The Void

Another day in London, crowds of people rushing to get to their destination, before it's too late. That meant another day at the factory. Charles, quite a tall young man in his 20's made his way down the filthy rotting streets. He was wearing a casual woollen blazer, pants fitted with old, black leather shoes and a red tie to finish. Many other males wore these outfits, including young boys. The stench coming from the streets was unbearable. He tried not to gag, but it was useless. Charles threw up about four times a day, on the way to work, and on the way back. It was awful.

About ten minutes of trekking the streets of London, Charles arrived at his destination. He sighed and looked at Big Ben. SHOOT! He was late. The sigh was long gone and was replaced with fear. He scurried inside, this was the fasted he'd ever run in his entire life.

He burst through the factory doors, and faced an angry manager. He gulped shakily. He looked behind his boss to see everyone's shocked faces. He hadn’t make it. An Over-looker forcefully yanked Charles by the arm, into another room. The Sargent was yelling at the co-workers. He tried to struggle free, but their grips tightened the more he tried.

Standing in the room, an eerie feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. This was unusual. If you were late, you were beaten then and there. Charles pondered for a moment.

Seconds later he heard screams. He tried to break free, but the guards held him firmly. The screams were deafening. Machines were being destroyed. His breath hitched. Silence filled the air. Opening his eyes, he didn’t realise he had closed, the atmosphere appeared different. It had a ghostly feel to it. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

They were gone. He was alone. The large metal door was swinging open. Confusion hit like a truck. Pushing his glasses up, stepping out the door he was met with an unusual smell. Blood. Cautiously, stepping into the main factory he almost threw up.

Everyone lay on the floor, their faces emotionless. Charles looked around bewildered. All of them. Every single person who was once working at the machines, now lay on the floor in a bloody heap. The deep red liquid oozed out of the gaping holes that covered their bodies. He swallowed the gigantic lump that seemed to have formed in his throat. His eyes gazed upon the far left wall on the other side of the factory.

There, written with the blood of his co-workers were the words "It's Not Over Yet". He swallowed slowly and looked around fearfully. Carefully, Charles made his way to the main entrance, and stepped into the outside world. He looked around, his head filled with sudden dizziness as he spun in a half circle. Another day in London, crowds of people rushing to get to their destination, before it's too late.

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