I officially hate vampires. That's the long and short of it. They're too dark and glloomy to enjoy writing about. Nevertheless, here's a brand new vampire story that I hope will pull you away from the disgrace that is Twilight. :P
Blood
Quil bent low over the still body lying on the hospital stretcher in front of his hunched figure, raising his lips in a grimace that revealed his razor-sharp canines to anyone who might be watching at that moment. Swiftly, and without hesitation, Quil sunk his fangs into the throat of the unconscious victim, shuddering deeply as he felt a heavy current of blood pulse past the tips of his teeth.
Exhaling to expel and remaining air in his lungs, Quil prepared for the extraction. In order to extract the blood from his victim, he had to breathe in through his mouth, effectively drawing the blood up through the hollows of his fangs and into his body, where it could nourish him for days to come.
Just as he was about to make the extraction, Quil sensed movement from behind him. He silently removed his fangs from the neck of the victim, preparing himself for the inevitable conflict that was sure to come.
Vampire hunters had been increasingly common back in the 1800’s, and it had been a despairingly treacherous time for Quil. He was glad that the craze had died out around the turn of the century. All the same, there remained a few that held stubbornly onto the ways of the past…
Hearing the faint swish of a blade from behind, Quil sidestepped to the left, watching out of the corner of his eye as a gleaming silver blade sunk deep into the stomach of the body he had been preparing to feast upon. Quil restrained a sigh of annoyance, knowing that he would now have to search out another victim.
Quil turned to face his attacker, not at all surprised to see a necklace of garlic cloves strung around the man’s neck. For whatever reason, humans had decided that garlic provided suitable defense against vampire attacks. Quil could only guess at why, but the ridiculous claim would now cost this young man his life.
Usually, Quil was against killing. Not because he felt any sort of sympathy or pity for the insignificant creatures that called themselves human, but because murder gave him a bad reputation. It made him look unprofessional among the rest of the horde.
With lightning quick reflexes, Quil moved forward and gripped the young vampire hunter’s head with both his pale hands, one on the forehead and one beneath the chin. Quil flashed a quick smile at the man and then snapped his head to the right, breaking his neck quick and painlessly.
Quil let the lifeless body drop to the floor, eying it with distaste. Then, he turned back to the still figure lying on the stretcher. The victim was bleeding heavily from the stab wound in its stomach, staining the stretcher crimson red.
Muttering under his breath, Quil stepped back from the victim and, in the blink of an eye, was standing atop the windowsill overlooking the hospital room. His open tuxedo billowing in the rising wind, Quil gazed out upon the city, searching for someplace where he would be able to feed without being disturbed.
The tolling of a church bell caught his attention, and as Quil turned his head, he quickly spotted the arched roof of a small cathedral down by the shallow river encircling the town.
Ten seconds later, Quil was standing outside the grand double doors of the cathedral, staring up at the stone cross set into the building directly above the entrance. Quil pushed open the double doors, not bothering to close them behind him. His business would be finished here long before anyone noticed they were ajar.
Quil took two steps forward and stopped abruptly, spotting a figure kneeling in front of the altar across the room. Quil frowned, and then set forward.
Contrary to popular belief, vampires do not only feed on the sleeping. In fact, it is sometimes easier to extract from those that are awake. When you are active, your blood pumps faster, making you a prime target for a vampire searching for a quick feed. Imagine your body as a drive-thru for vampires.
Quil was on the kneeling man in an instant, inserting his canines into the man’s neck and releasing a naturally occurring sedative that was produced deep within his body. If doctors ever managed to perform an autopsy on a vampire’s body, they would be in for a major surprise. Quil was sure that given the opportunity, doctors would jump at the chance to dissect one of earth’s most deadly predators. There was only one problem; no vampire had ever been caught.
Humans held on to the belief that wooden stakes and holy water were the most effective method of killing a vampire, when in reality a regular kitchen knife would do the job just as well. The real problem was catching a vampire unaware, a feat almost impossible to achieve. The best time to do this would be when the vampire in target had already begun to feed, but of course it was a widely known fact that humans had the patience of a gnat.
Breathing in through his mouth, Quil drew a thin stream of blood from within the kneeling man’s body, grinning dreamily as the foreign, syrupy liquid coursed down his throat.
Stepping back from his victim, Quil wiped his mouth with the handkerchief that had been tucked deep into his chest pocket. The man would wake within the minute, with no recollections of the experience he had just been forced into. By then, Quil would be long gone, and no one would know the better.
Stepping into the shadows, Quil’s figure dissolved into darkness. The only evidence that he had existed at all was a single drop of blood, slowly seeping into the cracks of the cathedral’s stone floor.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Monday, January 18, 2010
OMYGAWD ITS THE SHAWSHANK REDEMPTION!
Hoorah, it's time for a prison escape! Most likely very unrealistic. Bite me. :D
Prison
Jess slid out of his bunk bed in the dead of night, praying to whatever God might be watching over him that the springs didn’t squeal. They didn’t.
Exhaling heavily, Jess knelt down beside his mattress and stuck his hand deep into a thin slit in the side of the bed. He rummaged around for a moment and then, finding what he was looking for, retracted his arm.
In his hand sat a rusty, brass key. Jess stared at the key, wishing he could simply forget the obscenities he had had to go through in order to get hold of it. The man who had gotten it for him had described it as a skeleton key. It was supposed to open every door in the prison compound, and tonight it would be his ticket to freedom.
Jess crept up to the iron bars that caged him inside his cell. Heart in his mouth, Jess reached through the bars and stuck the skeleton key into the lock turned it. A muffled click echoed out into the cellblock, and Jess cringed.
After it became apparent that no one was coming to drag him down to the isolation ward for attempted escape, Jess removed the key from the lock and began to think about what he had to do next. He had planned it all out in the weeks prior to this day, of course, but now that it was truly in action he found he had trouble remembering just what to do.
Jess knew perfectly well that in order to get outside of his cell, he needed to make a lot of noise. The cell doors hadn’t been oiled in God knew how many years, and they were sure to make a racket. Jess also knew he had to account for the convicted with sleeping problems. There were sure to be a few late night insomniacs up and about, and Jess had no doubt that they would call him out if they caught wind of his attempted escape. It was a dog eat dog world out there.
With the floor plan of his cellblock imprinted in his mind, Jess leaned against the heavy cell door and pushed it open, biting his lip as it rumbled along the track.
“Who the fuck is that?” someone called from across the cellblock. Jess remained silent, quietly sliding through the narrow gap in the bars. He didn’t bother closing the door behind him, knowing that it wouldn’t matter either way. If he escaped, he would no longer have to worry about such troubles. If he was caught, well, he figured he’d be spending long enough in the isolation ward to forget all about the door he’d left half-open.
Sprinting down the raised catwalk, Jess was glad he’d thought to remove his shoes prior to the escape attempt. The catwalk was made of thin steel that would definitely give away his presence to the others.
Jess reached the stairs and descended slowly, knowing that he had plenty of time until dawn reached the compound. When he reached the bottom, Jess made headway for the lone door across the room that was the only thing separating him from the crisp night air, and with it, freedom.
Then, the unthinkable happened. The steel-plated door not ten feet away began to open. Jess stopped stock-still, frozen to the spot like a deer in the headlights. He knew the guards sometimes did surprise rounds at night, to try and catch people in less than desirable situations. Midnight was a popular time for prisoners with crack habits to smoke up unnoticed.
Finally, a light clicked on in Jess’ brain and he backed up in a hurry, tucking his person tightly beneath the metal staircase he had only just descended. It wasn’t much of a hiding spot, but it was the best he could come up with on such short notice. On the plus side, none of the convicted could see him from their cells, so he wouldn’t be caught that way.
Jess held his breath as the lights flickered to life, listening for the telltale sound of boots on concrete. He figured he was due for one hell of a headache if the guards decided to head up to the top row of cells, but if that was the price to pay for freedom, so be it.
“Surprise!” a man yelled from the open door, “Cell check!” Jess’ heart sunk; he recognized the man’s voice. It was the guard captain, Sebastian Whiting. He was notoriously known for making very thorough searches.
The trio of guards that had entered the cell block approached the staircase, and Jess came close to moaning in anticipation. It would have been the end of his escape attempt, and he was glad he’d caught it in time.
The guards ascended the stairs, and as their boots clanged against the thin sheet metal, it sent heavy ringing vibrations down into Jess’ head. Jess winced in pain, but kept his mouth clamped shut. As the trio reached the second floor, Jess let out a quiet sigh of relief.
Then, he froze; the guards would surely notice his empty cell. Not only that, he had left the door wide open, a dead giveaway for anyone who happened to wander down that way.
Jess decided that if he was going to make a move, it had better be then. Once the guards found his cell empty, it was over for him. If he went now, he had a chance of getting outside before they caught him. Staying out of sight was no longer an option, it was simply a matter of luck from here on out.
Cursing his luck, Jess rolled out from beneath the staircase and checked the ground floor, just in case a fourth guard had decided to trail behind the pack and stand blocking the door. In this regard, Jess’ luck held. The ground floor was clear, and his exit was wide open.
Jess sprinted for the door, praying that he could remain hidden for just a few more seconds. It didn’t happen; halfway across the cell block a burly convict to the right of the door stuck his hand through the bars of his cell and cried wolf.
“God damn it,” Jess muttered, pushing himself to new limits previously unknown to his body. He reached the cell door just as the first of the gunshots rang out. Most of them flew wide, but a single bullet bounced off of the concrete just to the left of his leg, spraying little chips of cement up against his skin. For the remainder of his life, Jess would always have nightmares about that single bullet.
Then, Jess was outside and slamming the door shut behind him. Armed with the knowledge that the closest alarm was embedded into the wall just outside the cell block, Jess hoped he had bought himself a couple more seconds.
Without hesitating, Jess sprinted towards the barbed-wire fence that surrounded the prison. He knew then that he had chosen the right time to make his escape. Already, thick stone walls were sprouting up among prisons all across the country. It wouldn’t be long before this place got one of its own.
Ripping off his shirt as he ran, Jess prepared to toss it up onto the fence. Just then, the alarm went off all across the prison, and Jess knew he was out of time. He reached the fence and threw up his shirt, cheering silently as it stuck fast on top of the barbed wires.
Jess was halfway up the fence when the first spotlight trained itself on his body. Fighting the urge to turn around and look at his pursuers, Jess pushed himself up onto the fence and slid over the barbed wires, padded by his prison shirt. He hit the ground running, headed for the shallow river that ran straight past the compound. It would help wash away his scent, and the current would pull him away from the prison faster than on foot.
By the time the first of the rifles unloaded, Jess was out of range, on his way towards a new life as a free man.
Prison
Jess slid out of his bunk bed in the dead of night, praying to whatever God might be watching over him that the springs didn’t squeal. They didn’t.
Exhaling heavily, Jess knelt down beside his mattress and stuck his hand deep into a thin slit in the side of the bed. He rummaged around for a moment and then, finding what he was looking for, retracted his arm.
In his hand sat a rusty, brass key. Jess stared at the key, wishing he could simply forget the obscenities he had had to go through in order to get hold of it. The man who had gotten it for him had described it as a skeleton key. It was supposed to open every door in the prison compound, and tonight it would be his ticket to freedom.
Jess crept up to the iron bars that caged him inside his cell. Heart in his mouth, Jess reached through the bars and stuck the skeleton key into the lock turned it. A muffled click echoed out into the cellblock, and Jess cringed.
After it became apparent that no one was coming to drag him down to the isolation ward for attempted escape, Jess removed the key from the lock and began to think about what he had to do next. He had planned it all out in the weeks prior to this day, of course, but now that it was truly in action he found he had trouble remembering just what to do.
Jess knew perfectly well that in order to get outside of his cell, he needed to make a lot of noise. The cell doors hadn’t been oiled in God knew how many years, and they were sure to make a racket. Jess also knew he had to account for the convicted with sleeping problems. There were sure to be a few late night insomniacs up and about, and Jess had no doubt that they would call him out if they caught wind of his attempted escape. It was a dog eat dog world out there.
With the floor plan of his cellblock imprinted in his mind, Jess leaned against the heavy cell door and pushed it open, biting his lip as it rumbled along the track.
“Who the fuck is that?” someone called from across the cellblock. Jess remained silent, quietly sliding through the narrow gap in the bars. He didn’t bother closing the door behind him, knowing that it wouldn’t matter either way. If he escaped, he would no longer have to worry about such troubles. If he was caught, well, he figured he’d be spending long enough in the isolation ward to forget all about the door he’d left half-open.
Sprinting down the raised catwalk, Jess was glad he’d thought to remove his shoes prior to the escape attempt. The catwalk was made of thin steel that would definitely give away his presence to the others.
Jess reached the stairs and descended slowly, knowing that he had plenty of time until dawn reached the compound. When he reached the bottom, Jess made headway for the lone door across the room that was the only thing separating him from the crisp night air, and with it, freedom.
Then, the unthinkable happened. The steel-plated door not ten feet away began to open. Jess stopped stock-still, frozen to the spot like a deer in the headlights. He knew the guards sometimes did surprise rounds at night, to try and catch people in less than desirable situations. Midnight was a popular time for prisoners with crack habits to smoke up unnoticed.
Finally, a light clicked on in Jess’ brain and he backed up in a hurry, tucking his person tightly beneath the metal staircase he had only just descended. It wasn’t much of a hiding spot, but it was the best he could come up with on such short notice. On the plus side, none of the convicted could see him from their cells, so he wouldn’t be caught that way.
Jess held his breath as the lights flickered to life, listening for the telltale sound of boots on concrete. He figured he was due for one hell of a headache if the guards decided to head up to the top row of cells, but if that was the price to pay for freedom, so be it.
“Surprise!” a man yelled from the open door, “Cell check!” Jess’ heart sunk; he recognized the man’s voice. It was the guard captain, Sebastian Whiting. He was notoriously known for making very thorough searches.
The trio of guards that had entered the cell block approached the staircase, and Jess came close to moaning in anticipation. It would have been the end of his escape attempt, and he was glad he’d caught it in time.
The guards ascended the stairs, and as their boots clanged against the thin sheet metal, it sent heavy ringing vibrations down into Jess’ head. Jess winced in pain, but kept his mouth clamped shut. As the trio reached the second floor, Jess let out a quiet sigh of relief.
Then, he froze; the guards would surely notice his empty cell. Not only that, he had left the door wide open, a dead giveaway for anyone who happened to wander down that way.
Jess decided that if he was going to make a move, it had better be then. Once the guards found his cell empty, it was over for him. If he went now, he had a chance of getting outside before they caught him. Staying out of sight was no longer an option, it was simply a matter of luck from here on out.
Cursing his luck, Jess rolled out from beneath the staircase and checked the ground floor, just in case a fourth guard had decided to trail behind the pack and stand blocking the door. In this regard, Jess’ luck held. The ground floor was clear, and his exit was wide open.
Jess sprinted for the door, praying that he could remain hidden for just a few more seconds. It didn’t happen; halfway across the cell block a burly convict to the right of the door stuck his hand through the bars of his cell and cried wolf.
“God damn it,” Jess muttered, pushing himself to new limits previously unknown to his body. He reached the cell door just as the first of the gunshots rang out. Most of them flew wide, but a single bullet bounced off of the concrete just to the left of his leg, spraying little chips of cement up against his skin. For the remainder of his life, Jess would always have nightmares about that single bullet.
Then, Jess was outside and slamming the door shut behind him. Armed with the knowledge that the closest alarm was embedded into the wall just outside the cell block, Jess hoped he had bought himself a couple more seconds.
Without hesitating, Jess sprinted towards the barbed-wire fence that surrounded the prison. He knew then that he had chosen the right time to make his escape. Already, thick stone walls were sprouting up among prisons all across the country. It wouldn’t be long before this place got one of its own.
Ripping off his shirt as he ran, Jess prepared to toss it up onto the fence. Just then, the alarm went off all across the prison, and Jess knew he was out of time. He reached the fence and threw up his shirt, cheering silently as it stuck fast on top of the barbed wires.
Jess was halfway up the fence when the first spotlight trained itself on his body. Fighting the urge to turn around and look at his pursuers, Jess pushed himself up onto the fence and slid over the barbed wires, padded by his prison shirt. He hit the ground running, headed for the shallow river that ran straight past the compound. It would help wash away his scent, and the current would pull him away from the prison faster than on foot.
By the time the first of the rifles unloaded, Jess was out of range, on his way towards a new life as a free man.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
A story about rappelling! How marvelous!
U-u-u-u-update! Hoorah for a story I can finally call E for Everyone! Dig in, and enjoy.
Backbone
Now standing at the edge of what appeared to be an endless drop, Christine began to have second thoughts about what had initially seemed to be a terrific idea.
“C’mon, Chris,” Stephanie said from two feet back, “Show some backbone. You said you were gonna do it!”
“Shut it,” Christine retorted, peering anxiously over the edge of the cliff, “I’m just… wondering the best way to start, that’s all.” Christine took a deep breath and turned to face her friend, hoping she didn’t look too scared. Stephanie would never let her live it down if she chickened out.
“You ready?” asked Stephanie, grinning slyly. Swallowing emptily, Christine nodded, holding out her hands. Stephanie dropped a jumble of rappelling equipment into her outstretched arms, staring at them as if unable to believe that such a thin rope would be able to hold Christine’s weight.
Christine returned to the edge of the cliff, glanced over the edge once more, and then set to work hammering her anchor deep into the rock between her feet. After a few swift hits, the anchor lodged itself into the stone and Christine moved onto her harness, hoping she wasn’t forgetting anything. If she was, it would be her death.
Christine was a professional climber, or so she told her friends. In truth, she had only rappelled a dozen or so times in her life. More than the average person, but not nearly enough to justify the crazy act she was about to attempt.
It had all started earlier that week, when Christine had read about a middle-aged man that had climbed up the side of a building with only the aid of a rappelling harness. Christine had mentioned the news article to her friends, and they had taken to the idea like bees to pollen. Two days later, Stephanie had approached her with the idea of rappelling down the cliff behind old man Smith’s barn.
Before she knew it, Christine had agreed, and here she was. Christine tightened the harness and clipped it to the rope that was the only thing standing between her and certain death on the rocks below. Looking down now, Christine could see two of her friends – Kelly and Amy – standing just to the side of where the end of her rope was dangling a foot above the ground.
“All set?” Stephanie asked eagerly, jumping up and down in her excitement. Christine shook her head, holding up a single finger. She knelt down and retrieved a heavily padded helmet from the confines of her gym bag, strapping it onto her head. Not that it would help her in any way if the rope snapped. No, the helmet was there simply for comfort. Christine figured that if she survived this experience, her friends would be too in awe to mock her for wearing the helmet.
“Now I’m ready,” said Christine, smiling weakly. She checked her straps for the last time, and then backed up slowly to the edge of the cliff. Stephanie laughed delightedly as Christine leaned backwards into the open air, held tight by the lone rope running through her harness.
Christine inhaled deeply, tasting the dusty air with her tongue. Then, she released her death grip on the rope and kicked off from the cliff face. As the massive stone wall sailed away from her, Christine forgot her fears and let out a loud whoop. Then, her feet made contact with the cliff once more and Christine was suspended, weightless, over a hundred feet in the air.
“That was so awesome!” Stephanie yelled from above, and as Christine looked up she spotted a pair of eyes peering over the edge. Christine gave her a thumbs-up and kicked off again, letting the rope slide through her fingers as she did so. Gradually, Christine made her descent, and as the initial excitement wore off Christine began to feel mildly bored with the repetitive motions that were required for a safe trip down the cliff side.
Wanting a bit of an adrenaline rush, Christine kicked off harder than she should have and twisted to one side in mid air. Unable to right herself before making contact with the rock face, Christine slammed into the cliff hard. She heard a loud crack as her left arm snapped, and screamed in pain.
“You okay Chris?” Stephanie called from above. Christine bit back a sarcastic response and gritted her teeth, trying to keep the movement of her broken arm at a minimum.
“Fine!” Christine yelled back, cringing as a fresh wave of pain washed through her body. Taking a couple of steadying breaths, Christine prepared to kick off once more. She was a little over halfway down the cliff face, and she couldn’t stay where she was. She had gotten herself into this mess, and now she had to get herself out.
Backbone, Christine thought desperately, Have some backbone. Show no fear, you can do this! Christine clenched her teeth tightly and pushed away from the wall. Nothing could have prepared her for the intense pain that came then, and Christine bit her tongue so hard that it drew blood.
Grimacing at the metallic taste in her mouth, Christine kicked off again, and again, and again. Slowly but surely, she made her way down the cliff, pausing every now and then to rest. Before she knew it she was standing on solid ground once more, and her friends were swarming her with questions and praise.
Pushing them away with her good arm, Christine unclipped her harness and stepped out of if, wincing as her broken arm shifted.
“That was amazing, Chris!” Stephanie exclaimed, grabbing her friend by the shoulders and shaking violently. Christine cried out, dropping to one knee.
“I need to see a doctor,” Christine managed, shaking heavily, “Right now.”
Two hours later, Christine walked out of the hospital, a fresh cast wrapped around her broken arm. All her friends had signed the cast, along with half of the nurses on duty. It was a slow day at the hospital, and the result was a cast covered in different coloured signatures.
I knew I could do it, Christine thought smugly. Now that she had swallowed down a couple of painkillers, she was returning to her usual, boastful self. I sure showed you, hey Stephanie? Christine grinned knowingly, turning just in time to see her friends emerging from the hospital ten feet back. Now it’s your turn.
Backbone
Now standing at the edge of what appeared to be an endless drop, Christine began to have second thoughts about what had initially seemed to be a terrific idea.
“C’mon, Chris,” Stephanie said from two feet back, “Show some backbone. You said you were gonna do it!”
“Shut it,” Christine retorted, peering anxiously over the edge of the cliff, “I’m just… wondering the best way to start, that’s all.” Christine took a deep breath and turned to face her friend, hoping she didn’t look too scared. Stephanie would never let her live it down if she chickened out.
“You ready?” asked Stephanie, grinning slyly. Swallowing emptily, Christine nodded, holding out her hands. Stephanie dropped a jumble of rappelling equipment into her outstretched arms, staring at them as if unable to believe that such a thin rope would be able to hold Christine’s weight.
Christine returned to the edge of the cliff, glanced over the edge once more, and then set to work hammering her anchor deep into the rock between her feet. After a few swift hits, the anchor lodged itself into the stone and Christine moved onto her harness, hoping she wasn’t forgetting anything. If she was, it would be her death.
Christine was a professional climber, or so she told her friends. In truth, she had only rappelled a dozen or so times in her life. More than the average person, but not nearly enough to justify the crazy act she was about to attempt.
It had all started earlier that week, when Christine had read about a middle-aged man that had climbed up the side of a building with only the aid of a rappelling harness. Christine had mentioned the news article to her friends, and they had taken to the idea like bees to pollen. Two days later, Stephanie had approached her with the idea of rappelling down the cliff behind old man Smith’s barn.
Before she knew it, Christine had agreed, and here she was. Christine tightened the harness and clipped it to the rope that was the only thing standing between her and certain death on the rocks below. Looking down now, Christine could see two of her friends – Kelly and Amy – standing just to the side of where the end of her rope was dangling a foot above the ground.
“All set?” Stephanie asked eagerly, jumping up and down in her excitement. Christine shook her head, holding up a single finger. She knelt down and retrieved a heavily padded helmet from the confines of her gym bag, strapping it onto her head. Not that it would help her in any way if the rope snapped. No, the helmet was there simply for comfort. Christine figured that if she survived this experience, her friends would be too in awe to mock her for wearing the helmet.
“Now I’m ready,” said Christine, smiling weakly. She checked her straps for the last time, and then backed up slowly to the edge of the cliff. Stephanie laughed delightedly as Christine leaned backwards into the open air, held tight by the lone rope running through her harness.
Christine inhaled deeply, tasting the dusty air with her tongue. Then, she released her death grip on the rope and kicked off from the cliff face. As the massive stone wall sailed away from her, Christine forgot her fears and let out a loud whoop. Then, her feet made contact with the cliff once more and Christine was suspended, weightless, over a hundred feet in the air.
“That was so awesome!” Stephanie yelled from above, and as Christine looked up she spotted a pair of eyes peering over the edge. Christine gave her a thumbs-up and kicked off again, letting the rope slide through her fingers as she did so. Gradually, Christine made her descent, and as the initial excitement wore off Christine began to feel mildly bored with the repetitive motions that were required for a safe trip down the cliff side.
Wanting a bit of an adrenaline rush, Christine kicked off harder than she should have and twisted to one side in mid air. Unable to right herself before making contact with the rock face, Christine slammed into the cliff hard. She heard a loud crack as her left arm snapped, and screamed in pain.
“You okay Chris?” Stephanie called from above. Christine bit back a sarcastic response and gritted her teeth, trying to keep the movement of her broken arm at a minimum.
“Fine!” Christine yelled back, cringing as a fresh wave of pain washed through her body. Taking a couple of steadying breaths, Christine prepared to kick off once more. She was a little over halfway down the cliff face, and she couldn’t stay where she was. She had gotten herself into this mess, and now she had to get herself out.
Backbone, Christine thought desperately, Have some backbone. Show no fear, you can do this! Christine clenched her teeth tightly and pushed away from the wall. Nothing could have prepared her for the intense pain that came then, and Christine bit her tongue so hard that it drew blood.
Grimacing at the metallic taste in her mouth, Christine kicked off again, and again, and again. Slowly but surely, she made her way down the cliff, pausing every now and then to rest. Before she knew it she was standing on solid ground once more, and her friends were swarming her with questions and praise.
Pushing them away with her good arm, Christine unclipped her harness and stepped out of if, wincing as her broken arm shifted.
“That was amazing, Chris!” Stephanie exclaimed, grabbing her friend by the shoulders and shaking violently. Christine cried out, dropping to one knee.
“I need to see a doctor,” Christine managed, shaking heavily, “Right now.”
Two hours later, Christine walked out of the hospital, a fresh cast wrapped around her broken arm. All her friends had signed the cast, along with half of the nurses on duty. It was a slow day at the hospital, and the result was a cast covered in different coloured signatures.
I knew I could do it, Christine thought smugly. Now that she had swallowed down a couple of painkillers, she was returning to her usual, boastful self. I sure showed you, hey Stephanie? Christine grinned knowingly, turning just in time to see her friends emerging from the hospital ten feet back. Now it’s your turn.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Wrath, I am become wrath!
Tonight's story came out considerably better than I expected it to, and I'm relatively proud of it. It's a war story, something that I've been wanting to write for a couple months now. On a side note, it's also probably the most gory story I've ever written, so be warned!
Wrath
“Big Jim’s down!” came the call, relayed along the line held by the second squadron of the US army’s Bravo Company.
Viktor did not hear the announcement at first, completely immersed in the view through the scope of his rifle. Then, as more and more soldiers took up the call, the terrible news finally met Viktor’s ears.
His best friend was dead. James Marshall, known to the second squadron of Bravo Company as Big Jim, had taken a bullet to the right eye. Already, Viktor could see a swarm of medical personnel clad in beige body armor, trying desperately to work a miracle. It was too late. Even as Viktor pushed his way past a half dozen soldiers too loyal to abandon their posts, he could see that Big Jim was dead.
Viktor’s friend lay in a pool of crimson blood, emanating from a deep wound directly above his right eye. One hardy medic was pressing a cloth against Big Jim’s face, trying and failing to stem the bleeding. Viktor thought to inform him that Big Jim was already dead, but he didn’t have the heart.
Instead, Viktor turned away, disgusted and depressed. Big Jim had been a good friend, and Viktor was having trouble believing he was gone.
As he turned his back on the grim scene that was quickly unfolding, Viktor’s depression morphed into a feeling much darker. That feeling was wrath.
How dare they kill him? How dare they take the life of the single worthy man on this side of the battlefield? When had it been decreed that the man who had to die was the most honorable soldier in Bravo Company?
Viktor stopped in mid-stride, clutching his rifle tightly. It was a good thing he’d thought to turn on the safety previously, because his index finger was now wrapped around the trigger and pulling hard.
Casting a furtive glance behind him, Viktor made his way back towards his abandoned post, ducking low behind the pile of sandbags acting as a bullet stop.
Slowly, an idea began to form in Viktor’s mind. It started as a vague thought, and then sharpened into a true possibility was the wrath sweeping through Viktor’s head took hold.
Viktor flipped off the safety of his rifle, his fingers shaking. The dark, treacly anger that had formed in the depths of his mind was now spreading through the rest of his body at an alarming rate. Soon, Viktor was completely at the mercy of his rage.
Viktor eyed a large boulder sitting deep in the sand dunes a hundred or so feet in front of him, off to his right. He knew that in order to enact his revenge he needed to get closer to the enemy, and that boulder provided excellent cover.
Not allowing time for any second thoughts, Viktor stood up from behind the sand bags and vaulted over them. He hid the ground running, knowing full well that he was an easy target for snipers.
“Vik, what the fuck are you doing?” one soldier yelled from behind the sand bag line. Viktor resisted the urge to turn around and fire a half-dozen rounds into the man’s skull, if only because the pause would surely get him killed.
Viktor reached the cover provided by the large boulder, ducking into the shadows. A bullet whizzed past his face, and Viktor recoiled; only now realizing how close he had come to death. Then, gazing back the way he had come, Viktor saw the soldier that had called to him. The man was half-crouched behind the sandbag pile, his entire upper torso exposed.
As Viktor watched, the soldier finally realized that he was no longer protected by the sandbag line, just in time for his head to be blown off by a sniper round.
“Jesus Christ!” Viktor exclaimed, watching as the fallen soldier was quickly swarmed by squad mates. Second thoughts began seeping into his mind, but he dismissed them, knowing that if he returned to the line now he would most likely be removed from the force and send back home for his stunt. And, Viktor thought, that young man’s life will have been lost for nothing.
Viktor turned around once again, fingering his rifle and wondering how to best approach the situation at hand. Viktor had intended to get close enough to toss a couple grenades into the enemy encampment, but in his wrath-induced frenzy he hadn’t realized just how wide the battlefield was. Even in his current position, Viktor was still hundreds of feet away from the enemy line.
This knowledge frustrated Viktor further, and he began to curse furiously under his breath. If Big Jim had been around to see the state his friend was in, he would have taken off running in the opposite direction with his tail tucked between his legs.
Then, a single bullet round embedded itself into the sand at Viktor’s feet, and all hope of recovering from this intense anger was lost. Viktor climbed to his feet, deadly calm, and checked the rounds of his rifle. It was fully loaded, and that knowledge made Viktor grin.
Viktor raised the rifle to hip level, took a deep breath, and stepped out into the line of fire. If he had been thinking straight at that moment, he would have realized that although he was closer to the enemy than his squad members, he did not have an advantage in the grand scheme of things. The closer he was to the enemy line, the easier he was to shoot.
This knowledge was quickly put into example as five bullets pierced Viktor’s stomach. Doubling over, Viktor fired off two rounds at random in the direction he hoped was the enemy encampment. The two bullets hit the sand over a hundred feet to the right of the enemy line.
Then, Viktor was down, bleeding heavily from his wounds, knowing that he would never walk again. In those last moments, Viktor’s mind cleared considerably, and he fell into a peaceful, trance-like state.
Wrath, he thought mildly, God damn wrath.
Wrath
“Big Jim’s down!” came the call, relayed along the line held by the second squadron of the US army’s Bravo Company.
Viktor did not hear the announcement at first, completely immersed in the view through the scope of his rifle. Then, as more and more soldiers took up the call, the terrible news finally met Viktor’s ears.
His best friend was dead. James Marshall, known to the second squadron of Bravo Company as Big Jim, had taken a bullet to the right eye. Already, Viktor could see a swarm of medical personnel clad in beige body armor, trying desperately to work a miracle. It was too late. Even as Viktor pushed his way past a half dozen soldiers too loyal to abandon their posts, he could see that Big Jim was dead.
Viktor’s friend lay in a pool of crimson blood, emanating from a deep wound directly above his right eye. One hardy medic was pressing a cloth against Big Jim’s face, trying and failing to stem the bleeding. Viktor thought to inform him that Big Jim was already dead, but he didn’t have the heart.
Instead, Viktor turned away, disgusted and depressed. Big Jim had been a good friend, and Viktor was having trouble believing he was gone.
As he turned his back on the grim scene that was quickly unfolding, Viktor’s depression morphed into a feeling much darker. That feeling was wrath.
How dare they kill him? How dare they take the life of the single worthy man on this side of the battlefield? When had it been decreed that the man who had to die was the most honorable soldier in Bravo Company?
Viktor stopped in mid-stride, clutching his rifle tightly. It was a good thing he’d thought to turn on the safety previously, because his index finger was now wrapped around the trigger and pulling hard.
Casting a furtive glance behind him, Viktor made his way back towards his abandoned post, ducking low behind the pile of sandbags acting as a bullet stop.
Slowly, an idea began to form in Viktor’s mind. It started as a vague thought, and then sharpened into a true possibility was the wrath sweeping through Viktor’s head took hold.
Viktor flipped off the safety of his rifle, his fingers shaking. The dark, treacly anger that had formed in the depths of his mind was now spreading through the rest of his body at an alarming rate. Soon, Viktor was completely at the mercy of his rage.
Viktor eyed a large boulder sitting deep in the sand dunes a hundred or so feet in front of him, off to his right. He knew that in order to enact his revenge he needed to get closer to the enemy, and that boulder provided excellent cover.
Not allowing time for any second thoughts, Viktor stood up from behind the sand bags and vaulted over them. He hid the ground running, knowing full well that he was an easy target for snipers.
“Vik, what the fuck are you doing?” one soldier yelled from behind the sand bag line. Viktor resisted the urge to turn around and fire a half-dozen rounds into the man’s skull, if only because the pause would surely get him killed.
Viktor reached the cover provided by the large boulder, ducking into the shadows. A bullet whizzed past his face, and Viktor recoiled; only now realizing how close he had come to death. Then, gazing back the way he had come, Viktor saw the soldier that had called to him. The man was half-crouched behind the sandbag pile, his entire upper torso exposed.
As Viktor watched, the soldier finally realized that he was no longer protected by the sandbag line, just in time for his head to be blown off by a sniper round.
“Jesus Christ!” Viktor exclaimed, watching as the fallen soldier was quickly swarmed by squad mates. Second thoughts began seeping into his mind, but he dismissed them, knowing that if he returned to the line now he would most likely be removed from the force and send back home for his stunt. And, Viktor thought, that young man’s life will have been lost for nothing.
Viktor turned around once again, fingering his rifle and wondering how to best approach the situation at hand. Viktor had intended to get close enough to toss a couple grenades into the enemy encampment, but in his wrath-induced frenzy he hadn’t realized just how wide the battlefield was. Even in his current position, Viktor was still hundreds of feet away from the enemy line.
This knowledge frustrated Viktor further, and he began to curse furiously under his breath. If Big Jim had been around to see the state his friend was in, he would have taken off running in the opposite direction with his tail tucked between his legs.
Then, a single bullet round embedded itself into the sand at Viktor’s feet, and all hope of recovering from this intense anger was lost. Viktor climbed to his feet, deadly calm, and checked the rounds of his rifle. It was fully loaded, and that knowledge made Viktor grin.
Viktor raised the rifle to hip level, took a deep breath, and stepped out into the line of fire. If he had been thinking straight at that moment, he would have realized that although he was closer to the enemy than his squad members, he did not have an advantage in the grand scheme of things. The closer he was to the enemy line, the easier he was to shoot.
This knowledge was quickly put into example as five bullets pierced Viktor’s stomach. Doubling over, Viktor fired off two rounds at random in the direction he hoped was the enemy encampment. The two bullets hit the sand over a hundred feet to the right of the enemy line.
Then, Viktor was down, bleeding heavily from his wounds, knowing that he would never walk again. In those last moments, Viktor’s mind cleared considerably, and he fell into a peaceful, trance-like state.
Wrath, he thought mildly, God damn wrath.
Friday, January 15, 2010
F1R5T P05T!!!1!
The blog is up! Going to be posting all my works here, as well as updates on book status. Hoorah!
I'll get things started with a short story from a project I'm working on called Story-A-Day. I think the title explains itself. This story is called 'Genocide', decided by a random word generator. That's basically how I pick my topic for the day.
Anyways, without further adeu, I present 'Genocide'!
I'll get things started with a short story from a project I'm working on called Story-A-Day. I think the title explains itself. This story is called 'Genocide', decided by a random word generator. That's basically how I pick my topic for the day.
Anyways, without further adeu, I present 'Genocide'!
Genocide
“Open up, Christian Relocation Committee!” an amplified voice shouted from behind the heavy oak door. Isaac swallowed fearfully, backing away from the door with his hands raised in a defensive stance.
Isaac had always known it would come to this, but now that it was happening he wasn’t sure he could handle the situation. His parents had set an emergency plan for when the CRC finally took action, but they were both dead now and Isaac was alone.
“Open the fucking door!” the soldier on the other side of the door yelled, “We know you’re in there!” Isaac jumped as the soldier began thumping his fist against the door, and then slunk into the kitchen.
There, he knelt down and eased a loose tile from its position in the corner of the room. Beneath it laid two wooden cases, unmarked except for a red ‘X’ emblazoned on the lid. Isaac removed the lid of the first case, revealing a gleaming, unmarked revolver. With shaking hands, he took it in his hands and checked the cylinder, as he had been taught to do. The gun was fully loaded.
Isaac opened the second case to reveal a nearly identical revolver. He grabbed this one as well and hastily made his way over to the back door. Listening carefully, Isaac waited. A few seconds passed, and then there came a loud splintering. Seconds later, the sound of heavy boots on tile met Isaac’s ears.
That was his cue, and he quietly pushed the back door open. Isaac slid through the narrow opening and closed the door behind him. Then, he sprinted across the backyard and vaulted himself over the shoulder-high fence.
Isaac slid to the ground, breathing hard. He had evaded the CRC soldiers for the time being, but he knew it wouldn’t take long for them to find him.
“Why is this happening,” Isaac whispered, as if he didn’t already know. The CRC had formed two years previously, and since then they had made it their goal to eradicate each and every Christian in the country. Isaac didn’t know why, nor did he care. All that mattered was his continued survival. Isaac only wished his parents were there with him.
They had been publicly executed during a CRC rally, in front of thousands of people, as a message to any that might resist. Isaac himself had been forced to watch, and the memories of that day still burned clear in his mind.
“Son of a bitch, he got away!” someone yelled from behind the fence. Isaac tensed, raising his guns in a ready stance. Slowly, Isaac got to his feet, never taking his eyes from the unlocked gate at the far end of the yard. That was where the soldiers would come, he was sure of it.
Isaac raised his revolvers, aiming them unsteadily at the gate. His father had given him lessons on proper usage of the guns, but he was having trouble remembering them.
“Try that gate!” one soldier called, “He might have jumped the fence!” Moments later, a hand slipped over the top of the gate and fumbled around for the bolt-lock. Isaac took a deep breath, willing himself not to fire prematurely.
The hand collided with the lock, and moments later the lock had been pulled back. The gate opened, and Isaac spotted a single soldier clad in light gray body armour standing in plain sight.
Isaac fired twice, nearly falling over from the force of the recoil. The soldier cried out, looking down in astonishment as two bloody holes appeared in his upper chest. Then, he crumpled to the ground.
Isaac broke for the gate, praying to God for forgiveness. He hadn’t wanted to kill the man, but there was simply no choice. One life had been lost so that another could continue.
A second soldier appeared next to the body of his fallen comrade, staring down at the bloody corpse in surprise. Isaac fired once more, and the soldier dropped like a stone.
By then, the rest of the squadron had realized what was going on, and had trained their weapons on the opening where two bodies now lay, sprawled across each other.
Isaac slid to a halt, almost tripping on the damp grass. He backed away quickly, realizing that he had come inches from running out into an ambush. He pulled himself over the fence opposite his house, and ran.
Soon, he had put enough distance between him and the soldiers to feel safe, at least for the moment. Isaac knelt down and pulled himself into the space behind an empty dog house. The dog itself, a brute of a Rottweiler, was lying dead ten feet away, an early victim of the CRC’s extermination.
Gasping for breath, Isaac listened as bloodcurdling screams tore through the night air all around him. Shuddering, Isaac stuffed the revolvers into the pockets of his jeans.
There was really only one word for the horror that surrounded him, Isaac realized. It was genocide.
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