I'm in, blood.
|# ¿ Jun 11, 2015 20:05|
|# ¿ Sep 30, 2023 13:35|
|# ¿ Jul 21, 2015 19:19|
What is dead may never die. I'm in.
|# ¿ Jul 30, 2015 22:08|
“Run.” That’s all I can hear my brother scream clearly through the sound of the rifles firing. My mother, my father, my baby sister; they’re all probably dead. Arnel’s legs seem so much longer than mine even though he’s only a year older. The muscles in my thighs burn as I try to keep up with my brother. The grass is tall enough to keep us concealed. Years of playing through the same fields make it easy for us to negotiate through the brush. I can’t think. At this exact moment, all I know in this world is that Arnel is going somewhere and wherever that place is, I just need to get there. I trust him. Wherever we’re going, it must be safe. I trust him. I need to be safe.
“Keep up!” Arnel screams without looking back. Every moment I feel like my legs are going to catch up to his, he pushes further ahead. The gunshots continue to echo around us. I keep telling myself that every shot fired is another life. Someone I know. Someone I’ve spoken to. My friends. My mother…
Right when it seems like my lungs are going to punch through my chest, my brother comes to a halt, then motions for me to get low to the ground. He crawls backwards on his stomach towards me, looking back with a finger over his lips. He tries to slow his breathing as he points a finger beyond the brush then holds up his hand, signaling the number five.”
The tall grass stopped right before a main dirt road. I see them through the thick brush. A group of five soldiers armed with the same weapons that killed at least half of my village. My brother’s hand covers my mouth to muffle my panicked gasps for air. I’m too scared to feel embarrassed when I piss myself. Arnel presses his forehead against mine, ignoring the soaked mud under us and exaggerates his mouth as he exhales and inhales slowly. He nods as I mirror him. I feel my heart slowing. He reassures me by forcing a smile. The sound of the soldiers ahead begins to soften as they continue to march towards where we came from. By the time my heartbeat has returned to normal, they are already out of sight.
Arnel who is still in the prone, reaches behind and grasps his canteen still full from earlier. We both roll out of the piss soaked dirt and find better cover behind a mound along the road. He undoes the cap and hands it to me first. He pushes the canteen away when I attempt to hand it back to him, urging me to drink more. There isn’t enough to sustain the both of us for more than a day but he continues to insist. After I take a few more sips, I hand back his canteen and try to look over the dirt mound to see anyone else on the road. There doesn’t seem to be anyone else around on either side for at least one hundred meters. I let out a sigh and roll onto my back. For the first time since we left our village, my thoughts finally catch up to me.
My brother and I were coming back from the lake with fish we caught earlier in the morning. I couldn’t rationalize what I had seen when we arrived back home. Everyone in our village had been lined up against the school house. Foreign men in uniforms were pointing weapons at everyone lined up. Some of the men were on their knees, wrists bound with cloth wrapped around their eyes.
One of the soldiers started to yell at another man who was blindfolded. I couldn’t understand what they were saying. To this point I had never seen men like them or heard their language. The one yelling slowed his words, making them rhythmic and short as if he were counting. The soldiers stiffened as he continued to bark, their barrels pointed at the kneeling man’s face.
At one point, another one of the blindfolded stood straight up and screamed, “Not him! Not him!” I recognized his coat. It belonged to my father. There wasn’t time for me to react. All of the soldiers pointed their weapons at the one who stood up and fired. A woman in the line began to scream. She was holding a baby. Before my mother could run to her husband, one of the soldiers slammed the end of this rifle into her mouth. Her body crumpled while still holding my infant sister. Everyone in my village charged the soldiers. There were more of us than there were soldiers but still not enough to overwhelm them. Everywhere there was gunfire and blood. I couldn’t move. I just stood there until I felt my brother tugging my hand, telling me to run.
I try holding back tears as I remember what happened to our family. I don’t even know if our mother and sister are still alive. Arnel crawls over to me and sees the tears swelling up in my eyes. For the first time since we escaped our village he looks lost. He reaches over and grabs me as I weep next to him. Dirt is smearing under my fingers as I claw at my own face. My brother grabs my hands and tries to calm me. Before I can wipe the mud from my eyes we hear the distant barking of orders from one of the foreign soldiers down the road.
As the voice approaches, the sound of marching grows stronger. I don’t want to imagine how many of them are moving in our direction. Before my brother can tell me to get up, we hear a rustling in the tall grass behind us. As Arnel motions for me to get behind him, a swift burst of teeth and fur jumps from the grass and sinks its fangs into my brother’s leg. My brother howls as the canine rips into his calf, severing tissue and splattering blood onto the surrounding dirt. I freeze as Arnel desperately reaches for his other leg and unclips his fishing knife from his ankle. The hound doesn’t have much time to fight back as my brother plunges his knife over and over into its throat.
There’s blood everywhere. I can’t tell which belongs to my brother. Arnel violently rips off his belt and immediately tightens it around his calf. I’m scared beyond all imagination. As far as I know, the only remaining member of my family has just been maimed, a foreign army has probably heard the clamor and I have absolutely no idea what to do. My brother sees the paleness of my face, grabs me by the back of the neck and rips out the knife from the dead hound.
“Run.” He says as he hands me the knife and unslings his canteen. “I’m right behind you.”
As my brother lies, the sound of marching soldiers loses its uniformity and becomes a commotion of approaching boots. Before I can get a word in, Arnel slaps me across the face, shoves me away and begins to scream at the top of his lungs. “I’m here! I’m here!”
I look at my brother one last time as I clutch his knife and canteen. He doesn’t blink. He only looks towards the oncoming calamity and continues to roar.
I still don’t remember taking the first step. I continue to sprint long after the sound of gunshots are miles behind me.
|# ¿ Aug 3, 2015 06:20|
|# ¿ Aug 4, 2015 23:32|
•sittinghere> tdbot you rear end in a top hat give me a prompt for tentacledate
TDbot> And Sol will be loving thrilled in 230 years. | Improper Time by Prolonged Priapism - http://writocracy.com/thunderdome/?story=471
Chef Boyardee. I loving love Chef Boyardee. Three days on this outer cordon detail and it finally pays off. One hour I’m scrubbing out pink mist from my fatigues and the next I stumble across a Safeway. Sick deal, right? And great timing too. Yesterday I was down to the last of my field rations and the “cat-jerk” my squad leader coughed up from five card last Sunday was starting to look painfully edible. At least I don’t have to worry about sharing.
Despite losing the rookie this morning, I’d say things have turned up for the better. Don’t get me wrong, Gutierrez... Guerrero… Guillermo? gently caress- Whatever. He was alright. Obviously not the most memorable of scouts but I’m still here because his dumb rear end got zapped first. At least I can say that much about the guy. Maybe if he’d decided to listen to me earlier he’d be here splitting this bounty of fine pseudo Italian cuisine. But no, I’m just a seasoned scout who only talks out of his rear end to make his dick swing harder and mini raviolis are loving yucky, blood. gently caress me, right?
God, I absolutely hate it when new guys play hero. There’s nothing unheroic or emasculating about keeping your head in the dirt. You know what’s emasculating? The high pitched wail every sorry sonuvabitch squeals before their insides are liquefied and their eyeballs burst from being super-gently caress-tard-heated by a barney-purple-loving-laser shot from an eco-friendly-murder-bot.
To be honest, there is some hilarity in our current predicament. Without the former President’s fond admiration for the late Californian Governor, I wouldn’t be fighting for survival against a cognizant steel onslaught of “Trump-800s.”
Now was it a stupid idea for trying to eradicate illegal immigrants with laser shooting, rudimentary Spanish blaring sentries? Kinda? Was it our bad that a fault in the aforementioned sentries’ programming couldn’t differentiate a Mexican from an albino Polynesian? Well, yeah. But did we deserve it? Sorta? gently caress, I miss Chipotle. What was I getting at again? Oh, yeah. Chef Boyardee. Love it.
My girlfriend used to hate it when I’d eat out of the can. Course, she can’t really say anything now. Last I checked, she was a soupy puddle of pulpy bits. Kinda like these raviolis- Aw, gently caress yes! Disney princess spaghetti-o shapes!
Before I can pull out my multi-tool to open up my first date with the chef, a rustle in one of the eastern aisles interrupts my me-time.
“Quien es?” I call out, unslinging Gomez’ shotgun and jamming the buttstock into my shoulder. I fix the barrel towards the direction of the commotion straight through a stack of spaghetti-os and hold. Two… One… Then exhale, lowering the shotgun. A sentry would’ve burst straight through the aisles screeching, “SEAMOS AMIGOS” while blasting a burst of “light-urple” day fuckery.
The lack of blaring Español is relieving but leaves only two options to explain the noise in the other aisle: gravity is still in effect and something probably just fell over cause reasons or someone is about to get a shotgun blast to their fleshy meat face if they don’t identify themselves.
I say something super cool to let any potential dick bags know that I’m hard as gently caress, “Come out or I’ll shoot you!” Yeah, super loving cool.
“Wait! Don’t shoot!” A squeaky voice calls from a couple aisles down.
“Just stay right there. If you don’t, I will do the exact opposite of what you want me to do: don’t not shoot you. You got it?”
“I think so…”
I dart down three aisles then see her.
“Hi… Please don’t shoot.”
Holy poo poo. It’s a little girl. A kid! Their short little legs make it hard to run away so you know, we don’t see much of them anymore.
“Relax. What do you have on you?” I don’t waste time. No time for salutations. Also, I’m terrible with women.
She scans herself then looks back up at me, “Mmm, I don’t have anything. All of my things are here. My name is Selena. My mom and dad call me Sol. I’m 12 years old and I had three ca-“
“Look, that’s great kid. How long have you been here?”
“About a week, I guess. Are you still gonna shoot me, mister?”
“What? No, kid.” I sling the shotgun. “What else you got here? Can you show me around?” I’m crazy stoked to check out the rest of this place. poo poo, maybe they’ll have smokes. poo poo, maybe they’ll have Gatorade!
“Sure, mister!” Kids are awkwardly perky. “Just follow me!” She skips down the aisle and hangs a left deeper into the store.
I’m trying hard to maintain my super hard as gently caress composure. First I’m gonna smoke like twenty goddamn cigarettes, then I’m gonna stick my dick in a mountain of Chef Boyardee cans, then I’m gonna guzzle some Glacier Freeze. Ho, gently caress. They might even have real jerky! I loving miss real jer-
The wall of steel slamming into my face, breaking and flattening my nose into my cheek interrupts my excitement. I’m knocked onto my back and swallow blood. I hear something drop onto the floor as I grip my face. Sounds heavy. A shovel? gently caress, my face is sore. Before my vision can refocus I feel a swift flurry of kicks to my throat and chest. Can’t breathe. Laying on my back. Can’t get Gimenez’ shotgun.
I reach for my hip and unholster cold iron then squeeze off a couple rounds blindly. I hear the kid cry out then sprint off. Barely tagged her, gently caress.
“What the hell?! I just wanted some goddamn real jerky, you poo poo!” No response. Can’t find her position. She’s smart. Stupid. So stupid. She’s probably stocked up for years by herself. Hundreds even! I think. I dunno, my head hurts. gently caress math.
I spot a trail of blood splattered on the floor. I’m gonna end this bitch.
Before I can even take the first step to follow her trail, an explosion of stabbing pain and steel erupts from the front of my knee. I crumple to the floor and stare at the arrow sticking out of my split knee cap.
If these are my last words, I better make them good.
I look behind me and see Selena with a bow already slung with a fresh arrow. “You’re not a kid! You’re just a really loving short psychopath, ya crazy oval office!” Stall her. Just a split second to lift my six shot.
She doesn’t give me the satisfaction and releases another shaft. It barely misses me and grazes my already arrowed leg. Sick, not dead. I point my sidearm in her direction but she’s already taken off into the next aisle. gently caress, she’s quick.
I’m crippled and she’s got the advantage of speed and cover from the aisles.
gently caress it. I unsling Guy’s shotgun for the last time and fire off all the shells into the aisles screaming the title of my Spanish 101 textbook, “VEN CONMIGOOOOOO!”
I’m empty. Selena strafes into the aisle again with another arrow at the ready, “Missed.”
At that moment, the southern wall burst wide with a flurry of neon lasers like a Coldplay concert. A metallic voice screeches, “BUENOS DIOS.” as it shoots a purple death ray into the back of Selena’s skull, combusting everything below her eyeballs until her torso. Her waist looks like a garden pot with a dead orchid sticking out of it.
The sentry scans the market for life as Selena’s blood dissipates in the air. It’s been real, guys. Right behind ya, Gary. As the sentry’s turret adjusts on my silhouette, a can of Chef Boyardee rolls down the aisle next to me. I blink at the raviolis as the market is filled with a final flash of rich purple.
|# ¿ Aug 10, 2015 01:25|
I'm also offering to illustrate scenes from five people's stories (maybe more if I feel like it) from last week, if you want to volunteer. Results to be posted when I finish them, and they will all be lovely phone pics, so
If can, can. If no can, bottles.
|# ¿ Aug 11, 2015 23:40|
|# ¿ Sep 30, 2023 13:35|
I came when I heard the next prompt was out.
Gimme a pokemon, yo.
|# ¿ Aug 12, 2015 01:14|