http://bane-6.livejournal.com/ (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
bane-6.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
31_days2013-09-06 01:58 pm
bane-6.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2013-09-06 01:58 pm
[September 5] [Welcome to Night Vale] Curious > Horror
Title: Curious>Horror
Day/Theme: 6. Some strings, they’re just not attached.
Series: Welcome to Night Vale
Character/Pairing: Carlos
There was nothing to stop him leaving. Unless there was.
He could just run, get away, and get home, couldn’t he? Except. No one would ever believe half the things about this place. He wouldn’t be able to tell anybody and still have any respectability left. Some of the stuff, they might buy at first, like the seismological anamolies and the poisonous valley, because who knows what goes on out in the desert? Nuclear tests probably. That would explain a lot of it. Then they would probably ask if he had his own radiation checked. Any signs of cancer? And to be honest the first few weeks here he had been on top of that. There might still be a bottle of Potassium iodide in his Monday lab coat pocket.
He hadn’t worried about that in awhile. The five-headed dragon running for mayor and the tiny civilization of murderous people under the bowling alley had derailed any fears of getting cancer. Getting eaten or incinerated or sucked through a vortex was a much more tangible threat. He knew better than that. It was human nature to believe deep down that nothing was going to happen to you, but he was a scientist and Night Vale disabused that particular notion as ruthlessly as a spiderwolf. And, somewhere even deeper, he had the feeling that nothing would be allowed to happen to him. Especially nothing that might make his hair fall out.
It wasn’t a scientific notion, but it was the kind of bone-deep certainty that made his other wonderings less certain. He wondered if he would survive this place. Was it too late to leave? Was he frightened enough to try? He didn’t think so, but what would happen when he finally was?
Old urban legends and Twilight Zone episodes kept coming to mind. He might try to drive out onto the interstate and get somewhere else, but what if the road always brought him back where he started? What if the road went on forever and he finally ran out of gas and tried to walk and it still went on forever, trapping him for all eternity in some hot, four laned limbo? What if there wasn’t anywhere to go from here, that there were really and truly separated from the rest of the world? Was another sandstorm/vortex the only way out and would he have to kill a double if he found another reality he liked better?
That was all useless imaginings and fearful speculation. He wasn’t ready to go yet. He was still more curious than horrified by the strange town. There were still things to find out and science to do, even if he wasn’t sure what he would do with that information when he had it. Every one here accepted his findings with tolerance and good humor, and in one case, unbashed wonder, but they weren’t terribly interested in what he had to tell. It was like trying to amaze fish with the mysteries of water. They appreciated his interest, to his face, but didn’t give it much more thought.
And no one outside would believe it in a million years, he reminded himself. He imagined having to outrun orderlies with butterfly nets and straitjackets and the only place to get away from that would be to head back to Night Vale. Would it let him come back if he left? Would it be the same Night Vale that he was in now? He imagined leaving to tell the world about this place and then coming back to prove it and finding a perfectly normal town with only dogs in the dog park and teenagers wearing hoods. Or just an empty patch of desert. Everyone would think he was insane. How long would they let him wander around looked for the radio tower and calling for Cecil before they dragged him off and locked him away?
That would be worse than being trapped here, which he wasn’t . Still, it made him nervous to think that this was the only chance he would get to see the unthinkable and lay hands on the unknowable and hope it wasn’t really slimy or poisonous. He definitely wouldn’t find anyone like Cecil anywhere else. He wasn’t sure how much of that was his own will or if the place had gotten to him.
Behind him, the centrifugal separator finished its cycle and he turned away from the window that overlooked the exit sign to see what it could tell him. He had lost findings when yesterday had been cancelled and had some ground to recover before the weekend. So there were a few things keeping him here, even if the strings were loose and the doors weren’t locked. He was finding himself kept anyway.
Day/Theme: 6. Some strings, they’re just not attached.
Series: Welcome to Night Vale
Character/Pairing: Carlos
There was nothing to stop him leaving. Unless there was.
He could just run, get away, and get home, couldn’t he? Except. No one would ever believe half the things about this place. He wouldn’t be able to tell anybody and still have any respectability left. Some of the stuff, they might buy at first, like the seismological anamolies and the poisonous valley, because who knows what goes on out in the desert? Nuclear tests probably. That would explain a lot of it. Then they would probably ask if he had his own radiation checked. Any signs of cancer? And to be honest the first few weeks here he had been on top of that. There might still be a bottle of Potassium iodide in his Monday lab coat pocket.
He hadn’t worried about that in awhile. The five-headed dragon running for mayor and the tiny civilization of murderous people under the bowling alley had derailed any fears of getting cancer. Getting eaten or incinerated or sucked through a vortex was a much more tangible threat. He knew better than that. It was human nature to believe deep down that nothing was going to happen to you, but he was a scientist and Night Vale disabused that particular notion as ruthlessly as a spiderwolf. And, somewhere even deeper, he had the feeling that nothing would be allowed to happen to him. Especially nothing that might make his hair fall out.
It wasn’t a scientific notion, but it was the kind of bone-deep certainty that made his other wonderings less certain. He wondered if he would survive this place. Was it too late to leave? Was he frightened enough to try? He didn’t think so, but what would happen when he finally was?
Old urban legends and Twilight Zone episodes kept coming to mind. He might try to drive out onto the interstate and get somewhere else, but what if the road always brought him back where he started? What if the road went on forever and he finally ran out of gas and tried to walk and it still went on forever, trapping him for all eternity in some hot, four laned limbo? What if there wasn’t anywhere to go from here, that there were really and truly separated from the rest of the world? Was another sandstorm/vortex the only way out and would he have to kill a double if he found another reality he liked better?
That was all useless imaginings and fearful speculation. He wasn’t ready to go yet. He was still more curious than horrified by the strange town. There were still things to find out and science to do, even if he wasn’t sure what he would do with that information when he had it. Every one here accepted his findings with tolerance and good humor, and in one case, unbashed wonder, but they weren’t terribly interested in what he had to tell. It was like trying to amaze fish with the mysteries of water. They appreciated his interest, to his face, but didn’t give it much more thought.
And no one outside would believe it in a million years, he reminded himself. He imagined having to outrun orderlies with butterfly nets and straitjackets and the only place to get away from that would be to head back to Night Vale. Would it let him come back if he left? Would it be the same Night Vale that he was in now? He imagined leaving to tell the world about this place and then coming back to prove it and finding a perfectly normal town with only dogs in the dog park and teenagers wearing hoods. Or just an empty patch of desert. Everyone would think he was insane. How long would they let him wander around looked for the radio tower and calling for Cecil before they dragged him off and locked him away?
That would be worse than being trapped here, which he wasn’t . Still, it made him nervous to think that this was the only chance he would get to see the unthinkable and lay hands on the unknowable and hope it wasn’t really slimy or poisonous. He definitely wouldn’t find anyone like Cecil anywhere else. He wasn’t sure how much of that was his own will or if the place had gotten to him.
Behind him, the centrifugal separator finished its cycle and he turned away from the window that overlooked the exit sign to see what it could tell him. He had lost findings when yesterday had been cancelled and had some ground to recover before the weekend. So there were a few things keeping him here, even if the strings were loose and the doors weren’t locked. He was finding himself kept anyway.