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Death Scenes
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Brigid ✩, No tears in the writer, no tears in the reader.
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Apr 10, 2011 06:17PM
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Huzzzah. Merci mademoiselle Brigid.This is from my NaNo 2009, so...gah. I'll just say it has to do with government experimentation:
Her suddenly anxious gaze brought him out of his stupor and he tilted his head. "What Say?"
Ignoring the fact that Blaze had just used her most hated nickname Shadow waved her hand in his general direction, "Behind you," she said simply, no emotion.
He turned slowly, coming face to face with an angry girl armed with a shovel. It brought through the fear, a slight pull of Shadow's lips, making her smile. She didn't mean to: it was an honest mistake. That type of thing when you get what you want but the way it happened could have been better...more humane.
Shadow watched, smiling grimly, as the girl brought the shovel down hard. "Blaze..." his name was merely a whisper as the smile disappeared. A sharp crack rang out signalling that the shovel had hit its target and the end of a life.
Crimson blood flowed from the wound and he grimaced, still fighting the best he could. She stepped forward to the armed girl knowing that she could take her with her hands tied behind her back. "You won't win."
Shadow's face split into a cruel grin, "I will. End of story." The girl went flying, as if from some invisible force, and slammed into one of the splendid trees. Her head rested at an awkward angle but her chest still moved with each intake of breath.
Picking up the shovel with her mind she sent it towards the smaller girl, the sharp point peircing through her chest.
Two alarms tolled and the scenery disappeared, leaving Shadow and four others standing in a blank white room: two dead bodies on the floor, blood congealing as the silence rang in her ears.
Her face was stoic, her eyes flat as she stood waiting. "I win."
And another, because I feel like posting death scenes. :|You were alone the first time I saw you.
The red brick wall behind you made me notice your vibrant green eyes.
I watched your face.
I saw how your eyes sparkled when you laughed, how the colour in your irises darkened when you didn't like what you were hearing.
But it was your mouth I was drawn to most.
How your lips, light pink and soft looking, moved when you spoke.
The gentle movement of tongue to lip, lip to lip.
When you licked your lips you smiled in such a way that made me see the deliciousness of whatever your were savouring.
That's what I saw: savoury deliciousness etched on your face.
You were the most amazing girl on Earth, I knew it.
After a long time watching you, I left.
I wandered the streets wondering how I would survive hours and days apart from you.
I followed you often over the next month and a half, falling deeper and deeper in love with you.
You didn't even know my name.
You never even noticed me.
I saw you sitting at the end of the pier on a cloudy day, your legs dangling over the edge, your feet swinging high above the choppy water below.
The wind tossed your hair, making you a wild nature princess.
A smile curved my lips as I made my way across the damp boards towards you.
Without a single word, I sat alongside you.
You stiffened, but you didn't seem to mind.
Not really.
Not too much.
Not yet.
My heart soared at the crazy hope in my chest.
We were building such a lovely bond in our silence.
I knew you so well.
Your favourite food,
colour,
number, even.
I knew everything without ever uttering a single word to you, nor you to me.
After what seemed to be hours and hours later, you looked at me.
You were frowning.
Your green eyes were dark and scared, accusing me of something heinous.
"You've been following me," you said quietly, voice trembling. "You're Him."
Your tone was so scared and angry.
I saw your fear.
I hated it.
Hated you.
I smiled dully, emotionlessly, plunging my hand to your chest.
You didn't smile back at me as I pulled my hand back.
My fingers were slick and the hand carved wooden blade of my knife was covered in the same ruby substance.
It was blood, of course.
Beautiful blood.
Yours.
I watched you the whole time, you know.
I saw the light fade from your eyes first.
Your rubious lips lost their softness next...
Then your body fell slack and grew pale.
The ocean was dark and angry when I pushed you in.
That splash.
Those ripples.
They were beautiful.
I fell in love again.
With those wild, wet curls of yours skimming the ocean's surface.
You looked like an angel, you did. You died for me.
That was when I knew you loved me too.
Mod
Kenny [I've fallen in love with the unwritten] wrote: "And another, because I feel like posting death scenes. :|You were alone the first time I saw you.
The red brick wall behind you made me notice your vibrant green eyes.
I watched your face.
I ..."
Whoa. Creepy but I loved it.
♥ Brigid ♥ wrote: "Those are both amazeballs. <3"Merci beaucoup!
Hannah wrote: "Kenny [I've fallen in love with the unwritten] wrote: "And another, because I feel like posting death scenes. :|You were alone the first time I saw you.
The red brick wall behind you made me no..."
*grin* Thanks!
I love both of them, but the last one is so... aaaaah. Amazing.
Those are both really really awesome. But the last one was spectacular.
♥ Brigid ♥ wrote: "Those are both amazeballs. <3"
This this this
This this this
... Is it bad that I actualy have a dying plant scene?
Kenny [I've fallen in love with the unwritten] wrote: "And another, because I feel like posting death scenes. :|You were alone the first time I saw you.
The red brick wall behind you made me notice your vibrant green eyes.
I watched your face.
I ..."
This is amazing. <3
Her eyes seemed veiled. Her purple eyes, that were so expressive of her soul, were hidden. She was still breathing, and her heart was still fluttering gently in her chest, but once I saw that she had lost hope of ever feeling, talking, living again, I knew she was lost. But I managed to stay strong with her, while her body kept living. But as I walked away quietly, the grief suddenly crashed down on me, and I fell to the ground like a physical weight was on me.
T e s n i wrote: "Kenny [I've fallen in love with the unwritten] wrote: "And another, because I feel like posting death scenes. :|You were alone the first time I saw you.
The red brick wall behind you made me..."
Mandy wrote: "Those are both really really awesome. But the last one was spectacular."
Maxy wrote: "I love both of them, but the last one is so... aaaaah. Amazing."
Thanks guys! *blush*
Alex-wa wrote: "Kenny [I've fallen in love with the unwritten] wrote: "And another, because I feel like posting death scenes. :|You were alone the first time I saw you.
The red brick wall behind you made me no..."
Thank-you!
I know. Too long. :) Nice to talk to you again!
Aww, I had a really awesome death scene but it was deleted. D:
Aww, that sucks.
It's really more like an almost-death scene, but this is one of the few things I've written that I'm actually proud of. SO I'MMA BE POSTIN' IT.When It Rains Prologue
A teenaged girl of moderate height and blonde hair jammed her thumb against the button again, pressing her ear to the door and listening to the ring of the doorbell resounding like she already had several times. There wasn’t a sound after that, just silence in her friend’s empty house. Or so it appeared. She knew it wasn’t empty, though, because there was no place else her friend could be.
She must be hiding, the girl thought, the guilt on her conscience mirrored in her blue eyes. She and her friend hadn’t been quite right for a very long time, but she needed her. She’d tricked her friend into going to a party last night and found her curled in a corner, sobbing, after she ran into her friend’s ex-boyfriend outside. He’d been her friend’s boyfriend when he arrived at the house. The girl realized her friend needed her now.
She yelled her friend’s name as quietly as she could for it to still constitute as a yell in hopes that her friend might come to the door just to give her a chance. Her friend was a nice girl, she couldn’t ignore her. She would forgive the girl because she had a kind heart.
The girl saw nothing through the window and there was not a sound to be heard. Frustrated, she tried for the door knob, knowing good and well that her friend was far too safety conscious to leave the door unlocked. Her friend was the most rational, careful person she knew.
The door opened.
The girl stepped through the doorway, sure to lock the door behind her. Something about the house felt all wrong. The house was too dark and it had nothing to do with the fact that the sunlight failed to pass through the clouds and into the house. There was an eerie aura clinging to the walls, they exuded something haunting. The girl’s steps echoed as she stepped across the tiled floors in the house, repeating her friend’s name. Her calls were met with a roar of silence.
Through the front hallway she came upon the kitchen, the kitchen she shared many a memory with her friend. Next to an empty wine bottle, presumably the girl's drunkard of an aunt's, a piece of paper lay on the table in the center of the room, folded in two perfect halves. The girl knew it must have been her friend’s. She was just exact like that. The girl strolled over to it, knowing it wasn’t hers to read. She unfolded the page, taking in the familiarity of her friends neatly curling script.
Life is like a game. You take your chances and go for the win. But there’s always a loser in games. The loser is the one that just isn’t as lucky, the one that doesn’t have the skill, the one that just isn’t good enough. And when it becomes clear to the loser that he or she is losing, then they’ll try to get out of the game as soon as possible.
In this game the loser is me.
In the game of life the loser is the one who travels alone, the one who feels nothing, the one who yearns to be loved. The loser is the one who falls into an endless trap of dreams being broken over and over again, their hopes diminishing little by little as each time they scrape what they can of themselves off the floor only to be slapped back down again.
I finally realized the cycle just isn’t going to end. I am always going to be the loser, I’ll never come out on top. But I’m sure tired of being the loser.
I’m just going to end it now.
The game of life is over for me.
Good bye,
Rain
The girl swore under her breath, digging in her pocket for her cell phone. Her fingers shook as they flew across three digits. Her breath grew ragged as she ran in a panicked fashion to her friend’s bedroom, taking the steps two at a time. The girl burst through the open door and the first thing she saw was not the flowered curtains, the lavender bedspread, and artwork that had been taped over the wallpaper since her last visit, but her friend’s body laid across her bed.
The girl ran to her friend’s side and took in her colorless skin, the cuts on her arms which hadn’t been uncovered for months, her tangled hair, and hauntingly perfect position. A bottle of sleeping pills was gripped like a vise in her friend’s hand, the white pills spilled across the bedspread the only thing out of place in the entire room.
“Nine-one-one, state your emergency.”
“It’s my friend. Her name is Rain Weaver.”
Mod
"Hello?" Samuel calls out. "Hello?"
There is no response save the echo of his own voice. He takes a deep breath, lets his heart slow, and tries again.
"Who's down there? Hello?"
Only an echo, once again. Carefully he scoots forward an inch, his shoes scrapping against the cold floor. In his new position, he can see that there is a body to the head, and it is lying down, perhaps sleeping. And unless he was mistaken, he thought he saw the head move just a bit.
"Hey! What are you doing down there!"
People don't come to the garage. People never come to the garage. Unwanted to the people of the street, it serves no purpose. Maybe, Samuel thinks, maybe this person was following me. He wants something from me so he followed me. But his head was hit so he passed out. Samuel moves forward more. His head is at the center of the hole, leaning in several inches. His waist is being cut into by the edge, and one leg is lifted into the air. Air does not come to him easily, but he doesn't care. The body moves, and Samuel can tell.
"Answer me! Who are you! Why are you following me! I've done nothing!"
His own voice is again the only answer. Furious and panicked, he moves forward again, his legs in the air, his hands pushing against the inside of the hole to hold him in place.
"Get away! Leave me! I have nothing to do with your kind!"
A pebble falls, a hand slips. His head smashes onto the smooth inside of the hole and his legs move in. The body below begins to react and it disappears into the ground. He screams and falls, his body slamming into the ground with a thump that echoes like a heartbeat in the empty parking garage. Only one eye remains open, left to stare at the number "3" which on the wall in front of him in large yellow paint. There is warm liquid overtaking the area around his head. It trickles away, as if following a path that was made especially for it. It twists and turns and splits and rejoins as it races toward its destination. And when it does, the blood spills down the hole; a miniature waterfall of red, splashing onto an open eye.
message 27:
by
Maria [the clockwork creeps on useless lives], Butts butts
(new)
![Maria [the clockwork creeps on useless lives] (mariachhile) | 8772 comments](https://images.gr-assets.com/users/1322709957p1/2412416.jpg)
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Maria [just a paper emergency] wrote: "How did I know just when I read that last paragraph, without seeing the name, that you wrote that, Baxter?"It just possesses that effortless Baxter awesomeness.
ETA: So many double S words in that sentence O.o
T e s n i wrote: "ETA: So many double S words in that sentence O.o"There were.
Burning Out takes place during a time where anarchists are running around the town and lighting houses on fire and leaving the town in panic. This actually happens in Chapter 3.http://www.goodreads.com/story/show/2...
Valencia took the metal stairs two at a time to the second floor. 23B, she thought to herself as she sprinted down the walkway. She watched the numbers increase as she passed each door. Luke’s door stood out. It now had dents that had never been present before.
“Luke,” she said loudly outside the door. She banged on the door. “Open up.”
She stood there without making any noise. She placed her hand on the doorknob.
“Luke,” she said louder this time. She knocked on the door harder. “I’m serious. Open the door.”
There was no movement that Valencia could hear inside the apartment. She began impatiently tapping her foot. She tested the knob, expecting it to be locked like it always was. This time it wasn’t.
“I’m coming in!”
She turned the doorknob and pushed the door in. Luke’s livingroom was in disarray, just as it always was. Music catalogs were scattered on his coffee table. Luke had always poured over the newest catalogs from the store. His sweatshirt was draped over the back of his plaid couch. Everything looked normal to Valencia.
“Luke?”
Valencia walked into the carpeted hallway that connected the livingroom and the kitchen. Luke was lying there, staring at the ceiling with blank, brown eyes. Every time he took a breath, it seemed to send his body into miniature fits. His hands were clenching and unclenching, reaching for something. He dark brown hair was matted in sweat against his skull. Valencia refused to register the puddle he lay in.
The harsh, metallic smell of blood was already permeating the fresh air of the small apartment. The puddle around Luke was growing in diameter. Luke’s eyes were beginning to roll back in his head.
Valencia fell to the ground beneath him, his blood soaking into the knees of her jeans. His hands were still clenching and unclenching. When his hands unclenched, Valencia took his hands in hers.
“Val,” he breathed so softly that Valencia had to strain to hear him. “Val?”
“It’s me. Don’t — it’s okay. You’re gonna be okay,” she whispered, her throat unable to make any louder sound.
“I’m sorry.” His chest heaved and Valencia saw the entry point of a bullet in his side. She scrambled to press her hands against it. Luke grabbed her hand and used all of his strength to pull her towards his face. “Don’t.”
“Luke, I’m not letting you —”
“You’re not letting me — die. I choose to.”
“I could get help. I could —”
“Stop.”
Valencia took a few deep breaths, trying to understand Luke’s request. He didn’t want help and he didn’t want her to cauterize his wound. She whispered, “Why?”
“The world’s a bad place.”
“Only when you’re not in it.”
“Then it’s going to suck pretty soon.” Luke tried to smile, but what came across was only a pained grimace. She could see the pain talking was bringing him.
“Don’t talk. Just — you know...”
They sat there for a few quiet minutes, holding hands. Luke continued to take shallow, shuddering breaths. Just like her words, tears would not come to Valencia. She just sat there in shock. Luke was clenching and unclenching his hand in hers.
“Can’t you stay,” she finally whispered.
He pretended not to hear her, or maybe he actually didn’t hear. Luke opened up his eyes to reveal that the whites were bloodshot. The red lines wove like snakes. “Val? I love you.”
Valencia hesitated. “I love you, too.”
“No. I really love you.”
“Luke...” She stared down at him. He was looking straight at her. His eyes were begging to roll back, but he wouldn’t let them. “I love you.”
This time his mouth actually formed a small smile. His eyes closed and he took a shuddering breath. His hand slackened and he stopped clenching and unclenching.
“Luke?”
He didn’t answer.
“Luke,” she said almost in a whisper.
His eyes remained closed.
“No,” she took her best friend's head and put it in her lap. She pushed the hair away from his forehead. “Luke? No, no, no.”
She put her hand on his neck and scrabbled to find his pulse. Her pulse began to quicken when she couldn’t find his. “Luke Manning, answer me!”
He didn’t move, he didn’t take another breath and he didn’t open his eyes. Valencia was about to go into hysterics. She slammed her hands against his chest. There was no response and she tried it again. And again. She was about to give up when she finally found her loud voice again.
“Somebody,” she shrieked. “Help! Someone help!”
In the dimness of the damp basement room, a struggle between life and death was being fought. Without sunlight, without a true source of water, the battle was destined to be a lost cause. Right from the start it was easy to see where it was going. As the overhead lights flickered and the fan in the corner stuttered and finally sputtered to its death, heat overtook the room.
A steady drip leaked from the roof too far away to assist in the survival of one simple thing.
Drip, drip, drip. The sound echoed through the almost empty room as each drop of dirty water hit the cement floor.
Drip.
An almost audible sigh pierced the darkness as the fight was brought to an end.
The smell of decaying plants came soon after. The green, natural smell leaking into the damp basement room like the perfume of the dead.
At the loss of yet another creation, the sky cried.
(This is short and i'm not so sure it's any good...but I hope you like it :D)Shane walked into the open areas…his pride overpowering his sense of danger. He looked around; a grin forming…nothing was going to stand in his way. So he thought, at least.
He put his hand to his hip and took out his gun, aimlessly shooting at trees, wasting ammunition, not giving a damn about anything going on.
We could all hear the screams from further in the woods.
We could all hear the rustling of men and crunching of leaves.
We could all hear the oncoming bullets.
But Shane couldn’t…his arrogance made every sensible thought in his mind fade to dust. Now he danced around, laughed, and acted as though all this wasn’t real.
And for the last second…he looked as though he felt he lost himself, which it seemed he had, the old Shane, the one I knew wouldn’t be so vain.
I almost felt bad for what was to happen.
But his blindness to the obvious was his fault and his fault only. He paused for a moment sensing something…fears draped his face and he looked around, startled.
Than in one swift motion he attempted to run.
But the shower of bullets pierced through one side of his head and out the other before even a step could have been made. His blood sprayed the whole side of his face and the ground. His face torn apart by the massacre of shots that ripped through his skull.
Only one of the Enemies showed themselves…and as we stood on the metal platform, nearly twenty feet above the dead body of Shane…we attempted to hide. But there wasn’t a hope.
I just wish I could go down like Shane did in the end.
Proud.
Don't use the three dots all the time. When you read it, it isn't natural.But otherwise, it was good. =)
Sabore wrote: "(This is short and i'm not so sure it's any good...but I hope you like it :D)Shane walked into the open areas…his pride overpowering his sense of danger. He looked around; a grin forming…nothi..."
What Emily said. I can see how using three full stops all the time like that could be a good way of creating tension...like, dun dun...you don't know what's going to happen for the half-second your eye is reading the full stops...but if there are a lot of them like that, it kind of interrupts the flow of the story.
Thanks for the constructive criticism guys :DNow that I think about, I totally agree, I'll definitley work on it :D
Just a short little blurb I did in a writing exercise (:The river is so deep and long and wide and icy cold; it gives not a damn about those who dare hurdle themselves into such excruciating clutches. My eyes drift close and the body that no longer belongs to this mind wants to drift closed, too; to never allow its heart to struggle again for such a helpless, defenseless, useless host.
Death and bloodthirst curdle beneath the rush of the foamy current. It smiles and beckons with lovely, icy claws to this victim standing on the edge of the bridge. Night swirls around the bridge like hungry crows, and the river beckons. Oh, how it beckons! such a sweet, dangerous, beautiful sound it is.
"Jump!" it screeches. "Jump..."
Never was there such a sweet beckoning to jump, to jump, to JUMP...
so
--I
------J
-------U
--------M
---------P.
It was brown and fuzzy with beady black eyes and a red bow tie around its neck. It sat on the shelf in a store, rather plain next to the extravagant stuffed horses and kittens, along with modern Barbie dolls and vintage Madame Alexander dolls. It seemed all but invisible beside the other treasures. Its mouth was stitched into a permanent smile, but it wanted to frown. I must look happy for the children, it thought gloomily. Even if they never look my way. The price on its tag fell month after month, aching to persuade customers to purchase it at a dirt-cheap price so that the store could finally be rid of its smiling face.xoxoxoxox
The child couldn’t have been older than six or seven. Her eyes were bright and brown and regarded the world with a prevailing curiosity. Her curly, honey-tinted locks were pulled back into a bright blue bow, matching her pretty summer dress. The girl’s hand grasped her mother’s tightly, finding security from the world in that clutch. She stopped in front of the teddy bear, which was right at her level, and looked at it directly in the eyes. Her gaze never wandered to the new-fangled dolls or action figures. She looked up at her mother and pointed to it mutely. Her mother smiled kindly and took the bear off the shelf, handing it to her daughter.
The girl clutched it close to her chest and whispered, “Best friends forever!”
xoxoxoxo
Wherever Annabelle was, so was the teddy bear. It was in her cubby when she was at school, it was in her lap when she swung on the swings at recess, and it was in her bed as she curled next to it every night. Its smile was no longer a mask to hide its loneliness, for a friend had finally found it. A friend who had promised forever. Its beaded eyes would sparkle for the next six years.
xoxoxoxoxoxo
In middle school, Annabelle excelled at many things—she was the top of all her honors-level courses; she placed well in every track meet; she had many friends. The bear could still be counted upon to be sleeping next to her every night. It smiled happily to itself (underneath its black stitching) when Annabelle visited her friends without it, because it knew that she was happy. Besides, they would be best friends forever; Annabelle had promised. She only forgot about him sometimes; after all, she led a busy life.
xoxoxox
As years passed, the teddy bear watched Annabelle grow up, watching as she became a fine young lady who was soon to be out of the grasp of those dramatic, underage-teenage years. The bear became worn and was loft often. By the third time Annabelle had lost the teddy, she was sixteen. It was caught underneath the leg of a chair in her room.
A year later, she finally came across it and observed the damage blankly. One of its black eyes was missing, the red bow tie was hanging by a thread, and the stitches at the corner of its smile had come loose. Annabelle found a sewing kit and sewed its eye shut with the logic that if she didn’t, stuffing would be everywhere. When she was finished operating, she tossed it into the corner of the room. It watched her with its one-sided gaze, wondering just what it had done wrong.
xoxoxoxox
In the middle of the night, the teddy still lay motionless in the corner of the room, where it had to watch her disdainfully as she gave up her innocence to a boy who had claimed for the first time that he loved her. Later, the two were curled up together on the bed, Annabelle sound asleep with her back to the boy. A smile was on her peaceful face. Carefully, the boy inched away from her enough to leave the bed without disturbing her. He tip-toed to her desk and silently searched the drawers. The teddy bear watched curiously, wondering what the boy was doing. He had found a pen and a piece of paper and was now scribbling a message. The teddy wanted to read it. The boy finished writing and looked up, catching the bear’s eye. His eyes sparked as though with an idea and he reached for the teddy.
The teddy bear was able to read the note now: Belle, I’m leaving you now. You’re not the right one after all, sorry. Tonight was great though, right baby?
Poor teddy wanted to lament for his best friend, but his lips were sealed.
xoxoxoxoxox
In the morning, Annabelle stretched and yawned, searching for her lover next to her. All that was there were the bed sheets, which she clutched to her chest as she looked confusedly around the room. Her eyebrows raised as her eyes fell upon her old stuffed animal that seemed to be holding a piece of paper. Annabelle clambered out of bed and snatched the note out of the teddy’s grasp. Her eyes flew across the page several times before emotion registered on her face. She shook her head from side to side, looking between her half-smiling teddy and the note. Her face was angry and tearful; she ripped the note into tiny pieces, crying out with each shred. She flung them around the room as sobs shook her body. The teddy watched, desperately longing to comfort her like it had been able to when Annabelle was a child. As each bit of paper floated to the floor, teddy imagined that all the pieces of Annabelle’s heart were falling with them.
xoxoxoxoxox
It had been exactly one week. A week and one day ago, Annabelle was happy, contentedly sewing up her mauled teddy bear and then physically expressing her love to a boy who only wanted one thing. But a week ago, Annabelle’s blood had tainted the floor, the knife, and all the torn pieces of paper that littered the floor. Her teddy’s red bow tie was now spotted with darker shades of burgundy. Another bloodstained letter now lay upon her desk, written in her pretty curlicue handwriting.
It was addressed to Teddy.
The stuffed animal wanted to scream and cry and run away, but all it could do was smile.
xoxoxoxoxox
Days passed. Weeks passed. Months passed. Since the day they cleaned the room and read the mysterious letter addressed to a stuffed animal, Annabelle’s parents had not entered the room. The sun rose and the sun set, as unfazed and routine as Annabelle’s room. Teddy still sat on the desk, befriending the dust mites that gathered around him.
Finally, Annabelle’s family decided that it was time to move. Her room had to be packed up; disturbed at last.
Everything was in boxes, the only thing left to go being the desk and all its contents. Including the teddy bear. Annabelle’s mother picked up the teddy, remembering the day her daughter picked it out. Her eyes welled with tears as she observed the damage that had befallen the poor animal. She clutched it tightly to her chest, much as her daughter had, before placing it back on the desk. She would finish packing later.
As she turned to leave the room, teddy saw a phantasmagoric girl clutching the mother’s hand shyly. She wore a bright blue bow that matched her pretty summer dress. Her eyes were big and brown and curious as she looked back at the teddy bear and whispered, “Best friends forever.”
That was so sad. You made me tear up. =(
Aww, I'm sorry! Didn't mean to make you cry. Buuuuut I'll take it as a compliment, so thanks. :D
Sure you can!
DO EET!
This isn't some much a death scen as it is a death sentence."Somebody hold him down!" I shouted. the man on the hospital bed thrashed and twisted, trying to free himself from the bonds. I picked up the needle and filled it with morphine.
"Push five hundred mils thorazine!" Dr. Carter shouted.
"You'll kill him!" I shouted back.
"He's dead anyway if we don't get him to lie still!" I grabbed the thorazine needle and injected him. As I pushed the meds into his system, he grabbed the sleeve of my hazmat suit and tore it. The entire room went silent in a second.
"Al, you need to leave." Carter said after a long second.
"But I-"
"Al, I think you should do what he says." Cardwell replied. I nodded and made my way into the airlock. As the door shut behind me, I immediatly began to shed my blue hazmat suit. I pulled off my black T-shirt and checked my arm. Blood was flowing down my forearm from two puncture wounds on my shoulder. The patient's finernails had ripped into my skin.
I was infected.
