be in his mid-forties with graying hair and a pointy nose.
"How are you today?" I say nothing. He and I stare each other down, both unwilling to give up first. When he finally breaks eye contact, he writes something down on the clipboard that rests in his small hands. I'm curious of what he writes but I still say nothing.
He looks at me for 22 seconds before letting out a large sigh that seems to shake his entire body.
"Six months!" His lips are pinched with annoyance. "You haven't said anything in six months!" I don't correct him, and say that I really haven't said anything in five months, three weeks and two days. But I want to.
Three more minutes pass before he says anything else.
"Well then...Since it seems like a waste of time to ask anymore questions, I have a surprise for you." Fear coils through my stomach, and crawls up my throat. Threatening to choke me. Do they plan on killing me because of my refusal to talk? Or worse. Do they wan't to set me back into the simulation without even giving me the required time of break? Thoughts, so many terrible thoughts of what they plan to do with me, spin through my mind. And I'm on the break of hysteria, about to drop to my knees and beg the forty or so man that stands in front of me with a smile. When out of nowhere, someone else walk into the room.
He's around my age, with brown, cold eyes. A strong jaw, and crooked nose. His top lip is slightly bigger then the bottom. And as he stares at me, it slowly lifts above his crooked, white teeth, in a snarl.
He's also one of the orphans in the "Personal Hell" project. I gape at him, more in shock then in fear. I haven't seen any of the other ten orphans wake up since I got here. Only ever hearing about the occasional times they did from the doctors.
"Since we only have two rooms for you all, and the boys chamber was..eh..is not in use..."The doctor says tumbling over his words. "...and you both decided to wake up around the same time, you will have to share your living quarters for the next few days, until the simulations are ready for you again." The doctor says it like it's perfectly normal for this to happen. Even gives us a smile, saying that it will be nice for us to discuss our experiences in the simulations. As if this is all just some game. Never, in my entire life have I wanted to punch someone so bad. How can anyone, even a doctor for goodness sake, think that it would be a wise decision to put two hungry, angry, and slightly crazy teens together in the same room. Especially with one that must weigh twice the others size and is glaring with open hatred.
I'm astonished.
I'm still gaping like an idiot, when the doctor finally finishes his speech. My mouth then closes with a snap, when he turns to the boy, standing in front of me, and say's. "G26, meet M48." Then turns to me and extends his hand between us. "And M48, meet your temporary roommate, G26."
G26, stares at me. and I stare right back. While his nostrils flare and his brown eyes stay narrowed. My face remains blank. Empty.
Two minutes, pass. Then three. But we continue to stare at each other, while the doctor stares at us and scribbles on his clipboard. After a whole five minutes have passed. The doctor declares that he has to get other stuff done and leaves the cell, with a resounding click as the door closes.
Still we stare. Stare. Stare.
Nothing happens, and neither of us move. Then he does something I never expected. He says with a surprisingly soft voice.
"The G stands for Gabe." Then he walks over to the cot I hadn't noticed was dragged into the room, and sits down. Still I just stare.
Gabe I repeat his name in my head. Wondering why a guy can go from angry and cruel to soft and willing, in just moments. He turns his head back to me and asks me what the M in M48 stands for. But still I say nothing. I do nothing other then chant his name in my head like a soundless tape recorder, that has fallen once to many. Gabe. Gabe. Gabe.
Once he realizes that I don't plan on saying anything, he just shrugs and says, "Fine then, don't give me your name. We will be trapped in this hell hole for a few days anyway. I'm sure you will tell me it later." Then he lays his heads on his hard cot, and closes his brown eyes.
And I think about what he says as I slowly do the same. He's right, We will be trapped in this cell for a few days. Together. Alone.
I don't know if this Gabe guy is trust worthy. Or what he plans to do while we sit here. But instead of worrying about all the terrible things that could happen to me behind that closed door, I only seem to be able to repeat two things to myself. One. I'm no longer alone. Two. I'm no longer alone because of a guy named Gabe.


message 15: by Ravanna Dee (last edited Sep 05, 2015 01:03PM) (new)

Ravanna Dee (ravannadee) I know, that last chapter was kinda rushed and all over the place, So I'm sorry for that. And I don't yet know if I really want to carry on with this story....


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