Can you finish this classic sci-fi story?
Michael
65

“Four days, six hours”. Sale had continued to repeat to himself. Beginning at a low decibel and building up to high powered screams. His mind was going and starting to loose its hold on reality. The warriors lead their armies closer and closer as if it was a siege against his last grip on sanity.

Before, the voices were only that, voices, but in a state of bare conciseness the hallucinations began to take a serious tole. Subtle at first he could see the armies at a distance lead by the War Lords to reek havoc against each other and the land, but as each minute built into another hour the visions were creeping into the area in which his ships remains lay scattered. Were Iorr and Tylle so close to claiming Sale’s mind that they had actually penetrated his vision? Or was the battle for his mind really that close to claiming him.

“Four days, 9 hours!” A raspy yell echoed between the rocks. Leonard was loosing his voice faster than his mind. He knew it had to be over soon. The battle appeared at mere 100 yards and quickly gaining on his position. If only he had someone else to talk to besides himself and the demons in his head. Demons they had to be. No entity he knew of could turn a man insane the way they had. “What if they had no body or mind to claim?” Sale said out loud. His hand still gripping the handle of his gun. “How would a bullet fuel your battlefield Iorr! I’ll end us all and that will be true end to this!” He shouted with a crackled, air deprived holler. This idea was the only one he had left. He attempted to reposition himself but the attempt left him laying on the ground. So comfortable the sand was between the rocks he thought. His gun lay a few feet from him now. He welcomed death even though it was far away without his own doing.

Sale had gone far longer than an hour after he first conceived the idea to truly end himself entered his thoughts. His hope was gone. The ship would arrive in more than 24 hours and the crew would find him dead, bullet wound to the head, or MIA. Either in his mind or truly hidden from the eyes of a rescue party. It was when he was having his final thoughts did he realize the war going on in plain sight had ceased. No bodies, no blood, no trace. The voices ceased as well. ‘Was it over?” He thought, “Can I sleep?” For the first time in days he felt he was alone, and he loved the thought. Just as the comfort warmed his bones, a chilling idea came to him. The voices were coaxing him to sleep. He hadn’t heard them in hours, it had to be a plot to lure him into the true depths of their ownership for his mind. That was all he could take, he used the last ounce of mental and physical strength to grab his pistol and cock the hammer. “Let’s see you fight over a corpse now you wretched monsters.” As he pulled the trigger a loud and final clash of metal and bone took place on Planetiod 787.

First it was black. Blacker than any man could perceive. Then blinding white, and finally as Leonard lay with his gun in his hands and still alive he saw he was in a large dome shaped room. Not able to move but he could see he was now not on an alien planet but somewhere man made. The roof and walls of the dome were covered with large whites tiles and the floor made of ridged foam. A booming voice came overhead, “Private Sale, we are pleased to confirm our study on the human mind and capabilities on Experiment 787. You did remarkably well private. For now you are sedated with a non psychoactive compound, so don’t stress, temporary paralysis is an acute side effect. You administered the compound yourself which halted the test of 787. You will remain in the medical ward for a couples of days, then we will debrief you on the results of your test run. Once again well done Leonard.”

Just like that it was over. No more battle, no more voices other then on the loud speaker, and no more crashed ship. It was a test. An experiment on a chemical that kept a human awake for days and caused immense amount of verbal psychosis. This chemical would be used for war against mankind; synthesized by mankind. Even though the battle in Leonard’s mind was fictional, the battle for humanity’s last call waged on. Soon there would be no winner. Only a species lost in the confines of its own mind and doomed to repeat the history of war.

One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.