Post by monkeychow on Nov 18, 2008 17:32:10 GMT -5
This is the prelude to my Mafia story. I don't know how long it'll be until the next one, I am pretty busy lately. Any questions or comments, plz post them. I welcome all criticism, as long as it is true. If you think it sucks and would rather soak in gasoline over night, light yourself on fire and jump off a cliff, then that's just fine as long as that's how you really feel. Thanks for reading.
Prelude
. . . a ball of light lanced out the barrel. Then another. Then another. He watched their flight as if in slow motion, able to see them but unable to react. They thudded into him in a steady drum roll. By the
time he felt the pain of the first round, the fifth had already passed through him. He saw his own blood form a red layer across everything in front of him. He heard bits of his flesh and droplets of his blood splatter on the wall behind him, the grotesque imagery playing through his mind like a sketchy movie.
When the last flaring sphere disappeared into his stomach, the only sounds around him was the echo of the shots. Then his chest seized up. Seconds later his legs locked and his head jerked back. He saw blood soar upward from his mouth and his head burst into a cataclysmic mixture of pain and shock. He could feel himself falling backwards into . . . into . . .nothingness. Shadow. An ebony sea. "Surely one of those . . ." he thought to himself. He couldn't see any of them, but he knew one of them had to be back there, ready to catch and swallow him. He was sure of it.
But nothing caught him. His shoulders hit the floor first and a dull thump echoed through the halls. He blinked rapidly against the ceiling light, taking rapid gasps of air. He could feel his lungs filling up with blood, it was paining him to breathe. Blood started to run down his mouth and nose and chest, slowly forming a crimson lake around him. He couldn't close out the pain. He couldn't move his arms or legs. He couldn't do anything except stare up at the blinding light above him, it's divine rays soaring down around him.
Someone stepped into the light, blocking out the elegant beams. After a few seconds, the figure of the big man came into focus. His dark outline contrasted the light, giving him the appearance of Death. The shadow of an arm rose and pointed down at the bloody mess.
"I must say I'm impressed. You have far more grit than I had thought. My mistake, your advantage. Not gonna happen again." the man's voice was monotone and deeply accented. The boy's hand moved slowly across the floor. The flare of lighter sparked up against the opaque outline, and a puff of smoke rose from the man. Breathing had entered a new level of discomfort. The boy was getting cold. "My reports say you've killed twelve of my soldiers single-handedly . . . nice, and I think the favor should be returned."
The pistol rose slowly, at least to the boy it did. The first shot caught him in the neck, as did the second. The third and fourth nicked his sternum. The fifth hit him somewhere in the stomache. He reared in pain, his spine forming a crescent, fingers clenched. His breathe caught in his throat, the life-giving oxygen pouring out of the hole found there. The cold was overwhelming him now. No breath. No warmth. Soon, no life. The frightening thought played itself over and over in his mind. His hand slid along the blood covered floor until he could feel the cold handle of his pistol. His red fingers closed over the handle, trying to conjure the strength to pick it up. His heart was beating fast and heavy, a repetition of dying thumps. Blood was seeping over his eyes, turning his vision red. It would happen soon. It was already happening. Inevitable. Unavoidable.
He started to close his eyes, for they could already see the promised gates of sparkling pearl . . .