Message In A Bottle
Nov. 17th, 2007 10:50 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dexfarkin"Keep that dog out of the hall." Greg said to the old woman, as he forcibly separated the small terrier from his ankle. She just hissed at him in Polish, before gathering the dog up and making kissing noises at it as she disappeared into her own apartment. It would be another three weeks of noise compliant calls every time he turned on the radio because of that little rat running wild.
It had been a pretty average night at the bar, and he tossed his coat on the chair, enjoying the pleasant buzz as he flicked on his laptop and poured a cup of coffee. Sliding down on the cream coloured couch, he opened his browser and paused.
Instead of Google, his browser was white, with a simple rectangle outline on the screen. He stared at it for a moment, looking first at the URL to make sure it was supposed to be his homepage. Finally, he dragged the mouse over and clicked.
The rectangle turned over, and read SOS in stark Times New Roman.
When he refreshed the page, it was gone, the familiar search engine in the place it had occupied. He shrugged and went to bed, considering it all as a gimmick or random ad.
The next day, his cell phone rang, and the text message that marched across the screen was SOS. There was no return number.
TiVo recorded SOS on the screen where 'Heroes' was supposed to be.
His work e-mail received an SOS message, where it pushed it into his Blackberry.
The display on the payphone outside of the coffee shop read SOS.
Finally, as SOS flashed up on the digital screen, ten feet high over the HMV downtown, he couldn't take anymore and yelled at the top of his lungs; "Who needs to be saved?"
After the moment of stunned silence, one by one, everyone on the street hesitantly raised their hands.
It had been a pretty average night at the bar, and he tossed his coat on the chair, enjoying the pleasant buzz as he flicked on his laptop and poured a cup of coffee. Sliding down on the cream coloured couch, he opened his browser and paused.
Instead of Google, his browser was white, with a simple rectangle outline on the screen. He stared at it for a moment, looking first at the URL to make sure it was supposed to be his homepage. Finally, he dragged the mouse over and clicked.
The rectangle turned over, and read SOS in stark Times New Roman.
When he refreshed the page, it was gone, the familiar search engine in the place it had occupied. He shrugged and went to bed, considering it all as a gimmick or random ad.
The next day, his cell phone rang, and the text message that marched across the screen was SOS. There was no return number.
TiVo recorded SOS on the screen where 'Heroes' was supposed to be.
His work e-mail received an SOS message, where it pushed it into his Blackberry.
The display on the payphone outside of the coffee shop read SOS.
Finally, as SOS flashed up on the digital screen, ten feet high over the HMV downtown, he couldn't take anymore and yelled at the top of his lungs; "Who needs to be saved?"
After the moment of stunned silence, one by one, everyone on the street hesitantly raised their hands.
