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Story opening - Hostel

Just a draft for a story opening, has a very Black Ops plot feel to it. Not sure where I was going with it, therefore left it as an opener.

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Story opening - Hostel

Consciousness ebbed and flowed like a wave of the pacific, slowly grinding against the rocks of my mind.  My brain throbbed as thousands of razorblades carved my skull, their venom tinted lips kissing my cranium, not creating comfort, but tearing it from my reach.  For a moment I was paralysed, I felt nothing but the cold graze my eyelids created as they met in motion.  The paralysis frightened me.  I instantly imagined the millions of functions a lacking of limbs would result in; I could no longer hold my baby girl in my arms, I would never be able to build her cot with my bare hands and I wouldn’t be walking her down the aisle or shaking the hand of the man who would be there for her once I was not.
It scared me, but it was the only thing I yearned for once the feeling in my sluggish carcass had returned to me. I couldn’t think who or where I was; the agony was a tight suit and I failed to contemplate anything else.
It was as if fire seared my flesh and bone.
“You finally decided to wake up, then?”
The voice propelled into my ears like a shrill chime and reverberated against my eardrum. A growl of European origin through a shadowed tannoy. 
“I’ve enjoyed watching you writhe under the discomfort of my men, but now I’m growing impatient with you. Tell me about the codes.”
As the pain subsided, my eyes began to focus once again. Observing my surroundings, I realised that I was isolated in the centre of a grimy, grey and dank room. A simple light bulb descended from the ceiling, swinging a halo above me.
“I won’t ask again. You will tell me about the codes.”
In a matter of seconds, my memory flooded back. The whitecaps rumbled onto the beach of recollection.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Please let me go.”
I didn’t recognise my own voice; it was sandy and hoarse and grazed my throat. It was as if I’d been screaming for hours. Perhaps I had.
A sigh escaped the speaker and a foreign conversation took place. The dialect sounded Slavic and presumably consisted of curses and harsh words. It was completed by the slam of a heavy door.
Everything was silent once again.


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