I am here with you
Igår, två B och jag vill inte skriva mer om det.
Men ensamheten är lite påträngande just nu och jag kan inte bestämma mig för vad jag vill eller vad jag orkar.
Konungens Återkomst på tv, somnade runt ett inatt och vaknade halv 11 och nu är jag väldigt uttråkad. Varför ska jag för övrigt se söt ut på dagar jag inte gör något? Ännu ett exempel på hur all over the place mitt huvud är just nu.
Kan skriva något annat istället.
ZOMBIES
“Vexen! VEXEN! GET YOUR ASS IN HERE!”
Shots fired off, nearly drowning out the scream, piercing through rotted flesh like a knife through butter left out too long. Another shot fractured the showing bone of the skull, and the grotesque creature dropped to the ground. There were ten more to take its place in an instant.
Despite being out of breath, a white-haired boy kept running as fast as he could. Slowed down as he was by the bags in his arms, he was still - luckily - faster then the zombies. He slowed down, turned around and aimed at another one of the things.
“FUCK THEM!” The same voice called again. “JUST GET HERE!”
He only just got in before they slammed the door and bolted it shut. The guy who had called out for him, Leo - more commonly known as Kitten - slapped him over the head. Vexen whimpered, his arms full of bags which Kitten pushed to the floor to embrace him. “Don‘t do that, kay?” he whispered, hugging his white-haired friend tightly. “Don‘t go off.”
“But I found -” Vexen started, but Kitten snapped at him. “I don‘t care if you found the fucking cure or fucking God himself, DON‘T go off like that!” Then, whispering again, he added, “I couldn‘t stand losing you, you know that.”
Vexen remained soft in Kitten’s arms, but dropped the last bags from his hands and hugged Kitten back. The two stood there. Kitten was tall, skinny but muscular enough to look like he would put up a good fight. He was wearing baggy, too-large black jeans held up with a belt, a long-sleeved grey tee and a button-up shirt in red and darker red with rolled up sleeves. His hair was messy, wild, unbrushed, and reached just past his pronounced jaw line. Half his head was cut short. Vexen was slightly shorter then Kitten, his hair was longer, reaching down to his shoulders with a slight curl at the tips, bleached as pale as it could be. He was about as thin, slightly more broad-shouldered and much less muscular, no matter how much Kitten insisted he should start working out. He was wearing jeans that were a little loose, a black tank and a green military style jacket above.
Another thing that made Kitten stand out was the guns strapped to his belt. Three guns, all different types, and his pockets were full of fresh clips. Vexen had a gun in the waistline of his pants and the outline of a clip was visible through his pocket. But that was all he had, the rest he had used up. He, unlike Kitten, wasn’t very good at aiming.
“Hate to break the love-pile,” a voice said from behind Kitten, who let go of Vexen immediately, looking a bit flushed. He had allowed himself to forget for a moment. That was bad. “Come on, what was so important you had to risk getting yourself killed out there, Vex?”
Vexen blushed a little, bending down to the bags on the floor. They had clunked when they hit the floor. He tore open the plastic - it was useless out there anyway - and revealed a lot of ammunition. The girl who had asked squealed happily.
“Fifa,” Vexen said shyly, “I‘m sorry, bout going away from the plan, I was just - well I, I saw the gun store and I figured that it was more important then flashlights or some other crap I could find, you know?” He opened one of the other bags, in which he had a hunting rifle, two shotguns and a few more ordinary handguns. “I would have taken a shotgun to defend myself, but I don‘t know how to use one…” He was a little ashamed by his ignorance. But Fifa was already ignoring him completely, rummaging through the other bags.
Fifa was a short and small girl. One would even go so far as calling her petite. She brushed back her long, black hair, streaked with pink and turquoise, her pale skin vibrant against her dark clothes. Like kitten she was wearing a plain tank-top, but she was wearing bondage-pants that looked like they might have had straps before this all started. Her arms were scarred but none of them looked fresh. “Serp!” she cried out happily. “Serp, you gotta come see this!”
Serp was a tall and broad-shouldered young man who looked like he was definitely the oldest of the lot in the room. His head was shaved, he piercings in his lip, both eyebrows, and a lot of them in his ears. His arms were covered in tattoos, he was wearing a red tank top under a fishnet long-sleeved shirt and also black bondage pants with red details. He grinned as he saw the ammo on the floor. “Wonderful,” he said, the tongue flashing with silver. “Who got hold of this?”
Vexen shrugged shyly, and Kitten, who was now smiling, spoke in his place. “Vex did,” he purred, sneaking his hands up Vexen’s chest, hugging his lover from behind. “He broke the mission and risked his fuckin‘ life, but he got all that stuff.” Vexen blushed as Kitten’s arms tightened around him. Serp’s lips twitched to a smile for a second at the pair of them, then turned to Fifa. “He‘ll be happy,” he said quietly. “He‘s been locked up all alone since you left, I think he might have been worried about you.”
Fifa stood up, having gotten the contents back into the bags they had spilled from and shoved one of them at Serp. “Well, he‘s being silly,” she said, but Serp could see it in her eyes that her heart was warmed by these news. They had a special, odd relation to each other, Fifa and Zion. Serp suspected they knew each other before the Bells, before everything.
The Bells. An underground organization for homeless or runaway teens. Serp was the oldest, technically the only one over 21, but everyone thought Zion was oldest, because Zion was the founder. Together, they had battled the police, the social workers, the families, the government, and whoever else who pissed them off in any way. Not seriously, they never physically hurt anyone. They vandalized property, destroyed things, but only to people who had enough money to fix it again.
And now, they fought the zombie apocalypse, still together.
They weren’t sure it was an apocalypse, but they had met only a sparse amount of humans since they had taken refuge to this mall. They were many, and they were used to fighting, and most importantly, they were all survivors. None of them had been through all that they had only to die from some measly zombies. Okay, a mall full of measly zombies, but still, the point was clear.
The Bells were survivors.
(Just nu: Sagan om Konungens Återkomst extended edition)
Men ensamheten är lite påträngande just nu och jag kan inte bestämma mig för vad jag vill eller vad jag orkar.
Konungens Återkomst på tv, somnade runt ett inatt och vaknade halv 11 och nu är jag väldigt uttråkad. Varför ska jag för övrigt se söt ut på dagar jag inte gör något? Ännu ett exempel på hur all over the place mitt huvud är just nu.
Kan skriva något annat istället.
ZOMBIES
“Vexen! VEXEN! GET YOUR ASS IN HERE!”
Shots fired off, nearly drowning out the scream, piercing through rotted flesh like a knife through butter left out too long. Another shot fractured the showing bone of the skull, and the grotesque creature dropped to the ground. There were ten more to take its place in an instant.
Despite being out of breath, a white-haired boy kept running as fast as he could. Slowed down as he was by the bags in his arms, he was still - luckily - faster then the zombies. He slowed down, turned around and aimed at another one of the things.
“FUCK THEM!” The same voice called again. “JUST GET HERE!”
He only just got in before they slammed the door and bolted it shut. The guy who had called out for him, Leo - more commonly known as Kitten - slapped him over the head. Vexen whimpered, his arms full of bags which Kitten pushed to the floor to embrace him. “Don‘t do that, kay?” he whispered, hugging his white-haired friend tightly. “Don‘t go off.”
“But I found -” Vexen started, but Kitten snapped at him. “I don‘t care if you found the fucking cure or fucking God himself, DON‘T go off like that!” Then, whispering again, he added, “I couldn‘t stand losing you, you know that.”
Vexen remained soft in Kitten’s arms, but dropped the last bags from his hands and hugged Kitten back. The two stood there. Kitten was tall, skinny but muscular enough to look like he would put up a good fight. He was wearing baggy, too-large black jeans held up with a belt, a long-sleeved grey tee and a button-up shirt in red and darker red with rolled up sleeves. His hair was messy, wild, unbrushed, and reached just past his pronounced jaw line. Half his head was cut short. Vexen was slightly shorter then Kitten, his hair was longer, reaching down to his shoulders with a slight curl at the tips, bleached as pale as it could be. He was about as thin, slightly more broad-shouldered and much less muscular, no matter how much Kitten insisted he should start working out. He was wearing jeans that were a little loose, a black tank and a green military style jacket above.
Another thing that made Kitten stand out was the guns strapped to his belt. Three guns, all different types, and his pockets were full of fresh clips. Vexen had a gun in the waistline of his pants and the outline of a clip was visible through his pocket. But that was all he had, the rest he had used up. He, unlike Kitten, wasn’t very good at aiming.
“Hate to break the love-pile,” a voice said from behind Kitten, who let go of Vexen immediately, looking a bit flushed. He had allowed himself to forget for a moment. That was bad. “Come on, what was so important you had to risk getting yourself killed out there, Vex?”
Vexen blushed a little, bending down to the bags on the floor. They had clunked when they hit the floor. He tore open the plastic - it was useless out there anyway - and revealed a lot of ammunition. The girl who had asked squealed happily.
“Fifa,” Vexen said shyly, “I‘m sorry, bout going away from the plan, I was just - well I, I saw the gun store and I figured that it was more important then flashlights or some other crap I could find, you know?” He opened one of the other bags, in which he had a hunting rifle, two shotguns and a few more ordinary handguns. “I would have taken a shotgun to defend myself, but I don‘t know how to use one…” He was a little ashamed by his ignorance. But Fifa was already ignoring him completely, rummaging through the other bags.
Fifa was a short and small girl. One would even go so far as calling her petite. She brushed back her long, black hair, streaked with pink and turquoise, her pale skin vibrant against her dark clothes. Like kitten she was wearing a plain tank-top, but she was wearing bondage-pants that looked like they might have had straps before this all started. Her arms were scarred but none of them looked fresh. “Serp!” she cried out happily. “Serp, you gotta come see this!”
Serp was a tall and broad-shouldered young man who looked like he was definitely the oldest of the lot in the room. His head was shaved, he piercings in his lip, both eyebrows, and a lot of them in his ears. His arms were covered in tattoos, he was wearing a red tank top under a fishnet long-sleeved shirt and also black bondage pants with red details. He grinned as he saw the ammo on the floor. “Wonderful,” he said, the tongue flashing with silver. “Who got hold of this?”
Vexen shrugged shyly, and Kitten, who was now smiling, spoke in his place. “Vex did,” he purred, sneaking his hands up Vexen’s chest, hugging his lover from behind. “He broke the mission and risked his fuckin‘ life, but he got all that stuff.” Vexen blushed as Kitten’s arms tightened around him. Serp’s lips twitched to a smile for a second at the pair of them, then turned to Fifa. “He‘ll be happy,” he said quietly. “He‘s been locked up all alone since you left, I think he might have been worried about you.”
Fifa stood up, having gotten the contents back into the bags they had spilled from and shoved one of them at Serp. “Well, he‘s being silly,” she said, but Serp could see it in her eyes that her heart was warmed by these news. They had a special, odd relation to each other, Fifa and Zion. Serp suspected they knew each other before the Bells, before everything.
The Bells. An underground organization for homeless or runaway teens. Serp was the oldest, technically the only one over 21, but everyone thought Zion was oldest, because Zion was the founder. Together, they had battled the police, the social workers, the families, the government, and whoever else who pissed them off in any way. Not seriously, they never physically hurt anyone. They vandalized property, destroyed things, but only to people who had enough money to fix it again.
And now, they fought the zombie apocalypse, still together.
They weren’t sure it was an apocalypse, but they had met only a sparse amount of humans since they had taken refuge to this mall. They were many, and they were used to fighting, and most importantly, they were all survivors. None of them had been through all that they had only to die from some measly zombies. Okay, a mall full of measly zombies, but still, the point was clear.
The Bells were survivors.
(Just nu: Sagan om Konungens Återkomst extended edition)
Kommentarer
Postat av: Zoftis
Är det "The Bells" av någon speciell anledning...?
(Golden B*lls)
Jag älskar den här texten! SÅ bra språk, och så flytnde dialog och besrivningar som inte tröttar ut läsaren och mycket av karaktärernas personlighet kommer fram utan beskrvningar vilket är bra eftersom beskrivningar måste limiteras till kläder och utrustning.
Egna karaktärer eller har du kommit på själv? Isåfall är jag imponerad! Det är jobbigt att komma på så många för en sådan kort text.
Enda varningen: “I couldn‘t stand losing you, you know that.”
Liiite för klishe för mig, men om detta är fanfiction är det okej.
Fanfics kan vara klishe, fics, maybe not.
Du är så begåvad!
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