The Waiting Game

Suddenly you jerk awake. You sit for a moment, eyes closed, before groaning and reaching for the coffee pot on the desk in front of you. As you gulp down the lukewarm liquid, your eyes travelled over the all-to-familiar surroundings.

Three months! Three months you have been trapped in this hovel. You have grown to loathe the moulding floor, the grotty walls, the lumpy chair. You hate the cobbled-together equipment, the coffee stained desk, the smell of damp, lingering in the air.

You pour another cup. That's another thing, the coffee is always cold. Grimacing as you choke down the foul stuff, your eyes flick to the screen perched in front of you. Instantly, you are more awake than any amount of coffee could make you.

Something is moving.

The End

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