Post by somerandomhippie1 on Aug 23, 2010 12:19:47 GMT -5
With a grunt, Penn collapsed back on his bed, letting his muscles relax. After the fiasco with the nanovirus, he'd been trying to get his muscles back to the state they had been in before he'd fallen ill. He was getting there-- they seemed eager to be back underneath their own control, not a computer's. Penn was quite happy for it, too. It was nice to be back in his own skin, the world back to normal. He heard someone say something behind him, and turned.
The wall was evaporating. And so was his bed, for that matter. He scrambled off, watching as most of his room, save his door, disappeared, leaving only a burnished wooden balcony. He walked up to it, placing his hands on the railing. He was in a large amphitheater, rows of desks scattered across a terraced floor. At the front sat a large board, which a man was currently scribbling on. He was wearing slacks, a blazer, and seemed to have the same color of hair Penn did. He turned back to the young people sitting in the desks, tapping the board with his marker. His hair was a little ruffled, with a short, neatly trimmed beard covering his face. He was wearing a simple shirt, yet looked quite polished and cool.
"You see, the diaphragm is what we use to store the air we breathe, not our lungs," he explained. His voice carried to the back of the chamber, reaching Penn clearly, yet his Welsh accent lent an easiness to his manner. "Our lungs may expand, and hold air, but not to the extent which our diaphragm can. It doesn't send the oxygen to our blood stream-- only the lungs. Therefor, the amount of air stays intact, letting the lungs draw on it as needed. We can use it to our advantage, enabling us to go periods of time without breathing, while still keeping the oxygen in our blood stream. It's not a muscle most people use often, unless you happen to be a swimmer, or musician-- they use it often enough to tone it, and raise it's maximum potential."
A bell rang somewhere, and students swarmed out of the doors. Penn stayed put. The man's mannerisms, the way he moved his hands, the way he spoke, walked... It was like looking in a mirror. After everyone had left except for Penn, the man trotted up the stairs, taking them two at a time as Penn always did. His eyes crinkled as he spotted the look on Penn's face.
"I have a feeling you're thinking this is absurd," he commented. "So would I, for that matter, if I hadn't been through this experience before. Come, sit and have a cup of tea, and I'll do my best to explain."
Penn's head was reeling. "Who are you?" he asked, slightly bewildered.
"My full title is Professor Doctor Penn Gwyther, MD and Education," he explained. "Most people simply call me Penn, though. Care for a biscuit with your tea? They're peanut butter."
Penn's head reeled. This was beyond his reckoning. He should go back-- this was probably just another odd dream, or some hallucination again. This was madness.
Still... He glanced back at his door. It was still there, it wasn't about to move. His curiosity was getting the better of him-- as mad as it might be, it was still fascinating. Plus, peanut butter biscuits were his favorite... With a nod and a sigh, he took the stairs down after himself, if that was even him. He seemed to have a nose for trouble.
The wall was evaporating. And so was his bed, for that matter. He scrambled off, watching as most of his room, save his door, disappeared, leaving only a burnished wooden balcony. He walked up to it, placing his hands on the railing. He was in a large amphitheater, rows of desks scattered across a terraced floor. At the front sat a large board, which a man was currently scribbling on. He was wearing slacks, a blazer, and seemed to have the same color of hair Penn did. He turned back to the young people sitting in the desks, tapping the board with his marker. His hair was a little ruffled, with a short, neatly trimmed beard covering his face. He was wearing a simple shirt, yet looked quite polished and cool.
"You see, the diaphragm is what we use to store the air we breathe, not our lungs," he explained. His voice carried to the back of the chamber, reaching Penn clearly, yet his Welsh accent lent an easiness to his manner. "Our lungs may expand, and hold air, but not to the extent which our diaphragm can. It doesn't send the oxygen to our blood stream-- only the lungs. Therefor, the amount of air stays intact, letting the lungs draw on it as needed. We can use it to our advantage, enabling us to go periods of time without breathing, while still keeping the oxygen in our blood stream. It's not a muscle most people use often, unless you happen to be a swimmer, or musician-- they use it often enough to tone it, and raise it's maximum potential."
A bell rang somewhere, and students swarmed out of the doors. Penn stayed put. The man's mannerisms, the way he moved his hands, the way he spoke, walked... It was like looking in a mirror. After everyone had left except for Penn, the man trotted up the stairs, taking them two at a time as Penn always did. His eyes crinkled as he spotted the look on Penn's face.
"I have a feeling you're thinking this is absurd," he commented. "So would I, for that matter, if I hadn't been through this experience before. Come, sit and have a cup of tea, and I'll do my best to explain."
Penn's head was reeling. "Who are you?" he asked, slightly bewildered.
"My full title is Professor Doctor Penn Gwyther, MD and Education," he explained. "Most people simply call me Penn, though. Care for a biscuit with your tea? They're peanut butter."
Penn's head reeled. This was beyond his reckoning. He should go back-- this was probably just another odd dream, or some hallucination again. This was madness.
Still... He glanced back at his door. It was still there, it wasn't about to move. His curiosity was getting the better of him-- as mad as it might be, it was still fascinating. Plus, peanut butter biscuits were his favorite... With a nod and a sigh, he took the stairs down after himself, if that was even him. He seemed to have a nose for trouble.