The Solider and the Cake

Jude let out a massive cough in the darkness, followed by several more violent coughs, then silence in the tiny room, with the exception of a massive wail building up in his voice, between violent breaths.  His legs had been crushed, under several hundred pounds of heavy concrete and rebar, and a Jeep that had come crashing down with the ceiling, still smoking from one of the several dropped bombs from above.

He had no idea how long he had been out cold, but the fresh smoke smell still lingered in the air, long after the flames had been extinguished.  His eyes wide open, staring into emptiness, wild with adrenaline and fear.  

"Help.... Help me!"  The short length walls in the small room gave off no echo or compassion as he frantically tried to scramble out from the blockage, clawing at the ground, trying to break free.

"How long had it been?  How long have I been down here for?"  Countless hours, impossible to tell what time it is when you're three meters under ground, all the minutes count back to night time.  His true gripe, once the issue that his legs would not stop hurting, was the fact that it hurt even more to lay on his stomach due to the gear he assumed he was carrying when the bomb dropped.  He placed his forehead on the ground and laughed, closing his eyes at his situation, "Wonderful way to sign that paper, Jude...  When you get home, what a story to tell aye?"  He was from Oxford, granted the time being 1943, perfect for a young man his age to be stuck where he was at.

He reached down underneath his stomach, turning over slightly under the increased pain of the heavy burden on his legs, laughing at the moment that he hopes his shoes weren't claustrophobic.  His fingers wrapped around a rugged steel frame, fingers flirting with the warm groves that his body kept company in the late hours of siege.  Producing what he came to discover by the blinding light from his torch, operated by the flick of a button, gave him new means to be happy, hopeful, his beacon of trust in the military for giving him a false sense of security in case, of course, three tons of concrete and a Jeep collapse on top of your legs.

The light shone to the opposite end of the room, this room a mess hall by the evident tables and split chairs and trays scattered over the floor.  The light was wonderful for company considering the quiet atmosphere gave him no solice, in a place where a handful of soldiers came to escape their other lives, the cafeteria for instance.  

Upon further examination, he discovered, right in front of him, a light shining right back at him, causing him to shield his eyes for a moment, trying to materialize the object several feet away.  The outline of an individually wrapped vanilla cream cake came into few, his stomach suddenly addressing his appetite.  He coughed, screaming and smiling at the cake, his new bunk mate and best friend, as he outstretched his arms, fingers coming up nearly a foot short of enticement.  

If giving credit to the Communists for finding Jude without his precious cake wasn't enough, his he had learned that his hunger now seemed indifferent to his legs, wanting that sweet, soft sugary taste to numb the pain of disability and retirement checks, sure he wanted to run from there, but not before taking his cake with him, the flashlight a premature victory feast to the eyes... 

Hours later, he awoke, stomach growling.. The flashlight he had turned off, laying next to his arm, neatly ready to his next usage.  His eyes attempted to focus to the darkness, before grabbing the torch next to him, and fumbling for the button to see if his cake was still there.  His thumb shifted the button forward, springing the dead room to life, as he sighed with a smile on his face.  In place of the wrapped cake sat a picture of his friends and family, with himself in the middle, his little brother sitting on his shoulders.  "Good.. Thought you left for a moment.." he said in his raspy voice.  "How long have we been down here now?"  His eyes panned across the significant members of his family, his best friends popping in and out of the picture as he looked from spot to spot, a still portrait of his life waiting for him back at home.

He extended his weary, dry, dusty fingers reaching out again for the soft embrace of "comfort food", his mother in the picture with a bowl in her arms, stirring a bowl containing her delicious "Vanilla Cake Surprise" to whomever was lucky enough to try a piece.  His girlfriend with her arms crossed only fueled his want and need to be home with the people who made him feel most alive, although this event in the war kept him on his toes, so to speak, fairly well.  

The whole gang of thirteen had strangely been squeezed into tiny card of paper, strange as it was.  The thought was enticing to be back with them, even as the flashlight rolled out of his fingers and stopped on the switch, preventing the torch from rolling any farther from arm's length.  His eyes tired, chest beginning to hurt, he began to hate himself for being here, stuck in this hole while his family waited for him at home.  The room made him angry, even as his breathing slowed, and he drifted off to sleep again.

"How long.. where am I...?"  The light from the flashlight still on, it shown on the opposite wall from him, what was once soft, brown painted concrete, was now dark, prickly red.  Black seemed to ooze from the red texture as the room gave off a frantic, dark hopeless vibe... He quickly reached for his flashlight, drips of dark crimson dripping onto the ground that the light portrayed in excellent relief.  

He quickly dragged the flashlight back to him, bits of red dripping onto the lens itself, casting a red glow back onto his face and the entire red room around him.  He quickly shook his head, looking around the room as it seemed to grow reddish and dim around him.  The light darted around, before he stopped, the flashlight slowly turning back to a familiar object only a couple of feet beyond his grasp.  A .38 Special revolver handgun lay on the ground, one single bullet resting beside the chamber. 

His tired arm chose to not move for it anymore, the dripping of red around him made him crave and craze for the handgun.  "I'm never getting out of here...  I don't want to die down here!!!"  He lifted his head, screaming as the bullet fell over, rolling around in a semi circle near his finger tips.  He felt tempted by the quick end to the strife, even as his flashlight in his other hand started to flicker out, dimming slowly from the lack of battery power.  The now red gun lay there, one bullet, one shot.  His hopelessness to keep him company, he shut his eyes one last time, laying there, sprawled out onto the floor, legs no longer felt, he fell asleep.

"Son!  Son can you hear me?!"  

Jude's eyes popped open, lights distant down the hallways surrounding the only way into the room now flooded the bunker.  "We've got one, he's alive!  Call the medics!  Medics!!"  Jude looked up upon the soft glow of an older man's glasses, his face smiling down at the young, stuck man.  "You'll be alright, son..."  The older man's voice faded out as Jude closed his eyes again. 

"I think if we move these.. Yeah, come on, we can still get his leg's loose."  Jude opened his eyes once more to see the rushing of boots and men around, forming a small circle around him.  "Do you have a good grip?  Alright, here we go.  One.. Two.. Three, lift!!"  Arms underneath Jude's shoulders pulled him out, his body helpless.  The loud crash of rubble behind him was still distant, tired, even the solider's laughter as he remained helpless.  Fingers began to poke his legs as he heard a voice say, "With some surgery, he'll keep his legs.."  Another bit of pressure as he felt his head go back, followed by some bright lights, moaning himself back to subconsciousness.  "Let's get him out of here, keep looking for survivors!"  His eyes barely cracked open to see a two way emergency radio, laying in perfect condition on the ground, just out of reach from where he lay.

Jude's eyes were stunned as he emerged outside through smoke and men, the sun shining down onto his face..  Men standing on the sides and nodding, smiling at the survivor as he heard a voice say, "We had no idea anyone was alive down there... If only he could of let us know earlier..."  Jude was carried over to the infirmary tent, were he lay down, staring up at the sky, his face too dark to tell his expression, his hunger too deep to satisfy by rations, his emotions too hard to show to his family, his fear of war to great to know that war is suicide.  He smiled to himself, closing his eyes, letting the breeze pat him slowly on the face.

Stoli Pamer, pt 3

((Part three of the Dark Bounty narrative of Stoli's adventure through the neo-city.))

Ace opens his eyes suddenly to the quiet... The dark, the warm ground he lays on.. It feels like crumpled up gravel, but harder, rougher... Warm, still, and black... Flakey... He pivots his head to what sounds like a distant rumbling of pipes.. Or rocks? Water..? He rolls over on his leather jacket, still in his loose jeans and falls over on his knees. He rubs off the black sediment on his grey shirt and looks up slightly.. The ground was flickering on a small slope down, like a mound, with a lake of a fiery, yet harden magma. He looks down at the soot on his fingers and stays on his knees. Up ahead he sees an amazing throne, made with ivory and gold, truly astounding to behold, and he almost has to take his eyes away, because its hard for him to look upon something so bright.. Light shines from the top.. There is somebody sitting on the throne.. They slowly rise, long flowing, but conservative white and gold robes step slowly down steps made of pearl. The light around the face becomes less and less bright, showing a face belonging to a handsome blonde man, feminine in mystique. As Ace looks upon the figure, he can see the figure's feet are dark red and black from scorch marks, and hands that are burned all the way to the middle of the arm, but with no bone to give it structure, as if the figure is simply meant to be without shape or form, but his mind gives it a body. A dark whispering can be heard from it's mouth as he steps onto the magma, walking across towards Sonny. He falls back on his hands and crawls back slightly as the figure approaches closer. The robed man is also clutching a brilliant golden staff that he holds upwright in his fist, taking step after step closer, his head upright and looking down into Sonny's eyes.

I quickly snapped out of it and rose my body up, my heart beating... I looked around for.. Cate? I hoped she was here.. I'm sure I was out of the Industrial District. I licked my lips and looked around, the visions from the dream still fresh in my mind... The son was shining through the windows, giving me a smiling reminder that I was still on Davis holy land, my haven. 

I step barefooted in my boxers out into the hallway, looking at both ends, unable to see anyone. It's that feeling you get when you have nothing to do after sleeping in and having the place to yourself on a Saturday morning. My God, maybe it is, if it wasn't Tuesday. I walked past the counter and grabbed a Hershey's Kiss out of a bag that spilled out all over the bar, unwrapping it and injecting my mouth with a chocolate tide over until lunch, which was planned right across the street from my old place in the Industrial District. I left more than a few important things there, and help me if I didn't miss my .45. 

Walking down the streets in the Industrial District is like smoking cigarettes through your eyes, the tall apartments mixed with the factories sandwiched in between is more like a luxury Shanty Town, but more dangerous. The temp outside was a cool 65 degrees, but around the pollution, trash, and lack of sunlight, but with all the O-Zone, made my skin feel like 98, and on the worst kind of summer day. I pushed my hand open through the door to the local cuisine across from my place that the cops still haven't taped off in the past three days. This cuisine was worth the trip, good little mom and pop place, I trusted these people. I stepped into something that looks like a cage and stuck my gloved hand out and smiled at waiter, Stacey, who was a cess pool of AIDS and hope. She walked over to the cage and winked at me, blisters still surrounding her lips aching when she smiled from the armory of STDs. Poor girl, I felt bad for her. Its lucky for her that here in the Industrial District are more than enough people with her problems, and maybe thats the bliss shared here that you'll never find in the Residential part of town. I wave to Paul Holt and he waves back, the owner and head "chef" of the burger/noodle joint. I could already smell the "usual" noodle gyro cooking on the grill.

I continued to sip on Pepsi, the cold drainage of the cola washing down my throat, as the poor lone ice cube was sacraficed to my teeth. Brutal as it may seem, the peaceful imagery on the windows of a pasture, with a pleasant stream and the happy, yet uncared for wooden fence seemed to calm my soul just a little bit. The surrounding walls were covered with road signs and old soda bottles, and maybe the celebrity or two from twenty years ago behind the cash register. The scenery on the window fizzled out and changed to an even more calming beach sunset. I dropped a couple of fives on the table, paid, and turned around to wave at Paul as he had just picked up the phone to dial, and he smiled and waved back as I let him get to his seemingly important sudden business on the phone. I look across the street at former shit hole and put my hands in my jacket pocket, walking across the cross walk. I step over the broken and shattered glass around my window, and look inside the busted down door. The house looked so out of life, just the way I had always left it. 

Less than half an hour later, I was holding onto a check for another 50k for the loss of Mr. Rather's son. A smile in one hand, and a .45 in the other, my gun is packed away in a holster than my leather jacket covers up, along with the other four mags that tap lightly on my lower back with each stride. I turn the corner across the street to the metro as a city bus that never leaves the district, rolls up outside the other side of the street. The smile from the model on the side of the bus is my new date to accompany me into the local convenience store, Kum and Go. These places had never changed in the past years, except for the occasional new technology in lighters, or the new kids candy. I step through the sliding glass doors and smile at the clerk who shakely keeps his hand under the counter. Even better to this joint, they are playing the classics gold station, and "Hey Jude" by the Beatles seemed to be the most appropriate track for today by the DJs. Music has had this nasty drop off in class, and people quit caring after the late 2000s when people quit caring about originality, and the classics resurfaced. I made my way to the Yoohoos. 

I popped open that wonderful bottle cap and smirked at the familiar top as finally my personality seemed to enter back into my head. I looked up at the impatient clerk who had his head lowered and eyeing my, making sure I didn't pocket the candy bar that I was standing way to close for his own good. I walked back up to the front, promising "Not to make it bad." to Paul McCartney, as the song still blared from the rippling blown speakers in the ceiling. 

"Lovely weather as always here." I said with a smile to the clerk. He looked at me and quickly crunched up the numbers on his cash register, without looking up and without that smile I had been hoping for. "Twel fohti fie." He said in his Mandarin classic accent. Now I'm not a racist man, but the look I gave him for charging me so step might have made another person look twice.. "Twelve and a half credits for this? I can get it for eleven down the street, or just pull one out of my..." I trailed off, feeling rude and sighing, and just handing him my credits enlistment card as he swiped, and tapped the card of the over used smooth counter. I looked outside at the bus and sighed. My view took my over to Paul, who was standing out of the front steps of his diner, his hands on his hips, looking out at the convenience store, looking in the window from the other block over. Mr. McCartney reminded me to take a sad song, and make it better, which brought a smile to my face, reminding me that there was still some spark in the district, and that even life could flourish here, and love could still be found in the people's faces who refused to leave because of crime. That was when the two men in long coats stepped out in front of the door, white collared stays around their necks, and the crucifix of Christ himself dangling high above the shotguns that rested under their arms.

My grin turned sour as my heart started pumping as the music began to pick up. The gunmen pulled out the guns and put them up to their shoulders and cocked their guns, flicking their safety off. "Better better better BETTER BETTER BETTER!!!!" Kicked up from the Beatles and I quickly dove behind a magazine stand, covering my head from the explosion of papers blew up like confetti, landing in my hair. I pulled out my .45 and coughed out a groan from the position I was being put in. I pulled back on the chamber and registered my first bullet. The clerk was already running behind the safe far back behind the counter. I didn't move at first, but I clearly heard the glass being broken out at from the shotgun barrels and the two men stepped inside. Younger men these two were.. Fucking hated this... The Beatles seemed to feel the intensity with me as they chanted "Na na na na! Hey Jude!" I gripped my pistol hard and pushed my lips hard together as I heard one of their barrels pushing the old shell out. I moved out from around the corner and pointed out the pistol, and pulled the trigger.

Two shots rang fired into his chest, him stumbling back, but not nearly enough to penetrate the body armor that he has wearing. His partner had already cocked another shot and quickly aimed, firing. I jumped and spun around, diving somewhere next to the Mighty Bites dog food the next isle over, feeling a searing pain of two tiny pieces of lead stuck in my arm. He quickly turned around the corner and pointed his barrel at me, pushing his old cartidge out and pushing around one in. I scrambled to my feet and jumped over the Alpo, falling over the rack and causing a collapse of dog food to flood onto the next isle. I quickly pulled out my gun and fired at the other guy, still clenching his kevlar from where my hollow points hit him. A bullet rang out and his cheek exploded. I turned the gun around to the other one who had decided to pick up the pace and was running down the isle, trying to get a shot. My barrel chased his head down the pathway, settling on a can of dog food. A slug hit the side of the can, knocking it into the air and hitting the gunman in the face. I quickly rolled around in the mass of dog food can and stumbled slightly, trying to get my footing. I sprung up and barreled into him, both of us hitting the floor. I quickly grabbed the bottle of Yoohoo from the counter as he tried to fight me off. 

I held the bottle up with one hand, and jammed the drinking side into his mouth breaking some teeth and pushed it to the back of his throat with my palm. He stopped moving as I spun around, still straddled on the gunman, and shot his partner in the forehead, as he was still clenching his cheek, and trying to aim his shotgun with his free hand. The Beatles had still not given up, going into the extended course. I stood up and put my pistol back in the holster before I stumbled sideways back outside. Paul had gone back inside of his diner, fine business man that he was, always going to church on Sundays, and now in the business of calling in for favors for the Catholic Church as well. The bus crowd has all been crowded up around the windows of the city transit, watching the display. The driver quickly closed his doors and a couple of switches flicked, the back end of the bus rising into the air and getting ready for take off. Even more so, behind them was an apartment building, and even scarier, an RPG missle that was being aimed at the store behind me.

My new best friend, the Roman Catholic church, had seemed to take this special liking to me, when they're willing to level city blocks to get their point across. A plume of smoke filled the apartments and spread out the windows of the room on all sides, as an RPG came barreling towards the mart. To my horror I watched as the bus, so quick to try and escape from my rampage, reared back into the designated height, and met the grenade, causing a ripple of flames to spread through the glass, and land abruptly to the ground in a fiery explosion, followed by the dark black smoke. My eyes in shock, I stumbled at as the end of "Hey Jude" began to fade out in the store's speakers. I shook my head, and quickly ran down the back alley way. There was another metro... Those people... I shook my head and lowered it a bit further down, running even faster.

((The writing seems immature, in the way that's it's hard to convey music to an exciting scene without audio to help usher the feeling.  Still, a very fun write!))

Stoli Palmer, pt 2

((A second part in the Dark Bounty forums started by Luther Falco.  Another sample writing as follows, I appreciate the read!))

A rather nice car flew in from out of a swarm of traffic in the midnight sky, cutting a 180 turn and landing softly onto the ground, blowing trash cans and scattered litter about, causing a few lonely street cats to run back to whichever home they preferred to call home that night. Inside was Jack Rather, son of legendary city public defender Richard Rather. 

Bruno was inside, a nervous look on his face from sitting in the car, his knuckles gripping the steering wheel as he rubbed it around the sides. A rather large man was Bruno, and very nervous to have his best and most famous friend behind him, in which he looks up in the rear view mirror nervously. He adjusts it to see the glow of a cherry stem from the cigarette Jack was smoking on to glow and burn a little closer down to the filter. "Can I come inside Mr. Rather?" Jack sat still for a moment in the darkness as he looked out the window.. He slowly leaned forward and put his hand on Bruno's shoulder and with a smile, responded "Not tonight Bruno.. This is nasty part of town, and thats why I trust -you-.." He gave a sharp little squeeze on Bruno's shoulder. "I trust you to watch our car and make sure we can get out of here tonight.." Jack looks behind him at all the other drivers waiting by their cars for their passengers to get finished from their long night inside of the old abandoned building that I watched all of them from, from the window at the top floor... "Ok boss...."

I sat, watching this as two massive men in suits stepped away from the front door of the old factory to open up the backdoor and let the young man out, then putting an umbrella up, and walking him to the front door. Funny thing with no rain for hundreds of miles, but what better hospitallity to extend to guests. I watched him move inside and looked back at poor Bruno, too nervous to talk to any of the other drivers. He sat anxiously in the nice car, rubbing the steering wheel. I ate another potato chip and shook my head, smiling at the poor guy. "You need to find another boss, cheif." 

Inside the two suits walked through an otherwise seedy corridor with grime and must peppering the walls, grime taking its toll on the old building, and nothing but simple construction lights to illuminate their path. They step in front of a massive set of other wise nice double doors and pull back on the bronzed spiral handles, exposing an enormous arena, huge jade dragons reaching for the sky against a back drop of steel and old brink. The immense screaming of men and the stale smell of cigar smoke filled the air and drifted to the ceiling, where I watched the young man smile and wave to another younger friend in a business suit, seats right in front of a massive caged boxing arena. I ate another potato chip as I slipped down through a crack in the ceiling to the next floor down to get a closer look and propped up next to a massive bulky shroud next to me. I leaned on one faded elbow of my leather jacket and peered down to watch the two men approach each other and exchange hugs and kiss each other's cheeks. Signs of two true Catholics, and I looked at a dual set of picures that rest in a rather nice picture frame next to the shroud. I pull back on sheet lightly and peer down the massive scope, getting a close up of the two men. I said nothing as I closed one eye and looked down.. Massive beats of drums from massive over weight but shaved men sounded a few floors down in preparations for the two raining champs to enter the ring, and for the spectators to finally take their seats. I wrapped my arm around the massive Barrett 70 cal rifle and rubbed the side, fooling with the safety and positioning the bullet safetly in the chamber.

Sparks and massive flames shot up from two east golden dragon statues, reflecting the light in brilliant quality. The spectators took their seats in the comfortable cushioned chairs, and the distant sound of recliners and glasses clinging together sounded up the stadium. This was illegal pit fighting at its best, and a great way to make a quick buck on throwing the fight. The steady haze of that familiar cigar smoke began rising up the sky lights where a barrel of lead was awaiting its target. The fighters made their way to the arena as they exchanged glances and smiles to the young underage high school girls prancing around the arena in bikinis, announcing to the crowd what round it was... The boxers took their corners and said their last concious words to their coaches, and with a sound of a bell, this fight was on as they spun around, working their fingers to the bone, covered in light wraps, and ready for a fight to the death. 

The cold steel barrel swiveled its way away from the fight I was specatating, and aimed at the other young man's head. This youngster, laughing with a cigar hanging out of his mouth and probably rubbing the erection I noticed in his pants from the bloodlust in his eyes, was the son of two figure heads in the Catholic Knight of the Arms guns and ammo supply, and who I had been hired to kill, both of them. For reasons belonging to my employeers, I didn't ask questions, but I assumed it was to scare off some leading member of finances to the arms trading the church. The sight focused in and out and my finger steady on the trigger. A massive swing by one of the fighters sent the other one into the cage and out for the count. The crowd rose to their feet...

An incredibly perfect shot sent the boy's head in many directions, but he body over several rows, and into the lap of the easily recognized "Pawn King of Helios". The winning fighter looks up and runs over to the cage, shaking the paddlocked door to get out, while his opponent still lay unconcious on the ground nearby. The crowd began to scatter and move, heading to whatever exit they could, and trampling the guards who stood their, not able to keep the crowd out. Probably every member fleeing from the scene had a contract on their had, and half of mine had been filled. Young Jack Rather quickly screams in a half huff and yell, breaking towards the exit in a full sprint and breaking out through the crowd, still coughing on his cigar smoke. 

The outside doors flooded bosses of Helios out into the open night, panicked drivers quickly getting in their rides and starting the jets or what not. Bruno and the car still lay still by the dock, and Jack quickly flinging open the door to duck into the seat, hitting the leather and locking the door, then quckly scrambling over to the next door, pushing it down. "Bruno, get us out of.. here.. now!" 

"Where to boss?" Jack quickly sat back in the middle of his back seat and huffed.. "I don't care where, just go! Take me home, to the bar, dad's house, somewhere." The driver lets down the seperating window and slowly turns his head. Jack's eyes grow wide, or at least thats how I remember them. The driver pulls out a pistol and aims it in the center of the back seat. Cars and such go flying past in a dash to escape the scene as the light shines in the car, revealing Ace face to face with Mr. Rather. A quick flash from the supressor blows straight through his head and lets him lay still. The tint on the back of the window blocks any sight of blood. I grip the steering wheel of this car I had no idea how to drive and rub some of the blood from my jacket. I reach over and gather up my camera and joy"sick" and tuck it in a bag, and quickly exit the car. I put the backpack over my shoulders and walk past the trunk, in where a steady line of neatly spilled blood gave away Bruno's position in the trunk. 

At the upper floor of the factory, a quiet midnight breeze drifts through the cold building structure, blowing past the face of a strangled sniper in charge of watching the floor, a once fired Barrett 70 cal, and a small neat line up of wires that led to an antenna, and an antenna leading to a remote controlled camera and firing mechanism, that rests in Ace's backpack, as he looks around the abandoned houses, only two blocks away from where he would not find Cate. "I hope the girls are safe tongiht..." Ace's key fit into the lock, and into his inviting house he stayed the rest of the night, letting the secure sound of the lock being his only feeling that all was right in the world.

Stoli Palmer, pt 1

((This writing is from a forum post, if anything, it's just a sample.  This is one of a few...))

I step out of the roof door of the apartments and spit on the ground. The soft cotton from my over coat brushes up against my neck, but the wind from the speedily passing cars in the sky whip past me in the almost abysmal like city. Two suits are following me up here, and they walk up behind me as I approach the roof's edge and lean my hands over and look over the side, a bit of shakey vertigo pushing me back. The two are right there on me, smiles on there faces as I return the smile, and shake their hands. 

The three of us turn back around and head across the gravel roof top and back through the neat roof side door, and past some benches and a small playground area up top, along with a grill that sits up upon the apartments underneath, and the shops with the built in medical center and the small church in the basement. We skip down the carpeted steps down to the floor beneath us and walk through the door to the nice hotel like apartments, which were very quiet and well kept. A light piano course plays through the hallways very softly, with the occasional reminder of what activity is happening the next day, but our purposeful stride keeps up as we three head down the end of the hall. We make it to the the door that reads number "247" and we stop, both of these buffed, balled Chinese men with their white and black suits and sun glasses on both sides of me. We stop and all is quiet for a moment, as we stare at the blank door... I shrug my shoulders and close my eyes, taking in a deep breath. I take a step back behind the two men as they step forward, reaching into their jackets and pulling out two massive handguns, pointing them both at the door knob. 

Two muffled shots ring off as the recoil is snuffed by their arms and the blasts being held in by the extra lining space in the gun's massive barrel. The loudest sound was the two crunches of metal against metal, and the door knob is shot through the door, letting it flow wide open, revealing a mass of other men, all dressed almost alike to my two friends, suits and all. They are putting machine guns, pistols, rifles, and you name it into these huge nylon plastic cases, and the guns fit firmly in the comfortable foam. The two Chinese men move in and their eye brows grow behind their sun glasses and I slowly walk in, the first thing I could think was "We should have brought more men." Crucifixes rest on the wall, where as the lack of a TV seemed absolutely bizzare in a day like today. 

The Chinese men don't wait to begin pulling the trigger as bullets go flying in both directions, ripping through walls and knocking folks over couches, and blood splattering the walls as such. I walk calmly to the other side of the wall, squinting my eyes as everything seems to happen in slow motion. The walls in front of my path explode into splinters as there is another on the opposite side, walking just the same. Dark black hair he has, a polo shirt on, and is clean cut. A familiar scar across his left brow, ripping down his cheek and across his chin. He has a smile on his face as he walks past the bar as glasses and liquor bottles explodes from the onslaught of bullets. The lamp I walk past seems to explode from a machine gun spray upwards from one of the dead goons that my now bullet riddled comrades managed to shoot before he fell bleeding to death on the ground by the front door. My other friend fires off his last five rounds into two other unlucky folks that easily get holes blown through their chests. The bullets fire through them and through the sliding glass door that the dark headed man is walking past... He quickly leans down as if in slow motion and picks pushes down a younger goon that narrowly leaves them both dodging a bullet as I still lay in the darkness from the exploded lamp. My two friends dead, tons of wet screams from the Roman Catholic arms dealers that are clenching their cross necklaces and saying their last prayers.

I step out of the shadows and the other man tells the younger one to stay pressed to the floor, and I see him pull the cross out of his shirt and kiss it, and tuck it back in, as he glares at me. He extends his arm, and my eyes grow even wider. "Oh." 

Riddled in a spiral and criss crossing each other are bullets.. Tons of 9mm bullets that wrap up his arm like snakes feed into a dual barreled pistol resting in his palm as he pulls back on a nub, registering the two bullet belts into the pistol. He pulls the trigger and lets loose as the snake bullet belts unwrap from his arm and begin spinning around in a helicopter like motion, pumping bullet after bullet in my direction. I brake off in a sprint and hold out my shoulder, bursting into the next room and hit my back against the bedroom floor as a clean sweep of bullets tear in a clean across the room. I can hear the whiring of the dual bullet belts steping closer to the room. I pick up the small bed stand and let the bible and rosary slide off, and the lamp crashes on top of it, darkening the room as I toss it full strength as the door way as soon as the other hitman walks in. His bullet feeding whips rip and shred it straight in half as the bottom half collide with his nether regions. The bullet snakes fall limply on the floor as he groans and I run over, kicking him harshly in the gut. I step over him and past the teenage Catholic arms dealer and lean outside as about twenty cars fly by in the air. Outside on the side of the building is a extended "Slow" sign that lets the speeders know they are in a residential area, and to not collide with an apartment in a drunken stupor. The metal is easily worked off and broken off with a grunt as the sharpened edge of the square part at the end of the sign is brandished in the light. I spin around and feel a sharp kick to my ribs from the young man, and a new whiring sound, as my "competition" whips up another steady stream of bullets flying past me. 

I dodge and pull back, swinging the sign at a bottle of communion wine and shattering it, sending it in the spray across the room, and sending glass shards in every which direction. I use the opportunity to run and swing the edge of the sign at the hitman. "Fuck you, Paltrow." I mumble under my breath. He swings his bullet snake around and whips the edge of the sign, wrapping all of the bullets around the sign. "Fuck you too, Palmer..." We snarl at each other and pull back on our opposite weapons... Staring deep at each other's eyes.

I pull hard on mine, stripping all the skin off his arm and whipping a sharp end of a round past my arm, making a deep cut on my shoulder. I swing the sharp edge of the top of the sign behind me and feel little resistance, as I feel a light spray of the young Catholic teen's blood spray across my face, and I look down, seeing the gush of blood on the otherwise carpet. I glance behind me and see the head by the sliding door, resting comfortably on a bed of shattered glass, the body trying to grip the side of the couch, then just falling over limp. I turn back to Paltrow and shove the top of the sign, bullets still wrapped around and all, into his stomach and press him against the stove and turn it on high, instantly heating it up to 600 degrees. Paltrow tries to turn it off but I press his down on his hand with the top of my boot, crunching a few fingers. I use my foot to lower the oven door and stick the top of the sign into the oven and I kick the door partially closed and make a break out of the room, and out into the hallway, quickly diving over to the right side of the wall and covering my head, laying flat on the floor as an explosion of a hundred bullets fire in every direction and through the walls and floors. 

The next thing I knew is that I was stumbling out of the cab that narrowly avoided the police back home and I was resting in the shower, trying to wash the blood off. All that I could think was that the war between the Catholics and the Illuminati was under way. I guess the highest bidder wins this war. Wait... Was that a knock on my door?

First blog! Cross your fingers, friends!

Amazing this, this blog....

Hello friends, foes and amigos, this is my first blog(ging).  My name is Jake, and I have ambitions to write...  Screenplays, fiction writing, I want to be famous, be the center of attention, and play some video games, make a high score, set the bar.  

I live in Little Rock, Arkansas, right at the heart of the Natural State.  I'm twenty four, and a waiter for Mimi's Cafe, a trainer at that.  I'm in a wonderful relationship with a wonderful girl, and I play games to pass the time.  

I started to wonder how to make the perfect game...  How to write, do the screen plays, filling in the stories for the awful voice acting in games.  I also love stories that I get involved in WHILE playing a game.  Games with gripping stories are too few and far between for my personal taste, and still, are too generic to not look to the game on the right shelf, and get sucked into the same old story.  

What if I had the chance to become the writer?  Put those stories that everyone says that I have the personal tools, creativity, and ambitious writing to make an aggressive, fantastical story this isn't boring, long, and just plain over emotional?  I want to be the head writer someday, and then make a movie, write a television screenplay,  show the other writers that not all stories have to be the same tired love stories each time, and make an envelope pushing story that cracks even the hardest shell...  

I want to be discovered.

"My fingers smoothed out across the dark stained wood that is my war table, the light on the ceiling casting a darkly stylish feel against the very arms of massive destruction that laid out in front of me, with an enthusiast's love, and a pyschopath's wanting to unleash out across the world. I look over my shoulder and squint my eyes, like caught in an action movie, against the evil world, a renegade of creation and bound to set the world on fire.

I was Jake.

My fingers ran across the cold multicolored blue and black bullets that lay, passionate to rock and changed the lives of everyone they touched, my only want in life to inject them right into the bodies of whoever would jump in the pathway.. 

How I wanted those cameras on me, to document my work, to be called "Dangerous" and "Heroic" by my would be critics, whose life I set out to change.. The guns were loaded, and I was a maverick, ready for my date with destiny, life's ticking seconds, slowly fading away, and I knew that every word coming to mind would change the world, with every mean emotion causing my trigger to be pulled, and a bullet ripped through the hearts of loved ones who don't accept me, or understand me. 

I was a rogue, running my fingers along the smooth ridges of the gun that was so easily obtained, and it made me wonder why governments don't enforce stronger laws against things like this, because I was willing to topple governments, and maybe my rage and fury climb mountain tops and shake lives, and give hope to the hearts of those who feel oppressed by hatred and the government of morals that run their hearts. 

I picked up my clip and tapped the tip of the bullets on the gun, knowing it was time to chamber the bullet of the shot that would be heard around the world. 

I then put my pen on the paper, and unleashed the barrage of bullets upon a waiting world, and made a mark for myself."

This blog is dedicated to my fellow friends who told me I could write, and those out there who are just as scared and excited as I am.