"c121" - читать интересную книгу автора (Burt Andrew - Noontide Night)

10:32 A.M, Friday, January 14, 2000
Manukau, New Zealand

Desiree silently nudged Morgan with an elbow. He woke from his slight doze sitting in the movie theater's seat and rubbed at his cramped legs and back. Desiree nudged him again, and passed him the pen and scrap of paper that served as the hostages' covert means of keeping in touch with each other. The guards had pistol whipped everyone who'd tried to talk. Someone had found a pen under their seat, and someone else had found some trash paper to write on. They passed this around, writing whatever clever thoughts they could to amuse each other. So far the guards hadn't noticed. The theater was lit with flickering, stinky oil lamps, as if it were a Babylonian palace of thousands of years past. As one note on the paper had said, if it weren't necessary for the guards to see the prisoners to watch them, they'd be in the dark; thank heaven for small things. Other consoling thoughts filled the paper in small writing. Some people quoted bits of the bible they could remember. Others wrote in jokes, their punchlines on the back numbered so readers would know which kicker went with which. Morgan took the paper and pen from Desiree. She held onto it, her fingernail underneath and pointing to one of the reusable phrases on the paper, well dented from similar pointing. "I love you." She smiled confidently. Morgan took the paper and pointed to the phrase beneath it. "I love you too." He held onto the paper uncertainly. His brain felt numb. Per protocol, it was acceptable to keep the paper as long as you wanted. Thinking up something interesting to say was all that kept them from madness.

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Chapter 12.1

10:32 A.M, Friday, January 14, 2000
Manukau, New Zealand

Desiree silently nudged Morgan with an elbow. He woke from his slight doze sitting in the movie theater's seat and rubbed at his cramped legs and back. Desiree nudged him again, and passed him the pen and scrap of paper that served as the hostages' covert means of keeping in touch with each other. The guards had pistol whipped everyone who'd tried to talk. Someone had found a pen under their seat, and someone else had found some trash paper to write on. They passed this around, writing whatever clever thoughts they could to amuse each other. So far the guards hadn't noticed. The theater was lit with flickering, stinky oil lamps, as if it were a Babylonian palace of thousands of years past. As one note on the paper had said, if it weren't necessary for the guards to see the prisoners to watch them, they'd be in the dark; thank heaven for small things. Other consoling thoughts filled the paper in small writing. Some people quoted bits of the bible they could remember. Others wrote in jokes, their punchlines on the back numbered so readers would know which kicker went with which. Morgan took the paper and pen from Desiree. She held onto it, her fingernail underneath and pointing to one of the reusable phrases on the paper, well dented from similar pointing. "I love you." She smiled confidently. Morgan took the paper and pointed to the phrase beneath it. "I love you too." He held onto the paper uncertainly. His brain felt numb. Per protocol, it was acceptable to keep the paper as long as you wanted. Thinking up something interesting to say was all that kept them from madness.


back | next home