(Right now I’m not sure if this is going to be a short story, a novel, or a flop. We’ll just have to see)

He woke up later. Just his consciousness, not the rest of him. His body didn’t stir. Drugged. I’m drugged. What happened.
     He tried to open his eyes. They did, maybe. He felt like they did. But everything was still dark. I’m in a cell, he thought. No, I’m in a chair. A chair in a cell. His mind was putting things together too slowly. You’re drugged, he told himself. You’re not losing your mind it’s just – lost. You still remember your name? Elijah. That’s right. Elijah Burton.
He shook his head and tried to wake himself up.

“Don’t worry it will wear off in a few more minutes.”

His heart took a leap when he heard the voice, but he still couldn’t move. He heard footsteps. Then he opened his eyes.


The room was lit. The light almost blinded him at first. He went to rubbed his eyes, shocked by the light. His hands were clamped down by the wrist. But that wasn’t so terrible. It was the steel braces on his arms, across the back of his shoulders. They’ve pinioned my wings.
He looked around, blinking.

“What are you? The Correlation?” He asked, groggily. He looked over, trying to distinguish his company through the remaining blurs.

The man snorted.

“You should know by now that’s just a cover.”

Elijah looked over at him. He wore a white lab coat, glasses and sharply sheered grey hair. The man didn’t look very old. He was putting something away in a black case. Syringes.
Elijah looked down at his arm. A thin strip of white tape over gauze. I suppose they’ll be inspecting my bird blood.

The next moment the man picked up the case and went out. He closed the cell door. Elijah heard electronic beeps on the other side. The metal clamps slid back from his wrists.

He sat up and rubbed his face, shaking the last of the drug off him.

There wasn’t anything to discover in his surroundings, just a typical windowless block of a room. Nothing in there at all except another metal chair.

He looked up at the four corners of the room. He couldn’t see anything, but he doubted that they left the room un-surveyed. Whoever they are.

The man had said something to him. The Correlation. No. I said that. He said that that’s just a cover. A cover for what?

Obviously they thought he knew more than actually did.  Don did warn me about them, the Correlation. Some new science branch for the government. But it’s a cover.

He leaned back and looked up at the ceiling. His head was sore. Same with his back from the braces, his arms from them too. He wanted to tear them off.

So he tore off the tape instead. He threw it off the floor. The dab of blood looked strikingly red on the white gauze.

He looked up when the door opened. A man stood in the doorway, arms clasped behind him.

Neither of them spoke for a moment Elijah and the man in the doorway looked at each other, both regarding each other for the first time.

The man wore a black suite, black tie, white shirt. Dark hair too.

“Burton.” The man said. He still stayed in the doorway.

“Yes,” Elijah answered. “And you are?”

“My name is not relevant to this conversation.”

Elijah hoped for a more explanatory answered, though he wasn’t surprised. The man walked into the room. The door closed and locked.


Elijah let the man approach him. He wasn’t sure what he should do, though he knew what he could do. He watched the man go over and sit down on the chair.

“You know your plane wasn’t hit by accident,” he said.

“Yeah, I know,” Elijah returned. They shot it down for me. But I wasn’t the only one on it. “And you hoped I would survive.”

“We knew you would survive,” he corrected.

“How?” Elijah challenged. He turned in his chair and leaned forward.

“Burton, we are aware of your unique abilities. We are also aware that you have tried to keep them under cover. Evidently you weren’t ready to be turned on the loose. I can say I’m surprised they let you out at all.”

Elijah leaned forward even more now.

“Turned on the loose? Let out?” He paused, confused. “I’m not from the zoo, you know.”

“No. But we would like to know where.”

“North Carolina,” he answered.

“You were, until a year and a half ago,” the man corrected. Elijah sat back up.

One thought on “Raptor, 2

  1. Alp, I don’t know what you are going to become or what field of work you will be going into, but you must always write stories… characters, motivations, plots, fantasy, suspense…. Your writing is masterful. I don’t know if you know how good it really is. Whatever you do, don’t ever, ever stop writing…


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