nanowrimo 2k9

The room was dark with a solitary light in the middle. The spotlight had a focused intensity and the origin seemed high above the ground, hard to even tell how high the ceiling was that was holding the pinhole. Distant dusty sounds of motion buzzed around the room, sources unknown. A cloaked figure shuffled quietly into the light, dragging a small cart loaded with equipment: a small podium, a folding chair, a wireless microphone with an adjustable arm.

He worked quickly, his dark robe covering his form and masking the shifting of his body. From the distance it looked like pudding dragging the pieces around. In short order, the stage had been set. The figure turned quickly, pushing the cart back into the darkness. Too quickly, it seemed, as his robe caught the balance end of the mic stand, and pulled the assumbly to the floor, splitting the air with shreiking feedback. The figure quickly reained his grace, switched the mic off, and reset the stand. Everything back in place, he switched the mic back live, and again shuffled off, muffled grumbling echoing softly through the PA.

Minutes passed, the ambience lightly feeding back, the speakers invisible, but almost omnipresent, leaking a quiet hiss. The sound around the room grew louder, corners of whispers bouncing echos. The sound grew in waves, and each ebb raised the tension, feeding back through the microphone. Still, the only light shone unwaveringly in the center of the buzz.

From the ambient noise, the size of the auditorium must have been immense, from the sheer depth of the darkness and oppressive resonance of the sound. The tension in the room grew, but never cracked. Instead the tension fell under its own weight, growing tired with the baited breath of anticipation. The room fell quiet and in its stead grew deliberate, clear footsteps.

Another figure stepped into the light, but not cloaked. He stood perfectly straight, a grey man, unconsciounably unremarkable. He wore a plain taylored suit, well fitting, but without flash, hair styled straight back. Even from a distance, his demeanor seemed calm and humorless. As the last hiss died down, the silence grew as dark as the room. He sat stiffly in the chair, sniffed and finally spoke.

“This commences the meeting of the Council of 300.”

Another light snapped on, the spotlight grew concentrically, at a slightly dimmer shade. Another snapped on, then another, the clicking grew to a flurry growing dimmer and dimmer. Then, silence. The light had expanded, and revealed almost nothing. In the center, still, the man sat at the podium, and the light only showed the faint reflection of a dark carpet.

“By The Charter, we shall continue to rule the world!”