Fiction: Editing Pt. 2

This week in Fiction sees a very light edit. Last week's Fiction piece was fairly short and not too terribly done, I think.

Also: Spent most of my night looking at typesetting sites and all kinds of stuff for the TeX/MiKTeX/LaTeX program(s), instead of editing. Oops.

Stale air and dust flowed out from behind the kicked-in doors. Stew coughed and covered his mouth before inching slowly inside the doorway, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness and listening for any signs of life or movement. The hallway was in better shape than most he had seen – the old stone floors still glistened with the light from the entryway and the walls were still intact, the soft color of their paint still visible through the dust. Even the benches and seats still sat in their places as they had for thousands of years, though Stew doubted whether they would still hold up under strain. The entire hallway looked like it could come to life at any moment, with just a flick of a switch. He suspected this was like one of those things Boss mentioned before – a time cap-sol, or cap-sull. A box that holds memories and objects from the past. This hall was just like that.

     Stew walked as quietly as he possible could down the hall to where it dead-ended into a larger hallway. This hallway ran far to the left and only a short ways to the right, where it turned a corner. He took a moment to look around for any giant, menacing robot guards and noticed an old poster on the wall – it featured people, some of the ancestors, with flags and weapons and things Stew had never seen before. They appeared tall and strong in their proud poses, their faces beaming with joy. The poster was also covered in letters, but Stew was unable to read them – most people were illiterate, there was not much left to read, anyway. Still, the poster seemed similar to others Boss had pointed out before – ‘War Recruitment’ posters he called them. The ancestors used these to gather support for the War. Stew always wondered how simple scraps of paper had the power to do that. Maybe the power was in the letters. More reason to never learn to read.

     Before Stew could get too caught up in his thoughts Boss crackled over the ear piece, “Stew, you past the guards yet?”

     “Uh, not quite Boss. Workin’ my way through the hall right now.”

     “You’re still in the hall?! Get a move on!”

     Stew cringed at the loud blast of static in his ear, “yes, Boss!” he shouted before remembering where he was and clamping his mouth shut. He quickly looked around for any sign of a guard approaching. After a few moments of silence he crept around the corner to the left, leaving the forgotten poster to continue its rest.