Does anyone else remember those "Choose Your Own Adventure" books? Well, that's what I've decided to mimic here. This is the beginning of a serialized story, and you will help me with the plot. Just leave your comments about anything (what you want to happen next, who the characters will be, etc.) and I will pick one to work into the story. Thanks to my friend Joe for giving me the idea.
They were in a small, damp place, as far as they could tell. It was so dark, they couldn't be sure. But their hands were within the reach of the walls on every side. They wanted to speak, to reassure one another that they would get out in time, but they already felt their lungs constricting in the effort to breathe. The darkness was so complete, she didn't notice he had fainted. But then she felt him slump next to her and she knew there was no time left.
But there was. Minutes, hours, days, she couldn't be sure. Time became something only for people with enough air to breathe. It was only for those with purpose. To her, time had no measure. Sometimes she felt sick, like the motion was upsetting her stomach. She wanted to sit, to lie down, to sleep, but there was only room to lean. And she was supporting him, trying to make him comfortable, aching for him. Or was the ache just there from the effort to breathe? But she knew it ran deeper than a physical need. Her thoughts drifted to him, as they had done so often in the past. But now it was different. It was urgent. Not just a longing, it was desperation. She was crying, for him, for all she'd lost. Her tongue felt for the tears on her cheek. She just needed to taste, to wet her dry, cracked lips. And then she felt it. The dull thud, and then falling. The movement had stopped.