Glass Coffin

The far room fairly glowed from the fluorescent lights that refracted off the white walls, the white tables, the white coats. The only thing that did not bloom static white was the immense cylinder of shifting gold and red.

It stood alone in the immaculate lab. Over twelve feet tall and as wide as he could spread his arms, the glass coffin was anchored into the ceiling by a chaotic series of gears, pipes, and hydraulics. Engineered to lower and angle the casement to whatever whim the scientists might have, it looked like something spun out of a twisted nightmare.


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About azhwi

An editing student, graduated Feb 2012. An avid fan of video games, fanfiction, anime, writing, and the serial comma.
This entry was posted in Fiction, Man-Made Wings, Post-Trauma, Writing and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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