Not again

It wasn't the first time.

I've been here before.

I looked at my hands,
nine years experience on earth.
There is blood everywhere.
Their screams scared me at first,
they're quiet now.
Good night mommy,
good night daddy.

This in in reply to the Trifecta prompt which can be found here.

The prompt was to use 33 words excluding: 'It wasn't the first time'.

Never

You're such a heartwarming delight.
Never the cause of a fight,
though never afraid, never delayed.
My memories of you will never decay.

I'll fight to the end for you.
Never likely to have you.
With your eyes I've been infected,
with your eyes I've been dissected.
Fuck this life, I'll never have you.
Life isn't worth it, not as number two.

However hard I try,
I know I'll never be enough.
I promise never to lie,
I'm sorry I'm not enough.

I guess I'll never win your affection,
I wonder if this knife will get your attention.
Don't worry, I wont survive,
don't cry, don't be surprised.
I am the walking dead,
without you I was never alive.


P.S., to all the soccer mom bloggers out there, sorry for the fucking use of the word "fuck", I didn't know what the fuck was going through my fucking head at the time. Good day.


This in in reply to the Trifecta prompt, which can be found here.


The prompt was to use the third definition of the word Decay:
DECAY (intransitive verb)

1: to decline from a sound or prosperous condition
2: to decrease usually gradually in size, quantity, activity, or force
3: to fall into ruin

IHT

     The boy pointed at him. “You...” he muttered slowly. “try...save me?” he said. Cil smiled.

“You speak my language?” Cil asked.

The boy nodded. “Little...I understand...w-w-well though.”

“You don't have to be afraid of me. I'm not the bad guy.”

“I die here?” he asked.

“No,” he replied. “I'm gonna get you out of here. I don't know how, but I'm gonna do it.”

“I...Thur. Who you are?” The boy asked.

“My name is Cil. Cil Redman.” he answered.

“Thank...you, Cil R-R-Redman for not...leaving me...back there to die.” he said.

Cil looked him in his reptilian eye. He didn't see the disgusting creature the others see. He didn't see the enemy. He didn't see hatred. He saw innocence. He saw a confused boy trapped between the walls of war. “I'll get you out of this, Thur.” he said. “Can I see what they did to your leg?” Thur raised his left pant leg exposing a prosthetic leg.

tinuing 

“I'm sorry for my people, and what they did.” he said.

Thur looked down in shame. “Your fault no. Rage force me...join war.”

     “What do you mean?” Cil asked.

“My f-f-father die in war. I join for revenge.”

     “I guess I share your compassion for death. I too fought for revenge. My wife and boy died during a village raid by the zelkins. I understand your anger, but you can't let it get to you.” he said.

"Cil, what's IHT?" Thur asked.

Cil wiped sweat off his forehead. "That's Interior heat torture. That's when they strap you to a table and shoot a laser in your stomach. The laser slowly heats your insides to a boiling one-thousand degrees over a period of one week." he explained.

"Wouldn't I die of...no...f-f-food?"

"No, they'll have an I.V. pumping water and vitamins into your body." he replied.

This is apart of my continuing series: Rogue Valor. You can read the rest of it here.

Only Way Out

Form my hand to a fist,

it oozes through my fingers.

In my mind we coexist.

My blood, it still lingers.

My skin turning white,

I know I've found trouble.

My decision was right.

My head hits the rubble.

So close but yet so far,

the outcome of her rejection

gave me one more scar

to add to my collection.

Vision getting obscure,

my breathing delaying.

This is the only cure

so don't bother praying.

This is for the weekly Trifecta prompt. The rules were to use the third definition of the word "Trouble".

trou·ble noun \ˈtrə-bəl\

1 : the quality or state of being troubled especially mentally

2 : public unrest or disturbance <there's trouble brewing downtown>

3 : an instance of trouble <used to disguise her frustrations and despair by making light of her troubles

The Start Of the End

He sat on the exam table, shaking.
His mother to his left,
his father to his right.
The doctor walked in the room,
nervously reading off his clipboard.
"You only have eight months."



The is my entry for the mothers day prompt from Trifecta.
The prompt was to write a 33 entry word entry with the word 'mother' in it.

Holding Cell

     The hours felt so long. False accusations felt so methodical that if someone asked him for a snack he'd snap back with 'God dammit! I'm not the enemy!'. He was in a small room with only a hard uncomfortable metal chair and a military guard standing in front of him. “Now tell me, Redman. If you're not with those slimy zelkins then what were you doing calling for help by that boy's side?” the officer asked.

     The kid. The kid was all that Cil could think about. He thought about how he watched his son die long ago. He couldn't bare the thought of a child only the size of four feet dying in a horrendous battlefield. Even if it was a zelkin. “He was just a boy, I couldn't let him die out there.” Cil replied.

     “Well...” the guard said with a smirk on his face. “I regret to inform you that the zelkin scum is going to be executed in one week by IHT.” he said.

“What? You can't do that!” Cil rose to his feet quickly.

     “Sit back down, Redman...before I make you sit.”

“I'd like to see you--” Cil was interrupted by a punch to the chest. The guard let out a slight chuckle. Cil dropped his shoulder into a heavy punch directed toward the guard’s stomach. The guard turned to his side and used the momentum to hold Cil against the wall.

     “That's it, Redman. You're going to be executed just like your little friend.” said the guard.

     Cil dressed in thin black pants and shirt with matching boots just like the other prisoners. He was guided by two guards through concrete walls and many cells. They stopped at the last cell on the right. One of the guards unlocked the cell door while the other one nudged Cil in the small cramped room. The room was small and gray. To his left was a set of bunk beds and in the far right corner was a small toilet. He heard a short grunt coming from the top bunk. “Hello.” said Cil. He couldn't believe what rolled over from the top bunk. The little four foot zelkin boy.

This is a part in my continuing story Rogue Valor. The rest of the story can be found here.

The Concious

His means are despicable and selfless.

He creeps through the dark of my soul.

I am weak against his artfulness,

call riot control.

His ways are nothing benevolent,

these scars on my wrist be the stigma.

Built upon a foundation of malevolent.

He is the enigma.

Evil and destructive,

who may he be?

His plans constructive,

he is me.

This is a poem for a writing prompt from http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/, rules were to write a piece between 33 and 333 words using the third definition of the word 'Enigma'.

enig·ma noun \i-ˈnig-mə, e-\

1: an obscure speech or writing
2: something hard to understand or explain
3: an inscrutable or mysterious person

Arresting The Enemy

     Cil peered around the other side of the rock to see hundreds of zelkins racing towards the army. He flew into a wall of rock to his right. His head was spinning, it took him a minute to get his vision straight. Cil checked to see what it was that threw him. He saw ten to twenty mutilated soldiers. A large patch of dull black figures lied on the ground. Must have been a plasma grenade. The loud screeching of a Kalham battle ship came from above. It flew low for only a second and dropped a small missile. “Oh, no.” Cil said to himself as he ran back as fast as he could.

     That explosion was the most powerful so far. Cil stood back up slowly and weak. The only way he survived that missile attack was his battle suit keeping him alive. He heard a high pitched cry from behind him. He turned around. A child zelkin sat on the ground crying. It's left leg was completely blown off by the missile.

     Cil ran over to the young zelkin. It shook it's head, crying. “Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt you.” he said. He didn't know what to do. The red that the zelkin gave off started dimming down. The zelkin pounded his fist on the ground out of pain. ''Do something!' he thought. 'Do something NOW!' time was passing. Cil took a syringe from the pouch on the opposite side of his handgun holster and injected it into the zelkin's neck. 'I'll just make the pain stop until I can get him help.' he thought as he laid the zelkin down and elevates the bloody stump of a half-leg. “We'll get you some help, just hang in there.” he said.

    “Help! Someone help! A boy's dying over here! He's dying god dammit!” he yelled.
“Sgt. Redman...” said a soldier approaching him. The soldier was followed by three others.
     “Don't just stand there, help me!”
 “Sgt. Cil Redman,” he said as he and the others raised their weapons. “You are under arrest by the Kalham army for helping the enemy team, therefore, being an enemy.”
     Cil picked up the zelkin. “Just help him, I beg you get him back to the medical quarters!” Cil replied. One of the soldiers grabbed the young boy.
“Do it, get him to the medical quarters. We can probably squeeze intel out of him. If not, then put him into the prison quarters.” the soldier said. The other soldier ran back to the platoon ship.

     Cil ran behind the soldier. He was tackled to the ground immediately. “I'll repeat myself one last time.” the soldier said as he handcuffed Cil's hands behind his back. “You are under arrest.”



This is part four to my series Rogue Valor, I hope you enjoyed. You can find the whole story here.

Ammo Fill

     He holstered his handgun. He snapped his head to the right, bringing his attention to oncoming gurgling and yelling. Cil raised his blaster rifle at a zelkin with a sword in his hand. He stood perfectly still waiting for him to get closer. The zelkin raised his sword and before it had time to swing down Cil took a big step forward and quickly swung the butt of his rifle up into the zelkin's face. It staggered back with a yelp, dropped his sword and held his nose in his hands. Cil dropped his rifle, grabbed the sword and trusted it into the zelkin's chest. At that moment he was tackled to the ground. The three hundred pound tackle knocked the breath out of him. He felt as if the weight of the world came down on him and pinned him to the ground. He struggled and tried to find a way out. “Redman...help.” he managed to say. He took a powerful blow to the rib cage. Cil slurred and choked. He felt the weight suddenly come off him. He spun on his back to see that a soldier had come to his rescue and fought him off. The soldier put a laser bullet in the zelkin's head.

     “Thanks.” Cil said.
“Don't mention it. Grab your gun and watch your ass.” he replied.
Cil did that exact thing. He fought the zelkin's next to his soldiers. Watched both his soldiers and zelkin die. How he never seems to catch the bad luck of death he will never know.

     At times he felt as if his 'good luck' of not catching the permanent sickness of death was a non-stop bad luck streak. It always seems like the world is out to get Cil Redman. After his wife and son were killed by the zelkins during a village raid he joined the Kalham army. It filled him with vengeance. Revenge became a necessity. Killing zelkins in the war doesn't fill the void, though. It doesn't feel as personal. It makes Cil feel like a worthless pawn in the Kalham's political game. Sometimes he felt death would be his only way of finding peace.

     “My rifle's running out of energy.” said a soldier to Cil's right.
“Follow up and don't slack behind.” Cil replied. He ran to the right, through his soldiers. He dropped to his side and slid behind a large rock. His soldier was by his side every second. Cil took the soldier's rifle and pushed a red button on the left side of the gun. A small black ball rolled out of the handle. Cil picked it up and raised his blast shield to see it with his own eyes. Cil didn't need to worry about drops of sweat stinging in his eyes for the soldier's battle suits all had built in air conditioning units. He rolled the tiny ball between his index finger and thumb. He then rolled it off away from the soldiers. Cil did the same thing with his rifle, but when the ball rolled from the gun to his hand it leaves a trail of blue gases. He put the blue ball of gas in the other soldier's rife and handed it to him.
“Sgt. Redman, what are you going to use?” the soldier asked.
“I'll make due with this.” he pulls his handgun out of the holster on his waist.


     “You're a life saver, Redman.”
He rushed out to the battlefield just to run in to a stray bullet. Cil lowered his blast shield to see that the soldier he just helped has now darkened into a lifeless, black, shell of a man. Somewhere a wife has lost a husband, somewhere a son has lost a father. That's life, death.

This is part three to my series Rogue Valor, the whole story can be found here.

Putting Them Down

     As nervous as he was, those words did not seem to bother Cil one bit at all. “Let us get out there and show these green-tail bastards what Kalham soldiers are made of.” he finished his speech, turned facing the outside and charged. Cil kept up with his group, the other platoons all took different directions to try and surround the zelkin. They went straight in.

The green from the battle rifles flashed in Cil's eyes. The technology of the blast shield tried to dim the lights of the guns and explosions. “Out of the way, look up! Move!” a soldier yelled. Cil looked up, a small speeder ship flew from the sky. It didn't shoot its guns nor fire missiles. Cil charged the left, getting out of the way. As the speeder ship hit the ground it erupted into a large orange and red flame. Parts of the ship went everywhere. Cil flew out and landed with a crash. He scrambled to his feet and looked to the right where he heard screaming. A fellow soldier was on his hands and knees crying out for help. A large shard of metal from the speeder ship shot through his back and out his stomach. Cil jogged over to him. “Cil! Help! I'm in so much pain!”

Cil just stood and stared. The color of blue from his comrade slowly started to darken. “I can't save you...” he said as he took his handgun from his side holster and raised it at the man's head.

“Cil, don't do this! Don't!”

“See you in another life, comrade.” Cil pulled the trigger. The flash of green went into his head and he instantly turned black. Cil lifted his blast shield to see his soldier with his own eyes. A hole was in the dead man's blast shield from the laser bullet. It dripped thick blood. Cil felt no guilt for what he did. Out of the many days he's spent about the battlefield, he's put down many allies. He's gotten used to it, killing his own.

__________________________________________________

Afterword: This is episode two to my series Rogue Valor. You can read the whole story here:

http://sgtjake95.blogspot.com/p/rogue-valor.html

Briefing

The sky was an eerie shade of orange, the sun rested behind the mountains on the horizon. The plains were filled with blood thirsty humans and zelkins like enraged ants on a stepped ant hill. The fields were so dusty that you could barely see out half a mile. The humans have been fighting the lizard-men species called the zelkin for years and years. It's been so long since the war started that the reason for fighting has turned into a vague memory by both the old, bed ridden, dying leaders of the armies.

Explosions went off almost every second from the plasma grenades that emitted a blue and purple flame. Screams and the zelkin language flooded the air of the rocky battlefield. Cold, green, and hot red blood stained the ground.

Four hover ships slowly lowered from the sky, carrying a company of human soldiers ready to defend their planet of Kalham. In one of the hover ships was a calm soldier sitting in his seat, (which hung off the wall of the ship) with his head down and his hands gripped on his rifle. His green and black metal power suit grew heavier the closer they got to the ground. This was his fourth time fighting in the war and it doesn't seem to get any easier. He looked around at the other nervous soldiers with their dark green metal torsos and black leggings. They all had the blast shields down on their helmets, trying to block themselves from the outside world. He was the only soldier sitting. “Sgt. Redman.” an officer called as he approached the sitting soldier. “Sgt. Cil Redman,” he called again. “on your feet soldier. We're on the ground in two.”

Cil put his blast shield on his helmet down. At first it was all black and dark then it turned on, not only giving him vision but enhanced vision at that. He stood up and looked around the ship. All the soldiers were illuminated blue. He could now see past their black blast shields and see every one of their nervous faces. The ship's tail slowly opened, a wave of dust and sand entered the ship.

The platoon leader stepped in front of the group of soldiers as they landed. “You will all fight.” he said quietly. He didn't need to yell over the jets of the ships, or sounds of the battle. Their helmets had built in microphones and speakers so they can talk without their throats getting raspy. “You will all fight,” he repeated. “you will all kill, you will all be heroes. But I cannot say you will all return. Some of you, or perhaps all of you will die.”

__________________________________________________________

Afterword: This is episode one of my series Rogue Valor. You will be able to read the entire series here:
http://sgtjake95.blogspot.com/p/rogue-valor.html

Spare Coin

Frederick Bodan broke the night's fog dancing through the dark, lonely streets of London. He twirled his cane, alternating hands. An old man staggered out from an alley, he fell with his bottle. Bodan jumped with fright. "The devil?!" he shrieked.

The man stood, spewing out a few ounces of old supper. "Be so grateful to lend an ol' chap some coin for the pub?" he muttered.

"Sorry friend, I ran dry." Bodan replied. "Good night." he tipped his top hat and walked on.

The man followed Bodan don the road. "Everybody knows you, Bodan. We know you got money after ya father died and all. Please spare some coin, Bo."

"Please sir, I said good night." Bodan replied.

Bodan continued to strut the dark street. He didn't think the old man was behind him anymore but he dared to look. Nothing in sight. 'Must have fell into the fog.' Bodan thought. He whipped his head back around.

"Spare some coin?" the ratty man asked.

Bodan backed away. "Sir!" he said irritated. "I have no coin for your liquid habit! Now please leave me alone. Good night!" Bodan quickly turned walked the other way.

"Bo." the man said as he tugged Bodan's coat.

Bodan turned around, thrusting his cane to the man's nose. He dropped to his knees, hands in his face. "Don't..." Bodan said as he kicked him in his gut. "...touch..." as the man fell to the ground on his side he kicked him in his face. "...the coat." Bodan said with a tip of the hat.

The man cried as he laid in pain. "Please...sir...no more..."

"No more?" Bodan questioned. "Please sir...no more will dirty chum touch my coat?"

"No more..." he coughed a spray of blood on Bodan's shoes. "Sir...please."

Bodan gasped. "My shoes! What have you done!?" he yelled. Bodan took a deep breath. A smile slowly curved from ear to ear, showing his brown rotting teeth. He peacefully paced around the crying wad of flesh as he twirled his cane.

Bodan took his cane and swung it to the back of the man's head. He screamed. Bodan continued to beat him with the cane all over his body. He pleaded for Bodan to stop but he wouldn't. He jammed the cane down into his head, Bodan laughed. He didn't stop until the man 's head was completely flat.

Bodan took his hat off and placed it on the flat head then walked away as if nothing happened. As he walked he hopped in the air and clacked his shoes together, whistling.



In reply to Write On Edge

The point of this was to write a story about crossing a line with a 450 word limit.

Platoon

“You will all fight,” he avowed.

“You will all fight; you will all be heroes.

But I cannot say you will all return.

Some of you, or perhaps all of you,

will die.”

In reply to Trifecta Writing Challenge.

Write a horror story in 33 words, without the words blood, scream, died, death, knife, gun, or kill.