Something To Do With The Telling Of Time
Malcolm Rabbit awakens every day the same way, he has his morning routine and sits in his favorite chair with a cup of tea. But all around him are strange faceless furs who supposedly live with him though he knows none of their names, nor does he know where they sleep, eat or drink. His life becomes less and less routine each day lately, and this frightens him. What is going on and who are these faceless, nameless furs? Experience the paranoia in Something To Do With The Telling Of Time.
Something To Do With The Telling Of Time By: Kire-Kitsune
Day ? Malcolm Rabbit awoke as he always did. In a hazy, dream tinged daily routine, (Though he was not sure if he had dreamed that night or had ever dreamed at all.) he would rise from his bed, slip on his cruelly chosen bunny slippers, brush his teeth with his strawberry flavored toothpaste that did not taste of strawberries and drink a warm cup of tea in hislime green chair beside the television. this process would take anywhere from 15 minutes to 30 minutes, with variation based on the interim events between any given activity in the routine. As he sat, the other members of the household produced themselves from behind the veil of their own routines, of which malcolm knew little. In fact, the other members of the household remained unknown despite constant contact, their faces and bodies blurry as if in constant motion. They spoke to him often, though Malcolm could rarely make sense of these exchanges, finding his own words strange and oddly unthought of prior to their audible existence. "Were you a brunette once?" The blur across from him sitting in the bright red chair queried. "twice before, but not the last." Malcolm responded, not understanding his own words. "I hope we get there soon." He stated, a solemn and monotone tinge to the young, boyish voice. "It has something to do with the telling of time," Malcolm responded, only half finished with the sentence. He remembered uttering this often, though the meaning was lost to him. He could never quite grasp the second half of the sentence, as if it were in limbo between his mind and his throat. The boy got up, walking off to presumably speak to the similarly blurred individuals that often crowded around the Yellow Phone. Malcolm had tried to ignore the Yellow Phone as it bothered him. He did not know why, it simply did. Every day, at twelve O' clock, the phone rang. It was 11:59 at this very moment. Tick. Tick. Tick. Please don't ring. Tick. Tick. Please, please don't ring. Tick. Please, Please, Please, Please... RING! RING! RING! RI- The Yellow Phone was picked up by none other than Malcolm himself, who found himself out of his lime green chair and holding the Yellow Phone near his right ear, which always sat higher than the left. The voice came then, a strange, deep voice that spoke in frank, blatant tones. "It is still raining," It began. Malcolm remained silent. "I am afraid you cannot come out yet." The voice was emotionless and genderless. "The flooding has been getting better, however. TheR???????S will come soon enough." The voice hung up. malcolm felt relieved that the voice had gone. He walked back to his lime green chair and sat, dead set on enjoying his tea.
Day ?? Malcolm Rabbit awoke as he always did. In a hazy, dream tinged daily routine, (Though he was not sure if he had dreamed that night or had ever dreamed at all.) he would rise from his bed, slip on his cruelly chosen bunny slippers, brush his teeth with his strawberry flavored toothpaste that did not taste of strawberries and drink a warm cup of tea in his lime green chair beside the television. this process would take anywhere from 15 minutes to 30 minutes, with variation based on the interim events between any given activity in the routine. The blurred people walked about manically today, looking out of the windows beside the door. Outside it rained perpetually, a state for which Malcolm knew no alternative state. The boy blur, as he often did, sat in the bright red chair across from Malcolm. "Do you think I was always a rabbit?" He queried. "I think I am." Malcolm responded honestly, he felt, despite it's lack of relevance. The boy blur was quiet for a moment, a break from tradition and routine. this, for some reason, unsettled Malcolm. "...The rain is going to stop in three days. But not for everyone." His voice seemed off, lacking it's usual monotone. It was a little more lively, varied. Malcolm stood up suddenly, his tea smashing to the red andgreen rug that surrounded his lime green chair. "it can't. It always rained. You were lying just then." His voice was accusatory and loud. The other blurs now stood in a ring about them, standing stilted and wavering. "????????????????." One said in aggreemant with the boy blur. "????????????." Another concurred. "??????????????????????." As did another, "???????." And another. The boy blur spoke up again, this time the old, routinely monotone voice. "I hope we get there soon." "It has something to do with the telling of time," malcolm said, uncertain of his words once more. He backed away from the blurs slowly, and then- RING! RING! RING! RI- The Yellow Phone was picked up by none other than Malcolm himself, who found himself out of his lime green chair and holding the Yellow Phone near his left ear, which always sat lower than the right. The voice came then, a strange, deep voice that spoke in frank, blatant tones. "It's still raining," Malcolm remained silent, reluctantly. "I am afraid you cannot come out yet." The voice was emotionless and genderless. In the background a faint rapping could be heard, and the rustling of the phone. Muffled voices conferred in strange tongues. "????????" One voice asked. "????????,???????????." The speaking voice answered matter of factly. "???." One voice responded despondantly. "The flooding has been getting better, however. The R???????S will come soon enough." Malcolm could not hold his tongue as he had so many times before, his voice grew higher than anytime it had before. "Who in the hell are these R???????S?! You can't keep bothering me like this-what have I done to deserve this? WHAT?!" He breathed in deeply, trying to catch his breath. The voice was silent, followed by a click. The voice had hung up.
Day ??? Malcolm Rabbit awoke as he always did. In a hazy, dream tinged daily routine, (Though he was not sure if he had dreamed that night or had ever dreamed at all.) he would rise from his bed, slip on his cruelly chosen bunny slippers, brush his teeth with his strawberry flavored toothpaste that did not taste of strawberries and drink a warm cup of tea in his lime green chair beside the television. this process would take anywhere from 15 minutes to 30 minutes, with variation based on the interim events between any given activity in the routine. Today, however, it had taken him 45 minutes. for fifteen of those minutes, he had stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. His face was clear, his eyes red as they had always been, his nose pink and his teeth white. But something felt amiss, something he could not identify. His tea had upset his stomach today, causing him to pour it out. The boy blur did not sit in the brightred chair across him today, for which Malcolm was relieved. The clock ticked by, annoyingly, maddeningly. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick Tick. 11:59 Tick. Tick. Tick. Please don't ring. Tick. Tick. Please, please don't ring. Tick. Please, Please, Please, Please... 12:00 Tick. Tick. Tick. No call. Suddenly, all activity in the house had ended, as all the blurs continued to stare at the Yellow Phone. Except for the boy blur, who now sat in front of the door, staring up at it. he spoke quietly, almost inaudibly. "I hope we get there soon." And Malcolm, staring at the boy blur, speaking out of routine, said: "It has something to do with the telling of time,"
Day ???? Malcolm did not awake as he always had. He walked down the hallway to the living room slowly. He had been walking for nearly an hour, it felt like. The hallway kept winding and winding. As he marched on, his rabbit tail swaying gently with his movement, the blurred faces of his fellow housemates were set within the wall. Their heads watched him, tracked him. They moved slowly as he walked by, their mosaic faces staring unblinkingly. He paid them no mind, continuing on his march. Suddenly, he stopped. At the archway to the living room stood the boy blur. He spoke with that lively voice once more, holding up the YellowPhone. "The man in the Green suit called." Malcom stared at him with a deep feeling of irritation and fear. "Why do I have to talk to him?" he queried. the blurred faces all stood behind him now, closely. "Because it is important." The boy answered stiffly. "What is important?" Malcolm asked, worry in his voice. "Ask him." The boy blur offered. Reluctantly, malcolm took the Yellow Phone, holding the phone near his right ear, which always sat higher than the left. The voice came then, a strange, deep voice that spoke in frank, blatant tones. "Tomorrow is your last day." malcolm was silent. "However, I am afraid that the others cannot come out yet." the blurred faces stepped back quietly, dissapointment hung in the air. "The rain is clearing up." The voice said. "But why me? Why can't they go instead? Why...why me?" "because the rain is clearing up." the voice said. "The R???????S will come tomorrow." "What are the Recievers?" Malcolm asked, then suddenly, he heard it. He heard himself say it. Recievers. The voice hung up, as per usual. As per routine. Malcolm looked to the boy blur, and uttered gently: "I don't want to go tomorrow." And the boy blur responded: "It has something to do with the telling of time," Malcolm cried.
Day ????? Malcolm awoke in his lime green chair. Looking about himself he saw that he was naked, which rather than invoke panic felt natural and fitting. A feeling he had rarely felt invoked. He felt more...clear than before. As if he had come in from a good, soaking rain. The other blurs were nowhere to be found, except for one. The boy blur who, as was formarly routine, sat across from him in the bright red chair. Today, however, malcolm asked him a question. "What was your name?" The boy blur shrugged, smiling. Smiling. "Elias, once. Before that, i think it was Klaus. But after the one after Elias, it was Ramnda." "I can see your...your face." It was the face of a young rabbit, just like malcolm. "And yours I can see as well." It was the face of a young rabbit, just like Elias. Malcolm looked out the window. It was clear outside. "How...how did you know it would stop raining?" Malcolm queried. Elias looked at the clock, which had just struck 12:00. "It has something to do with the telling of time," Elias started, and then, in a moment of clarity, Malcolm finally finished the statement. "...And one must simply wait for their time to be told." He smiled, a first for him. A knocking came at the door, and Malcolm found himself answering it. As it opened, for a split second, he glimpsed a large man in a green suit, his head blocked by the top of the door frame. Then, suddenly-
The room went dark.
**A scream, violent and brutal cut the silence- a shredding, wrending sound. Existence ceased, and the screaming continued in the writhing dark like hell was tearing itself apart.
A thought, strange and distant, sounded.**
**Malcolm.
Malcol.
Malco.
Malc.
Mal.
Ma.
M.
.
E.
El.
Eli.
Elia.
Elias.
Day 1 Light returned, and Elias was surrounded by light and** white, fuzzy fur. He felt cold and hungry, and all he could remember was a faint, blurry image of a boy with whom he had shared a namesake. And then, it was lost. Something to do with the telling of time...