- Shopping Bag ( 0 items )
Posted July 13, 2013
XxA.S.C.E.N.DxX <br>Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
By~ Zane Hawk <p>
"Zane! Run!" I heard Logan's cry ascending from the forests that surrounded. Zombies would be lurking everywhere. "Logan! Where are you!" I remember grappling at one of the arrows in my bag, and loading it quickly into the hold of my Crossbow. <br>
"Zane! Just run!" I heard Logan protest me, but i wasen't going to listen to the crys of my brother as Zombies ate him alive. "Logan! Hold on!" I dove into the trees, running quickly through the undergrowth. I saw Zombies shuffling towards me, groaning onward like old people. But i diden't have time to laugh at them. I only had time to save my brother. <br>
I stopped, my gaze wide. Five Zombies stood, nawing away on my brother's limbs. "Stop it you monsters!" I screeched, releasing the arrow loaded in my weapon on one of of the Zombies. <br>
As the Zombies retreated into the darks of the forest, i was left staring at Logan. Wounds and blood....thats all he had left. "No....." I sank to my knees, my yellow gaze searched my brother's chest for a pulse. Nothing.....<p>
Today, i live at Safe Haven. My closet friend is known to be Hush. My crush, Steele...hates my guts. Yeah. But i've learned many things. And built up a friendship. Adios. <br>
Posted July 12, 2013
&delta Revolution &delta -Phantom
Roux's feet sank into the red snow with every step making impressions in the ice, almost as deep as the emptiness that took over his heart the farther he walked. The cold stung his exposed skin, but at least the frigid atmosphere kept flies away from the fresh corpses. He tugged the flimsy grey army jacket onto his shoulders more securely, tying the sleeves under his chin. The stench of blood combined with his parched throat almost made him choke, so he knelt in a patch of snow that was mostly free of stains aside from a few sprinkles of scarlet, and scooped the muddied slush to his lips, letting it trickle into his mouth as it melted in his hands. It tasted bitter so he spat most of it out, but the wetness in his mouth gave him a slight satisfaction. He glanced up across the landscape, barren until the snow and battlefield reached to the horizon where a grey compound building stood looming over its shadow, tall cylander structures spouting ash and soot that greyed the snow. Behind him was a vast pine forest, the tips white as if they had been frosted. Pushing himself to back his feet, he wiped some soot off his forehead with the back of his hand, gripping a dagger tightly in the other and running his finger along the blade as if to make sure it was still sharp and ready to be used. The sight of the daunting, gaunt faces of the victems pierced his chest and made his throat sore, so he didn't linger in one place long, making his way across the war scene. But soon he had no choice but to pause. There, among the grey clad men was a familliar face, lying in the sea of blood next to a crimson banner with the mark of the revolution. Roux recognized the insigna of the general on his jacket and the curved blade that he clutched. He knew it could only be one person. His father. Filled with rage and sorrow, he threw his dagger to the ground violently and directed his shouts of anger to the sky, his face disorting with rage. "Look what you've done? Are you happy now?!" Quivering with sobs, he dropped to his knees, hunched over with his shoulders slumped until his tears were spent. He took his father's sword, his voice shaking. "This won't be forgotten. I'll kill them all!" He impaled the blade roughly into the ground, then snatched the banner off its pole, wrapping the shredded red cloth around his neck like a scarf. A movement at the corner of his eye took him back from his thoughts into the battlefield, and he turned to see two imposing figures with forest green coats heading his way, prodding bodies with the tips of their spears to check for survivors. Spotting the boy, they exchanged loud words then started to approach him. He clenched his fists and waited for them to come. Once they were in font of him, a hand slammed into his chest violently and yanked him up by the collar of his shirt, and the hand of the first's accomplice siezed his arm violently. "We're to take any survivors and bring them in for questioning," the first growled gruffly. "Let me go!" Roux struggled frantically, but to no avail. The men just chuckled, amused. "It's no use. We've had—" the one who held Roux's collar glanced to the side, just in time to see a blade sprout from his companion's chest before his own spear was wrenched away from him and shoved into his throat. A crazed, sloppy-haired girl stood there, still staggering from when she had scrambled to her feet from among the dead. "They talk too much," she coughed, brushing off her torn jacket.Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted August 8, 2011
No text was provided for this review.