Post by katie on Jul 9, 2007 18:32:17 GMT -6
I was bored, and my computer was pissing me off, so I was in a violent mood when I wrote this. :] It's not about Pokemon, and it's just a quick thing, so don't expect much.
It was a horrible feeling – like swallowing a large gulp of air when you’re drinking something. It burned in her throat, choking her like a python tightening it’s coiling body around her, waiting to swallow her in darkness and acid. The figure shot through the streets, everything twisting and bending, warping the fake reality she dwelt in. Her stomach flopped, every limb of her tingling with numbness, unable to feel her bleeding bare-feet slapping against the rough pavement as she ran for everything she was worth. Which, in all sick truth, was millions of dollars. It was a horrible thing – to have a price on your head. Every day you spent alive was full of nothing but fear. You lost all joy in everything, and you couldn’t even breathe without the fear of being watched. You would wander the streets, mind full of contemplations on who or what was after you. You would beg for help, but at the same time, you would fear your hired help could be none other than another bounty hunter. It was, in truth, nothing but Hell in all its burning torment. You would constantly go to sleep with the lights on, wanting to hide under the covers, but wanting to peek over just to make sure nothing was in the room with you. Yet you would fear even the emptiness that usually greeted you. You would call off work – or rather, just stop showing. Your life would be flushed down the drain, and everyone you would know would start saying that they don’t know you anymore. If you had pets, you’d probably forget to feed them or clean up after them, or you’d just kill them for fear that they were spies for the bounty hunter.
What was even worse was the fact that you never knew you had a bounty on your head. Not until you live after the first attack, which was rare. If you lived, you were forever on the run. Your life would break after that, and nothing would seem to matter anymore. Suddenly, everything you once learned will sharpen, and your survival instincts would feel stronger than ever before. All you would know was running and to learn to defend yourself. It became an ever-lasting battle between you and the rest of the world. And that’s when you realized – this was not reality. The world just wasn’t as it seemed, and everyone was just wearing a mask. Everyone you once knew was nothing but a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
And the young English girl was just realizing this. She was but only in her early twenties – still so young, but already being hunted for mixing in with the wrong crowd. She had been threatened, actually, by a guy she went home with after meeting him at a local bar. What she had expected to be a normal one-night stand turned into a death threat. The man was a drug addict, as well as a drug seller, and had to get his merchandise out. The cops already knew about him and were ready to shut him down and lock him up at the first sign of anything, so he needed someone of such innocence to do the job for him.
Now, you see, President Ray, the 98th President of the United States, was a good President. Where the others had failed at getting rid of the horrible things in the world, President Ray had come up with a solution. The Bounty Hunters had come in recently, but they were already more effective than cops. The President didn’t like people trying to sell illegal things under his command, of course, so as soon as he learned of the girl, he sent the Bounty Hunters out.
The scene had gone like this, actually. Business was good, though the girl was still very fearful about this. She had been sitting in a stuffy one-room apartment, the drug-dealer sitting a crossed an oval oak coffee table from her, flipping through dollar bills like a deck of cards, shouting out the numbers with high hopes of going out and buying all the drinks he wanted that night. The girl kept quiet, tracing the tree patterns on the table with her eyes, staying as silent and motionless as she could while he counted.
That was when they heard it. The sound was low at first, like a bee buzzing in your ear. Then, it grew louder, almost like a chain saw swinging down on you. The windows were bust in, a body adorned in old brown leather and reeking of cheap whiskey diving in, landing on the table and snapping it in two instantly under his heavy metal-toed boots, splinters flying here and there, the cash catapulting into the air and fluttering about as they fell to the floor like autumn leaves. The drug-dealer moved to recollect his cash, but had turned on the bounty hunter, only to have the barrel of a 9-mil. Pistol shoved into his mouth, the trigger pulled without of a second of hesitation, the hunter not even pausing to enjoy that blood and brain-matter that now splattered on the dusty crème wall. He instantly turned on the girl, but she had jumped to her feet, now diving out of the broken window, ignoring the jagged glass that split open her delicate skin as though it were but mere paper. Upon her feet hitting the ground, she absorbed the shock, shrugging it off as fear caused her heart to race, body shooting forward as she raced down the alley, tripping over fallen trashcans and puddle-filled potholes.
Who knows how long ago that had been – maybe it had only been that morning, or maybe it had been years ago. The young woman had forgotten how long it had been that she had been running, dodging stares on the sub-way and running with no intention of ever stopping until she knew for sure she was safe, which she never would be. The only thing on her mind was getting out of America, though with the times, that was practically impossible when you had a hunter after you. She was lucky she could even get on buses and trains, and it was hard enough to get a decent meal. She couldn’t even sleep for long without having a bullet come close to hitting her.
She panted, strawberry-blonde strands clinging to her sweaty forehead, the girl constantly looking over her shoulder to see the figure that followed. She turned the corner, the streets empty, giving her no cover but allowing her to run easier, bare feet leaving bloody prints and crushing crab-grass in the lawns she raced through. It was hard to run, for her body was growing tired, covered in dirt and cuts, bruised here and there with bullet marks from where she had been hit. She knew she was slowing down, but she had no more adrenaline to run on. It was the end of the line, and the tears that now streaked a crossed her dirty cheeks proved that she realized this.
But it was all over. No more laughing, no more crying, no more taking trips to the beach with friends; life was too short, and she just hadn’t been playing the right pieces. No more would she see the shining face of her younger sister, nor would she spend time with her mother on the deathbed. She didn’t have time to weep for everything she had lost, for losing it was the current situation, though it felt as though there were no solution to the problem. She was writing her story, and she was on the last chapter now.
It kind of, ironically, reminded her of a book she had read recently. But like every good book, though the character was having a problem, it was always resolved. The book always ended with something good, or at least, usually did. It was supposed to be something that made you cry for the loss of your favorite character, but smile because the others got through just fine. You were supposed to feel glad when the book was over.
The thought of it all broke through her defenses, and her legs stopped. Calf muscles aching and ham-strings throbbing, the young woman keeled over, face scrunched up as tears worked their way through, her short gasps of struggled breaths filling the silent air with pity. It was like her insides just broke down, her skin becoming burning hot. She lost, and she could tell. It was a horrible feeling – like you just lost your favorite video game against your older sibling or relative, and now they were rubbing it in your face. It was a delicate thing to have your ego shattered in such a manner, your confidence dropping to an all time low. But this wasn’t just another normal game. She had been but a mere pawn, and her time was up. She couldn’t just press the reset button, or pop in another game, or even say ‘I’m done, your turn’ and pass the controller off to someone else.
Fear ached in her chest, body lurching as she suddenly vomited, blood and whatever she had managed to eat that day now emptying out of her already empty-feeling stomach, only to have her vomit once more. She continued to sob, back slamming against a street lamp, the buzzing sound of the fluorescent light unable to soothe her shaky body. She buried her face in her palms, trying to block away the world and all the misery it held. But as soon as her hands obscured her vision, she pulled them away, fearing that if she didn’t look at what was around her, her life would end faster than it was already falling.
Every flicker, every shadow, every dancing leaf in the breeze seemed like it would betray her as she scurried over to a dead-end alleyway where garbage cans were, the young woman now taking refuge in them. She peered out, breathing heavy, cracking every now and then as she tried to keep quiet. Her body shook, gaze flicking here and there. No matter where she looked, she felt as though she were being watched, and that he would materialize right in front of her. The feeling was horrible, giving her a sense of claustrophobia. She wanted to just curl up and cry again, but she was unable to.
Suddenly, the sound of boots clicking against the pavement echoed through the short alley. She shifted where she was, tears blurring her vision once more. She blinked, letting the salty drops roll down her cheeks so she could see once more, shaky hands pushing a bit of the trash in one of the cans to the side so she could get a better look on who was coming. The dark figure stalked closer, causing her to back up. “Oh god… oh god no… please no…” She whispered, voice clogged with tears and mucus, the woman feeling as though she would vomit once more. She moved again, but brushed a can a bit too much, making it fall over with a loud clang and spill it’s contents. The gaze of the hunter snapped to her, but she got up, rushing past him before he could grab her.
The chase was on once more, and she refused to fall victim. She ran down the street, energy still drained, but the will to survive burning strong. The woman cut corners and tripped along as she ran past the perfect cookie-cutter houses. She didn’t dare look behind her now, just running along as fast as she believed she could. Finally, though, her energy had diminished, and she came to a halt once more. Her hands cupped, resting her palms on her bent kneels, body keeled forward as she panted, struggling to get her breathing regulated. She rose, straightening her body and shuddering.
The barrel of the pistol now pressed against the back of her head, and she stiffened, believing this was it. But as the trigger was pulled, all that followed was the empty clicking noise. The hunter cursed, and as she turned around to see his face, she was met with the gun slapping her a crossed the face with such force that she was sent falling to the side, body crashing into the road. He grabbed the collar of her filthy blue shirt, now tugging her up, only to send a swift punch to her gut, making her keel over. But he sent a knee up, popping her in the chin. Her teeth clicked together, her lip in-between them, sending her teeth straight through her flesh, filling her mouth with blood. Before she got a chance to spit it out, his fist connected with her cheek, knuckles bumping into her cheekbone, which would obviously bruise with how bad it was throbbing at the moment. She stumbled back, putting up shaky fists to defend herself. The chuckle from the hunter proved he was actually enjoying this, now sending a punch to her eye. He pulled out another gun from its holster, now jabbing it between her eyes. “Say g’night, kitten.” He snickered, breath smelling of alcohol, puffing it into her nose and making her gag.
But she felt courage swell in her chest like a tumor. She shot her hand up, snatching the barrel of his gun, pointing it up to keep him from shooting her. He made to punch her again, but she was now running on the sheer motive to survive. She swerved from his fist, now sending her knee up and catching him right between the legs. He kneeled over; biting his lower lip in pain, grip on the gun loosening. She pulled it away from him, suddenly whipping it a crossed his face. Blood welled up on his lip, which was now busted, and tasted salty in his mouth. He spat the red liquid onto the ground, now snarling like a predator, turning to his prey, which had miraculously learned how to fight back, much to his disapproval.
The young woman had obviously never held a gun before, though, because her hands were shaky as she pointed it at him. He grinned, secretly slipping a four-inch hunting knife out of his belt, crouched as he stalked towards her. “Just put down the gun, puppet. You obviously don’t know how to use it.” He snickered, voice heavy with his English accent. But the woman just took a step back, voice too shaky to answer him as she held it. There they stood, just eyeing each other, predator and prey. Then suddenly, he lunged. Her eyes opened wide, but she instantly pulled the trigger, shoulders bucking back at the alien force of the pistol, a force someone like her had never felt seeing as she was ignorant to using a gun. She feared that because she jabbed back, the barrel tilted up too much, and the bullet might have missed. But she didn’t have time to think, for blood now welled up in her mouth, spraying out of her neck, body stained with it. She parted her shaky lips, trying to speak, watching the hunter grip his bloodstained knife. Her eyes rolled in the back of her head, the gun dropping to the pavement with a clang, her body soon following it.
The hunter stood silently above his million-dollar prize, but he raised a shaky hand to his heart, the odd feeling of his own blood so alien to him. Unable to be curious or afraid of the bullet that had shot right into him, he prodded the wound with a single finger, before he too tilted his head up to the sky, limp body now tumbling to the ground as though it were nothing more than a puppet who had it’s strings cut.
After that, the streets were quiet. The two were but puppets, both being played in the wrong show, both thrown into something they couldn’t win. As for their bodies – those were taken away and disposed of, all the evidence destroyed, the hunter’s family receiving the money he would have earned for killing both the drug-dealer and the young woman. And life went on like it had before. It was still a common thing to see a man with a frightened expression running through the streets screaming things no one truly understood, or see your best friend happy one day, and completely drained of life the next, looking like nothing but a walking corpse, afraid of everything and constantly looking over their shoulder. Life was meant to be peaceful, but the humans are a young species and have a lot to learn. So they do what they do best – and that is kill to feel powerful, and to make others think you’re doing it for the country’s protection. It’s just what you do when you’re a human – when you’re there on Earth. It’s like they say – when in Rome, do as the Romans.
It was a horrible feeling – like swallowing a large gulp of air when you’re drinking something. It burned in her throat, choking her like a python tightening it’s coiling body around her, waiting to swallow her in darkness and acid. The figure shot through the streets, everything twisting and bending, warping the fake reality she dwelt in. Her stomach flopped, every limb of her tingling with numbness, unable to feel her bleeding bare-feet slapping against the rough pavement as she ran for everything she was worth. Which, in all sick truth, was millions of dollars. It was a horrible thing – to have a price on your head. Every day you spent alive was full of nothing but fear. You lost all joy in everything, and you couldn’t even breathe without the fear of being watched. You would wander the streets, mind full of contemplations on who or what was after you. You would beg for help, but at the same time, you would fear your hired help could be none other than another bounty hunter. It was, in truth, nothing but Hell in all its burning torment. You would constantly go to sleep with the lights on, wanting to hide under the covers, but wanting to peek over just to make sure nothing was in the room with you. Yet you would fear even the emptiness that usually greeted you. You would call off work – or rather, just stop showing. Your life would be flushed down the drain, and everyone you would know would start saying that they don’t know you anymore. If you had pets, you’d probably forget to feed them or clean up after them, or you’d just kill them for fear that they were spies for the bounty hunter.
What was even worse was the fact that you never knew you had a bounty on your head. Not until you live after the first attack, which was rare. If you lived, you were forever on the run. Your life would break after that, and nothing would seem to matter anymore. Suddenly, everything you once learned will sharpen, and your survival instincts would feel stronger than ever before. All you would know was running and to learn to defend yourself. It became an ever-lasting battle between you and the rest of the world. And that’s when you realized – this was not reality. The world just wasn’t as it seemed, and everyone was just wearing a mask. Everyone you once knew was nothing but a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
And the young English girl was just realizing this. She was but only in her early twenties – still so young, but already being hunted for mixing in with the wrong crowd. She had been threatened, actually, by a guy she went home with after meeting him at a local bar. What she had expected to be a normal one-night stand turned into a death threat. The man was a drug addict, as well as a drug seller, and had to get his merchandise out. The cops already knew about him and were ready to shut him down and lock him up at the first sign of anything, so he needed someone of such innocence to do the job for him.
Now, you see, President Ray, the 98th President of the United States, was a good President. Where the others had failed at getting rid of the horrible things in the world, President Ray had come up with a solution. The Bounty Hunters had come in recently, but they were already more effective than cops. The President didn’t like people trying to sell illegal things under his command, of course, so as soon as he learned of the girl, he sent the Bounty Hunters out.
The scene had gone like this, actually. Business was good, though the girl was still very fearful about this. She had been sitting in a stuffy one-room apartment, the drug-dealer sitting a crossed an oval oak coffee table from her, flipping through dollar bills like a deck of cards, shouting out the numbers with high hopes of going out and buying all the drinks he wanted that night. The girl kept quiet, tracing the tree patterns on the table with her eyes, staying as silent and motionless as she could while he counted.
That was when they heard it. The sound was low at first, like a bee buzzing in your ear. Then, it grew louder, almost like a chain saw swinging down on you. The windows were bust in, a body adorned in old brown leather and reeking of cheap whiskey diving in, landing on the table and snapping it in two instantly under his heavy metal-toed boots, splinters flying here and there, the cash catapulting into the air and fluttering about as they fell to the floor like autumn leaves. The drug-dealer moved to recollect his cash, but had turned on the bounty hunter, only to have the barrel of a 9-mil. Pistol shoved into his mouth, the trigger pulled without of a second of hesitation, the hunter not even pausing to enjoy that blood and brain-matter that now splattered on the dusty crème wall. He instantly turned on the girl, but she had jumped to her feet, now diving out of the broken window, ignoring the jagged glass that split open her delicate skin as though it were but mere paper. Upon her feet hitting the ground, she absorbed the shock, shrugging it off as fear caused her heart to race, body shooting forward as she raced down the alley, tripping over fallen trashcans and puddle-filled potholes.
Who knows how long ago that had been – maybe it had only been that morning, or maybe it had been years ago. The young woman had forgotten how long it had been that she had been running, dodging stares on the sub-way and running with no intention of ever stopping until she knew for sure she was safe, which she never would be. The only thing on her mind was getting out of America, though with the times, that was practically impossible when you had a hunter after you. She was lucky she could even get on buses and trains, and it was hard enough to get a decent meal. She couldn’t even sleep for long without having a bullet come close to hitting her.
She panted, strawberry-blonde strands clinging to her sweaty forehead, the girl constantly looking over her shoulder to see the figure that followed. She turned the corner, the streets empty, giving her no cover but allowing her to run easier, bare feet leaving bloody prints and crushing crab-grass in the lawns she raced through. It was hard to run, for her body was growing tired, covered in dirt and cuts, bruised here and there with bullet marks from where she had been hit. She knew she was slowing down, but she had no more adrenaline to run on. It was the end of the line, and the tears that now streaked a crossed her dirty cheeks proved that she realized this.
But it was all over. No more laughing, no more crying, no more taking trips to the beach with friends; life was too short, and she just hadn’t been playing the right pieces. No more would she see the shining face of her younger sister, nor would she spend time with her mother on the deathbed. She didn’t have time to weep for everything she had lost, for losing it was the current situation, though it felt as though there were no solution to the problem. She was writing her story, and she was on the last chapter now.
It kind of, ironically, reminded her of a book she had read recently. But like every good book, though the character was having a problem, it was always resolved. The book always ended with something good, or at least, usually did. It was supposed to be something that made you cry for the loss of your favorite character, but smile because the others got through just fine. You were supposed to feel glad when the book was over.
The thought of it all broke through her defenses, and her legs stopped. Calf muscles aching and ham-strings throbbing, the young woman keeled over, face scrunched up as tears worked their way through, her short gasps of struggled breaths filling the silent air with pity. It was like her insides just broke down, her skin becoming burning hot. She lost, and she could tell. It was a horrible feeling – like you just lost your favorite video game against your older sibling or relative, and now they were rubbing it in your face. It was a delicate thing to have your ego shattered in such a manner, your confidence dropping to an all time low. But this wasn’t just another normal game. She had been but a mere pawn, and her time was up. She couldn’t just press the reset button, or pop in another game, or even say ‘I’m done, your turn’ and pass the controller off to someone else.
Fear ached in her chest, body lurching as she suddenly vomited, blood and whatever she had managed to eat that day now emptying out of her already empty-feeling stomach, only to have her vomit once more. She continued to sob, back slamming against a street lamp, the buzzing sound of the fluorescent light unable to soothe her shaky body. She buried her face in her palms, trying to block away the world and all the misery it held. But as soon as her hands obscured her vision, she pulled them away, fearing that if she didn’t look at what was around her, her life would end faster than it was already falling.
Every flicker, every shadow, every dancing leaf in the breeze seemed like it would betray her as she scurried over to a dead-end alleyway where garbage cans were, the young woman now taking refuge in them. She peered out, breathing heavy, cracking every now and then as she tried to keep quiet. Her body shook, gaze flicking here and there. No matter where she looked, she felt as though she were being watched, and that he would materialize right in front of her. The feeling was horrible, giving her a sense of claustrophobia. She wanted to just curl up and cry again, but she was unable to.
Suddenly, the sound of boots clicking against the pavement echoed through the short alley. She shifted where she was, tears blurring her vision once more. She blinked, letting the salty drops roll down her cheeks so she could see once more, shaky hands pushing a bit of the trash in one of the cans to the side so she could get a better look on who was coming. The dark figure stalked closer, causing her to back up. “Oh god… oh god no… please no…” She whispered, voice clogged with tears and mucus, the woman feeling as though she would vomit once more. She moved again, but brushed a can a bit too much, making it fall over with a loud clang and spill it’s contents. The gaze of the hunter snapped to her, but she got up, rushing past him before he could grab her.
The chase was on once more, and she refused to fall victim. She ran down the street, energy still drained, but the will to survive burning strong. The woman cut corners and tripped along as she ran past the perfect cookie-cutter houses. She didn’t dare look behind her now, just running along as fast as she believed she could. Finally, though, her energy had diminished, and she came to a halt once more. Her hands cupped, resting her palms on her bent kneels, body keeled forward as she panted, struggling to get her breathing regulated. She rose, straightening her body and shuddering.
The barrel of the pistol now pressed against the back of her head, and she stiffened, believing this was it. But as the trigger was pulled, all that followed was the empty clicking noise. The hunter cursed, and as she turned around to see his face, she was met with the gun slapping her a crossed the face with such force that she was sent falling to the side, body crashing into the road. He grabbed the collar of her filthy blue shirt, now tugging her up, only to send a swift punch to her gut, making her keel over. But he sent a knee up, popping her in the chin. Her teeth clicked together, her lip in-between them, sending her teeth straight through her flesh, filling her mouth with blood. Before she got a chance to spit it out, his fist connected with her cheek, knuckles bumping into her cheekbone, which would obviously bruise with how bad it was throbbing at the moment. She stumbled back, putting up shaky fists to defend herself. The chuckle from the hunter proved he was actually enjoying this, now sending a punch to her eye. He pulled out another gun from its holster, now jabbing it between her eyes. “Say g’night, kitten.” He snickered, breath smelling of alcohol, puffing it into her nose and making her gag.
But she felt courage swell in her chest like a tumor. She shot her hand up, snatching the barrel of his gun, pointing it up to keep him from shooting her. He made to punch her again, but she was now running on the sheer motive to survive. She swerved from his fist, now sending her knee up and catching him right between the legs. He kneeled over; biting his lower lip in pain, grip on the gun loosening. She pulled it away from him, suddenly whipping it a crossed his face. Blood welled up on his lip, which was now busted, and tasted salty in his mouth. He spat the red liquid onto the ground, now snarling like a predator, turning to his prey, which had miraculously learned how to fight back, much to his disapproval.
The young woman had obviously never held a gun before, though, because her hands were shaky as she pointed it at him. He grinned, secretly slipping a four-inch hunting knife out of his belt, crouched as he stalked towards her. “Just put down the gun, puppet. You obviously don’t know how to use it.” He snickered, voice heavy with his English accent. But the woman just took a step back, voice too shaky to answer him as she held it. There they stood, just eyeing each other, predator and prey. Then suddenly, he lunged. Her eyes opened wide, but she instantly pulled the trigger, shoulders bucking back at the alien force of the pistol, a force someone like her had never felt seeing as she was ignorant to using a gun. She feared that because she jabbed back, the barrel tilted up too much, and the bullet might have missed. But she didn’t have time to think, for blood now welled up in her mouth, spraying out of her neck, body stained with it. She parted her shaky lips, trying to speak, watching the hunter grip his bloodstained knife. Her eyes rolled in the back of her head, the gun dropping to the pavement with a clang, her body soon following it.
The hunter stood silently above his million-dollar prize, but he raised a shaky hand to his heart, the odd feeling of his own blood so alien to him. Unable to be curious or afraid of the bullet that had shot right into him, he prodded the wound with a single finger, before he too tilted his head up to the sky, limp body now tumbling to the ground as though it were nothing more than a puppet who had it’s strings cut.
After that, the streets were quiet. The two were but puppets, both being played in the wrong show, both thrown into something they couldn’t win. As for their bodies – those were taken away and disposed of, all the evidence destroyed, the hunter’s family receiving the money he would have earned for killing both the drug-dealer and the young woman. And life went on like it had before. It was still a common thing to see a man with a frightened expression running through the streets screaming things no one truly understood, or see your best friend happy one day, and completely drained of life the next, looking like nothing but a walking corpse, afraid of everything and constantly looking over their shoulder. Life was meant to be peaceful, but the humans are a young species and have a lot to learn. So they do what they do best – and that is kill to feel powerful, and to make others think you’re doing it for the country’s protection. It’s just what you do when you’re a human – when you’re there on Earth. It’s like they say – when in Rome, do as the Romans.