Ficly

Eleven Five Nine Four

The screen-door was left partly ajar; the front door, unbolted. High-top sneakers and a red and black ‘thriller’ jacket were strewn about the parquet floor. A backpack swayed precariously over the shiny brass doorknob of a dimly lit room.

Jake powered on his CRT and flopped down on his rickety desk chair. He gaped, seeing the same number blink repeatedly next to the cursor on the screen.

11594…

Keying passionately, his brow began to break a sweat.

RECALL PROGRAM NAME; ‘SALVATION’

…initializing…

…PROGRAM ‘SALVATION’ INITIALIZED

His heart beat heavy in his chest. The numbers had to keep flowing. If they didn’t, people would die. Each number he added, was one more life spared.

RESUME PROGRAM COUNT; 11595

…resuming…

…PROGRAM ‘SALVATION’ RUNNING

Fixated on the screen, his eyes moistened as the indicator flashed. The monitor went black. A second that felt like an eternity later, it displayed a sequence of numbers once again.

11595…

11596…

“Thank you, Salva.” He whispered. “Thank you.”

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