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Topic: The Dynasty of the Dying (Read 313 times)
FeelTheAnguish
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« on: April 16, 2009, 11:49:12 AM »

The small boy hit the firt hard, flashed scarlet across his face and let out a small grunt. He scrambled in the dirt to right himself, then leapt, leopard-like over a low wall and pressed a lashed and tattered back against it.
There was a muffled yelling amongst the cold and normally silent ruins, the dust was a thick mist to the boy as he peered over the wall with trembling lips and eyes.

Amongst the dreary greys and browns of his home, the small blue orb that he clutched desperately in his grubby fingers was a tiny beacon of hope while the savages butchered his family just several hundred metres away. He'd found the small orb nestled amongst some dusty folds of flesh from one of the battles. After peeling away the bloody clothing and crusted gore, there it had been, swirling within the mysterious transparent wall, a series of blue liquids that swayed and danced, but never mixed, like an eternally restless marble of what the sky and sea once were. It was the only blue that remained in the barren hell, for everything else had been sucked dry of any trickle of colour by the power of nature taking revenge on the selifshness of the world.

A bullet let off a scream, then pounded into the low wall with a spray of dust and plaster. With an equally quick jolt, the boy snapped out of his memories, as he had needed to do so many times to survive, and scuttled off with a whimper. There was no time for the dreamers and the thinkers, no place for anybody other than those who could bleed the most and keep running. He was young, had had an imagination of a boy, but it had been cleansed with an adult reality. His tight and scarred chest could have portrayed a boy twice his age, but he knew the orb and his own body, were young and pure.

There was more yelling, then several more powerful distant gunshots. He slid down one of the dusty banks, into a place where the sunlight was not bubbling away as much. A small groan immediately thrust his fists into a position where he was ready to pound and and smash and leave no trace. However he withdrew, paced slowly closer to the beam of light that cut through the unsettled dust. The heap of a man at the bottom was in no state to harm the boy. The half empty gun had skidded under a metal grating, just out of reach.
A vicious metal spike had driven its way through the back of the man's knee, and ruptured out the bone. The damaged soul's quest to find a comfortable position had arched his back into a contortion of agony that gave him the look of an angel, whose wings had vanished into the dust, and the beam of light just wouldn't let him leave yet.

The man rolled his head to the boy, with his chin dribbling and a bloodshot menace lurking within him.
"Squeal for me bitch" he growled.

The boy refused. He was not an animal; he knew where his heart was. He questioned for a second whether a hatred towards one of the mant who had hunted his families for so long, was right. The small boy simply uncovered the orb, that cast no light on the darkness, but was unnaturally bright. It was a prize the hunters had butchered so many for.

"You fool" the mangled heap spluttered out "they might have let you live, but, now"

Most gunshots, closer now, ferocious little monsters tearing through the air, fast, painfully fast. The boy scuttled forwards and picked up the half empty gun, his fingernails bleeding onto the metal.

"You know you won't make it out" came the growl again

No words from the boy, just the dusty footsteps into the darkness as the laughter behind him died away.

Not even the rats lived down there, with blades of light stabbing brutally into the skeletonns who had befallen similar fates of weakness and descent, a dank and gory smell was pulsing throughout the veins of the underground. He ran his raw fingertips over the gun, like it was the hot skin of a lover. It gave him some power, a security. It was an excuse for himto be vicious now, to be a body he wasn't of body. Four bullets: He hoped he would get to use them all.
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MiztrezzLyn
Angel of Death
Dark Lords Emeritus
Harbinger of Doom
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Army: Dark Elf
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Angel of Death


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« Reply #1 on: April 16, 2009, 04:43:11 PM »

Wow, that was engrossing. You certainly have a gift with writing :)
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Darcros
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« Reply #2 on: April 16, 2009, 04:48:04 PM »

What ever you do dont stop writing  No Mercy!
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