I'm just this guy, you know?
To expand on that, I am also the following...
- A former ficly member who is 38 years old and is schizoaffective (depressive type)
- Into creating languages and fantasy worlds from scratch
- A listener of audiobooks & good tunes
- Always too hard on myself
The ooze reached the overall max limit for the container.
It could no longer be contained and I didn't know what to do next.
This could be a disaster in the making or a great scientific discovery or neither or both at the same time.
It was the luck of the draw that the containers didn't reach critical mass completely and start leaking out onto the laboratory floor in front of me.
There was no telling what any of that material might have on the human body, let alone the whole of reality.
We were into some "deep shit" as they put it, but then I also have no idea how deep. That wasn't a bit of information that they let us scientists in on. They kept as much secret as they could so "deep shit" was the extent of our knowledge for all intents and purposes.
It could've been anything, as far as we were concerned and not known any different. Containment was the only issues that we knew we had to be tight on and those levels had reached dangerously close to critical.
We had no idea what was to come.
No prequels yet. Why not write one?
No sequels yet. Why not write one?
Comments (0 so far!)
Author's prompt text:
- Published 5 years ago.
- Story viewed 2 times and rated 0 times.
All stories on Ficlatté are licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 License. What does this mean?