I wrenched the end out of his head. His mangled corpse lay there on the carpet a few feet from my brother. I felt my eyes burning with tears, I didn't stop them, I let them fall to the floor. Waves of pain erupted onto me. I knew that I…
FWAPP!! The pick axe landed across his temple, peircing his already soft skull. My brother must have landed a few good strikes, softening him up for my final blow. A tear slowly built up in my left eye, I was alone, the last of my bloodline.
As I finally wrenched the pick axe from my brother's skull I was sobered by that too familiar noise; that low, distant moan, growing closer. Something was dragging itself along the floor, leaving the most horrid stain on the carpet I found…
I had felt no remorse. All I felt was the weapon I had used to kill him. If only I hadn't left him at the house while I went to go get help. If only I had known to decapitate my dad's body before I left. He was still upstairs, in his own…
The form of the man who had stood beside me all my life. Who had swam the same embryonic waters as I had. My best friend. My brother. My twin.
DEAD AT MY HANDS.
I was playing Fallout 3 just now and I came by what looked like a prison. I was afraid to go in there. Zombie prisoners? Raiders? Super Mutants? Deathclaws? RADROACHES!?!?!!?
I am broadcasting on all available frequencies, as well as on whatever internet servers are still running. My location is thirty miles due West of the New York City limits. I've holed myself up in what appears to be an abandoned fifty's-era bomb shelter. Every day at eight I sling my pick axe over my shoulder, grab my twelve-gauge, and venture out into the wilderness to hunt for food. There's an old WWII Thompson sub machine gun, along with a healthy supply of .45ACP rounds, but the gun appears…See More
Write as few or as many sentences as you like. We'll start a story from that. =]I'll start:I stood over the body, clutching my pick axe, covered in blood. Crimson began to pool around it's motionless form.See More