Hearken, the ticking of the clock resonated in the room, his ears about to bleed.
Had the metaphor been given capacity to personify, he'd have died of hemorrhage the first day. Except he didn't and he's now too used to the crippling noise to care. His stomach grumbled: the pain felt from contortion yet his hands were too far for comfort.
And if you thought this was a cute story of confections, then know you have been swindled.
It had been weeks since his last meal.
He doesn't know if he'd make it until tomorrow without food. It didn't need to be lavish. Cheeseburger would satiate his bedeviled stomach for the next week.
There was a door in that dark room.
He might not see it, but he sensed how compact the room was on his very first day of confinement.
His arms were spread by chains crossing one meter end to end. No other furniture aside from a grandfather clock ticking in the background. He was at the back end of the room, whence the door was adjacent at only six meters.
Odd, Geoffrey was held in a room with the proportions of a corridor.
He couldn't care less regarding the particular detail: there's a switch beside the door, and it connects to a lightbulb right in the middle.
If only he could at least escape from the darkness.
He has no chance.
Although he's in an organization, he couldn't as much pray for them anymore to save him.
His flickering light of hope might as well be blown off.
Before he was contained, no spark of sorrow could be traced from his countenance.
Geoffrey Crowninshield is the town's security expert: he offers his service in Danvers, Massachusetts. He opted for the prestigious Massachusetts Institute of Technology when he was in his prime. He didn't pass the entrance exam and now, he's but another person in the neighborhood with a side job of stalking the night.
He's now in his forties: his wife divorced him a few years back, and also lost custody of his twin daughters.
More or less, he had a reunion with bachelor freedom that he'd hooked himself in worldly vices and secretly, women. You know that kind of person─a worthless piece of shit. He enjoyed his days to the brim until he's diagnosed with liver cirrhosis.
When someone's sick, there's all kinds of emotions swirling in the mind.
Luckily for him, he's a mage─a denizen of the supernatural realm, coexisting alongside humans as though he's in the same species. Mages have always been better in medicine than humans. Alchemy weighs meaningfully more efficiently than chemistry no matter how you slice the cake. No, he won't be defeated by the disease if he knows the right formula. He knows magic enough to heal an open wound, why wouldn't he hone his talent and cure his failing liver?
The ley lines beneath the United States have always been unreliable.
While Massachusetts is on the stronger side, it would still not heal him while in his prime.
It would suck if he's healthiest when he'd already planned where to bury himself. For mages like him to at least pacify his disease while undergoing medication, his best option is to migrate to either Europe or the African soil. Where the land alone could ease the most incurable of cancers.
Sadly, he lacks fortune.
On a fateful enough encounter, he was invited to join a mage confederation.
He was offered an irresistible promise they'd pay him more than enough to survive a lifetime.
Unbeknownst to him, the hidden realm of magecraft has its own infighting as opposed to them hating on the more dominant humankind.
He scoured the darkness in search of his own kind.
Until he was caught.
He shouldn't have pursued whoever Mother was.
Never was he fond of the thought of uncovering any sleeping dogs' activities.
Only because he's insufferable that he moved his gears.
"Too bad, you chose one of the countless inferior sides in the war."
Alas, someone spoke from the darkness─he didn't hear the door open, but a person appeared at that position.
He stood relaxed, a tall man in a standard tuxedo. Harmful substance wafted in the room, Geoffrey smelled smoke. "Hah! You already have a nice gift, right… sensing what surrounds you, that's why you're dangerous even as an entry-level employee. You should have done your research: Mother is caring and kind, you just didn't hear of her. Poor soul you are, Crowninshield."
Arm raised fast, a fist hammered towards the light switch.
Geoffrey's eyes contorted a little for it was his first time in a long time now.
As soon as his retinas have adjusted, all of which he thought were there─were there.
No elation in his face nonetheless.
For the man in front of him smiled in the most deranged fashion he could imagine. Yet Incinerating cigarette taken out his mouth, his uncouth smile revealed to him a monster. Dust dropped so as its whole material: he might as well mourn for the cylinder narcotic's demise.
For what flair was he capturing when he threw his cigarette down the floor and stepped on it, he doesn't understand.
"Merely taking the fire out, don't worry about it," the man refuted. Flashing a leveled look towards Geoffrey, he graced upon him a recognition, "Show of terror to someone like you? Boorish."
He probably thought of Geoffrey as some kind of an idiot: never mind, he stepped forwards and sat over the stool.
He relaxed his back, legs crossed and all.
"So I suppose you can't talk, now you're triggering a poor warlock with that obnoxious mind of yours. Well, never mind…Mages are truly talented, I can't even bring myself to insult you. You're good to have sniffed us out, you deserve a gold medal!" He divulged in a gnarly sadistic tone, "Although because of your big brain, Mother now wants a wire rope coiled around your neck."
He leaned towards him, all nonchalant as an audience to a breaking man.
More like his first and foremost objective was his provocation.
"Ropes today are highly versatile unlike three hundred years ago," he began. "One rope might even be enough to carry ten heads all at once, take it or leave it, as long as they're carefully knotted. Of course, you don't only make one noose on the rope. That would have been dumb for the executioner to make, wouldn't you agree?"
He was ignored.
So there shouldn't be a complaint when he'd do the same.
They're in Danvers, where the infamous witch trials took place about three hundred years ago.
Gallows Hill still stands as a famous landmark in the neighboring Salem.
Fiction as they've been considered by humans, the magic population has never disappeared. Long has it been passed from each generation: never to reveal oneself to humans. Surely, no one desired being suspended─an unjust punishment dealt solely from being there.
"True, and I'd rather be in the guillotine or the iron maiden…Whatever." His demeanor changed once more to the more sadistic spectrum. "You do happen to understand why you're left alive, right?"
True, he's been in the dark both literally and figuratively so that he'd throw a bone to their inconsideration.
"Then let me explain! While mages aren't any sturdier than humans, they're more resilient with hunger, cold. I'm one myself but I haven't let myself experience those kinds of discomforts. You know what lab rats are. You're our lab rat! The exemplar of all exemplars the mages of today can ever hope to learn from."
He just couldn't stop himself from yapping about.
"Heehee! You were gambled upon by our people. He's alive! No, he's dead. He's barely breathing. No, he's healthy as fuck! Man, I could have lost a million if I joined them…"
He'd rather not run his mind on their business.
"The truth is, there was all this deliberation about what we'd do to you…" the man sighed─short of wincing over to Geoffrey but swiftly sorted his priorities out. He continued, "We've been fighting our war, zipzap here and there. We just didn't have time to tend to your needs so we just shunned you out. Not even Mother showed interest in Geoffrey Crowninshield's magnitude as a warlock. You were always down the priority list until now, so I've been assigned to show you the sun. Congrats, it's the luckiest day of your life."
Fuck you, he thought and what followed─a wish for peaceful death.
From a blatant foe of all people.
Geoffrey must have been desperate to lose his life this whole time, he just wouldn't put himself on his own. Also, he would have opened his mouth to conjure the wish but his jaws were just too stiff for the cause. His death: such a morbid point was created from the beginning, and they should have been swift with it.
"No, I can't do that…" Sadness emanated from him when he said so, prickly from all possible facets he'd be angered for. "I'm operating under orders. Mother's orders."
Fix the muzzle and finger readied to pull the trigger.
"We're conquering the world, and we'd start the domination with─!" His captor pointed towards him the BB gun, "You!"
For how swift the turn of events went, Geoffrey Crowninshield has already fried his circuits thinking what led him to stand in a gallow.
Much to the absurdist behavior of his visitor, he believed the execution would wait until he met Mother. No, he didn't think he'd be executed…He'd be introduced as a wizard, and that's all right. All fools in the public, he doesn't show magic and he'd already foiled an evil scheme.
However, why is there a noose around his neck?
This story lacked common sense so he frowned and bit his lip.
The public watched anxiously.
Surrounding him was an outfit of bodyguards holding guns, people captured the dreary scene in their phones.
From faraway, the siren of police cars yet to arrive in the scene.
Who was the fool wearing a sack over his head, he didn't know─but he knew he was the stock character responsible for his execution.
Three, two, one…Hearing a maniacal outburst of laughter mixed in the crowd of anxious Americans, he lost his foothold.
His neck snapped.