Blake Trask Posted November 25, 2011 Share Posted November 25, 2011 Everything hurts... What's going on? What... what happened? http://img810.imageshack.us/img810/2347/wastelands.jpg Barely distinct against the irradiated dirt of The Wastelands, there lies a figure, motionless. Stop moving out here, and you're bait for the wildlife hardy or mutated enough to actually survive in the desolation. Well, that, or the locals. They aren't particularly fussy. ~*~ It's so stifling... I can hardly breathe... So weak... can't even open my eyes... Where am I? ~*~ The man's clothes are tattered, torn nearly to shreds in fact - bloody cuts showing through the rents in the bright orange material. He looks more like a prisoner than anything else - a prisoner who's suffered from a serious beating at the hands of his fellow inmates. Many of the injuries look fresh, the blood livid against his skin. Others seem older, the blood clotted into ugly dark scabs. At his side is an object that seems out of place: a gun, a sleek black pistol that looks entirely unlike anything a man of this appearance should own. ~*~ Remember... remember... Bright lights, staring up... the sun? No it's not the sun... Almost like... Surgical lights! There was... an operating table? Can't quite... A cell... wait, why would I have been in a cell? I haven't done anything... At... at least I don't think I have. ~*~ There is a muffled groan from the face-down man. His fingers twitch spasmodically. 'Barely alive and bleeding' is, to the denizens of The Wastelands, in many ways preferable to a corpse. Still alive means that all the best parts are probably still there. ~*~ I need to know where I am... so dark, I can't... God, I'm bleeding, I can feel it... Can I get up? I think I... dammit why's it so dark!? I think I can move... at least a little... One step at a time... you can do this... what's wrong with me? ~*~ The wounded man slowly, painstakingly levers himself up out of the dirt, just about getting onto his knees. He swings first one way, then the other, trying to get some bearing on his surroundings, but as he grows more and more agitated in his looking around, it becomes clear that this is not helping him. It is broad daylight. ~*~ What... what's going on? I'm not indoors, it's not pitch dark... am I... am I dead after all? Something's wrong... something's so wrong here. ~*~ The man's trailing fingers brush his firearm, and he looks down, picking up the gun with touch rather than sight. He straightens bolt upright. A trembling hand reaches towards his head. Fingers touch flesh, and he tries to scream. But he can't. It's difficult, without a face. http://i115.photobucket.com/albums/n318/Oriental_Dog/FacelessRedemption.jpg Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Payne Posted November 26, 2011 Share Posted November 26, 2011 Very cool mood you've set. Great start to the story. I hope you can continue with this atmosphere. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Blake Trask Posted December 6, 2011 Author Share Posted December 6, 2011 He claws at the smooth flesh where features should be, muffled yelling echoing across the desolate landscape. Ragged breaths emerge from two snakelike slits in the centre of the blankness - the only feature of any kind on the man's face, or lack thereof. ~*~ What is this!? What the hell happened to me!? I can't... god I feel like I'm choking! I've... WHERE ARE MY EYES!? ~*~ Flailing around does little for the state of the man's injuries, and many of the cuts that had been closed open again, beginning to stream with fresh blood. For his part, the man with no face does not seem to notice, continuing his muted shouting, waving his arms in the air. At one point, he tries to rise, but finds his legs unable to support him, and he falls to the ground again. As the dust kicks up from the ground around him, and the man tries to scream again, something nearby stirs... But he continues to struggle around wildly, lashing out against invisible demons. His blood spatters into the dry dirt, sucked up greedily by the parched ground. Right now, his ghoulish appearance makes him a perfect fit for his environment. ~*~ Why... why did this happen...? I can't see, I don't know where I am, I can't speak... I can hardly even breathe. This is just... this is too much. I can't handle this. ~*~ The man looks down at the gun in his hand - or inclines his head in the weapon's direction at least. Raises it. Places it at his temple. Pulls the trigger. *click* ((Thanks for the comment Payne, the grimness is really what I'm going for)) Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
FlameSnoopy Posted December 6, 2011 Share Posted December 6, 2011 This has been awesome so far. I'm not really sure what is going to happen next. I mean, if he killed himself what possibly could happen? So I think the more likely choice is that the gun simply didn't hold any ammunition and the poor guy has to suffer some more. Thumbs up for this one. Great storytelling! Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Regis Posted December 12, 2011 Share Posted December 12, 2011 Wow... Subscribed. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Recommended Posts
Archived
This topic is now archived and is closed to further replies.