Hopefully i'll beable to find the back chapters I had here on the forum. With luck some of you remember(and enjoyed) my previous writings. Here's another small chapter in the story I've been writing.
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I didn't expect a gunshot wound to sting as much as it did. I mean, it really really hurt.
I can remember a time when I had to deal with knives and swords. They were much easier to parry or dodge. But bullets...bullets are FAST!
It's my own fault, really. I was taken in by the revelry of the bar scene; chuckling with old friends, dancing with scantly clad women, feeling the rhythm of the bass in my chest.
I've always loved that feeling. It's far more soothing than a bullet hole, which I now have.
It didn't take long for the general public to scatter. Who can blame them? A maniac shoots some guy in the middle of a crowded bar you tend to flee the scene pretty quick.
They say you should never cross a black cat's path. I say never cross a bullets path.
At least, that's what I would have said if given the chance. But I really wasn’t. No one talks philosophy with me. It’s sad...
One good thing about being undead is that blood doesn’t tend to splatter out from these types of wounds, it just sort of oozes out slowly.
Another good thing is being able to heal while pretending to be dead.
People continue to scream as they funnel through emergency exit doors leaving their personal belongings behind.
As I lay on the ground, eyes closed, I start to concentrate on the sounds. Primarily footfalls; running and panicked. Then screams and shouts: "He's got a gun!" "Oh god, please don't kill me!!" "Somebody call the police!" "I think he's DEAD!". Thankfully they don’t last too long. I can concentrate on the quieter sounds. The deep steady breathing. The cocking of a gun. The rattle of nerves from someone way too green to be holding a firearm.
I was always intrigued by how much power people place behind a gun. Granted, at a distance they are great weapons assuming you have some marksmanship. But at close range, if you aren't careful, you can just as easily lose the gun as you can shoot it. I often wondered if people were aware of that or if they just figured that because they have a gun, they win. But I digress. I have a more pressing matter to attend to...
"You...", the voice said. It’s deep and guttural, filled with angry and hate. All I could think at this point was "Man, I wish I was still hungry..."
"You took her away from me. It took me a while, but I found you. And revenge is mine. Do you HEAR ME! REVENGE IS MINE!!!"
His shouts turned quickly from low and guttural to high and crazed. He fires some shots into the air. By the sound of things, he’s carrying an old six shooter.
And if I'm not mistaken, that will put his shot count at six bullets, leaving him with zero.
His pathetic prepubescent screaming has mostly faded. I'm sure everyone is out of the building. Time to shine!
"Hey..." I said, my eyes still closed.
"What---?" He says in surprise. He immediately cocks his gun and fires into me again. Only this time there is no pain as his clip is empty. Only a fun and happy(and unpainful) “click! Click! Clickyclick! CLICK!” sound.
I smile as open my eyes. "You know it's bad luck to fire your gun over your head. You never know what you might hit.”
He’s completely flabbergasted. His mind is still trying to process how the shot to my chest didn't kill me.
"I know what you're thinking. You're thinking that this bastard, me, has stolen your precious fiancée away so that the hero, you, can kill the villain, me again, and you can save her, your fiancée. By placing a single bullet through my soft heart, you, the hero, will have surely vanquished the vile, the demented, the evil stranger, still me. But I'm here to tell you that you haven't.
I can see you trying to get more bullets in your gun but most of them are falling to the floor. Nerves can be quite counterproductive at a time like this. Look, for every one you've managed to get into a hole, 8 more have fallen to the floor. You've managed to load two into the chamber...do you think that'll be enough to kill me? Listen, you got a shot off and it was a great shot. Check my shirt; right through the heart. That should have killed me. But it didn't."
I take a step closer to him. He waves the gun in the general direction of my face; he’s too on edge to relax his nervous muscles.
"Listen, I'm feeling REALLY generous today. I'm going to give you a choice. You can either leave now and forget everything that happened, including your fiancée, or you can take your chances and pull the trigger on that fancy weapon of yours. If you think it'll be enough to stop me from ripping your throat out, they by all means...shoot."
I can see now more than ever the panic he’s feeling. Beads of sweat are pouring down his face. His body trembles in raw fear. His teeth are clenched so tight they might shatter in his little mouth. I know what he wants to do, but his survival instinct is contradicting his sense of vengeance.
He drops his arms to his sides but the gun remains in hand. "You win for now. But I'll come back for you and when I do--"
"And when you do...", I interject, "I'll be waiting...excitedly..."
He turns around and left the bar. I can kill him right now, but I love games! It's been a while since I've felt this invigorated that I want to enjoy this feeling for as long as possible.
Still there was one thing that worried me. He was able to find me VERY quickly. Am I that habitual that patterns can be found in my social behavior?
Well, that is certainly something that will have to change.
I’m also really glad he decided not to shoot me. In case you’ve forgotten, bullets hurt. A lot.
Thu Mar 13, 2008 8:20 am