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Writer
Join Date: Aug 2004
Location: USA
Posts: 29
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A Road Less Traveled
This is a short story I started by writing a sentence, and from there it took a life of its own. Hope you enjoy the first part. The second was trying to make sense of it all and expand the story some, but I dont think thats possible.
[disc:92a9aca530]This may be offensive due to its graphic nature, please be advised. Part 2 has the F-word a few too many times.[/disc:92a9aca530]
Part 1:
Sometime after the war he hit the fork in the road, the time where he had to make a choice. The choice he made is why he's here this fateful day, a gloomy day in the middle of March, when the sun of spring hits the cold of winter.
"Where is the money, did you spend it all on whores and synth?" spouted a short burley man dressed in pinstripe black slacks and a sports coat to match. His polished black dress shoes glimmered from the overhead lamps that flooded the large room with light.
A scowl of discontent sprawled across his face, but he managed to keep a somewhat maniacal smirk intact. "Did you think that we wouldn't find out? Did you honestly think that the money would be forgotten?" with a gaze of trained hatred, eyes pinpoint on a chair in the dead center of the room.
Located in that chair a man of average size, slumped there with no obvious intent to move. After sometime a breath escaped his lungs. "No-" he murmured, a faint version of a word. The only things he wore were his bloodied chest and a pair of badly torn slacks. Fresh burgundy fluid oozed from a large gash across his chest. The dried blood glistened with a slight haze, fluctuating tones with every breath.
The made for a movie mobster with a sadistic twinkle in his eye, focused on his prey. "No? Is that all you have to say?" he questioned as he proceeded to unbutton his pin-striped sports coat. With a small toss, the crisp black lined jacket flew through the air with no obvious destination. Revealing the sweat and blood died shirt that covered his dark skinned complexion.
With out warning, he sprung forward like a lion after its supper. Ripping the meals head back with a handful of dark hair. Looking down, then up as if deciding where to start, he peered in closer, until he could feel his own hot breath reflect back. "Do you have the money? Or will I have to?"he gestured with his meaty hand towards the sheathed hunting knife attached to his side. A quick flick, the knife entered his hand as if it were meant to be there, with no more movement was the blade pressed against the Adams apple of its captive target, yearning for penetration.
"Is this motive enough for you? What do you say Locke -- Locke Rosh?"
Part 2:
"Com' on ya filthy fuckers!" Locke yelled at a semi-visible grouping of soldiers behind a destroyed half meter thick concrete wall. Aiming at the black matte colored armor some thirty paces in front of him, Locke shot a short three round burst. The rugged assault riffle impacted back against his shoulder as the rounds sped toward their destined target. Three rounds impacted the metal alloy armor penetrating to the soft spongy flesh underneath. A loud scream of pain spewed from the soldiers' mouth, which had left his shoulder uncovered. "Are you that 'fraid of me? How about I come too ya instead."
Immediately his hand met a baseball sized incendiary grenade, with a small tug, it detached. He moved his thumb towards a switch and flicked it. Counting to himself "One, one hundred, two, one hundred, three--"he immediately propelled the explosive device towards his enemies. He secretly thanked his old baseball coach for the years of well instructed practice. "Visualize the ball at the mitt already; don't think of how to get it there."
As if the small metal ball knew where to go, it flew towards the group of soldiers. It was blessed with the proper arc, speed, and conditions to meet the ground where the boots of the already stricken soldier lie. "--four, one hundred, BOOM!"
A gentile smile met Locke's face as he rose to his feet scanning the now chaotic scenery. He planted his crusty blood covered hand on the makeshift barricade at his waist, and then used it to hop across. Walking across the ex-battle ground to scavenge any weapons that could be used to further their fight; a faint glimmer met his eye. Immediately he returned the favor and gazed at what appeared to be a small metallic object with deep indentations. Kneeling to inspect it further, he wiped away the reddish brown earth that covered the majority of it.
Pzzzzzt--Thud.
The urgency of the moment reached out and almost touched him. "DAMN! That was close." He thought to himself also noticing the trajectory of the shot. Still holding the indented object in his hand, he sprinted around some cover. The object was placed into the pocket of Locke's mud saturated pants. "That fucker almost got me, must be a rookie. I don't have much cover to sneak up on him, fuck!" he contemplated the options and grabbed the GSatComm Unit secured to his chest.
"Got a bogey thirty-six degrees north east of my position, copy, take that fucker out, over." he commed over the unit. "Shhzhzzhs--Roger that, taking the shot." Spurted from the comm unit. In the distance a sound much like a high pitched whistle down a tube moved behind Locke.
Knowing full and well how much destruction C4 tipped sniper rifle ammo can deal, flashbacks of cow flesh parting from the bone as the fire and debris flashed from his memory. He noted to himself, "The nice thing is, one shot can really take out two, hell even ten birds with out too much trouble."
"Shzzhhzsh--neutralized, scanning for more targets--Its clear."
"I'm heading to camp, watch my back. I've got a surprise for you when you get back." Immediately he grabbed his custom forged combat blade from its sheath. He moved towards his close meeting with death and proceeded to pick at the fresh bullet wound in the concrete.
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