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I’m not sure what’s worse. The freezing cold of the tundra or the constant state of paranoia. We are hunting a hunter, and the worst part is he knows. We are tracking a mercenary simply known as bullet-train. A big guy who’s known for his tendency not to speak, and killing people with his hands. He usually wears a large coat and a motorcycle helmet. Not much more is known except that he’s probably a bear in human clothing. He’s gotten on the wrong radar though and disappeared to Alaska. Fortunately, we are on his tail. Unfortunately, his trail is a large deer carcass that looks to be ripped open and eaten raw. “I should have brought bear traps,” I say to myself in a brief moment of hysteria and interest. I clutch my rifle closer as if it was a teddy bear in the arms of a child. I follow boot prints for a couple of miles only to find the same deer. Along with a second and third set of tracks, my own and his again. I frantically look around me closely examining every crevice this monster could be lurking in. I can’t tell if I’m shaking from the cold or the sheer idea of this guy.
I set up camp in a cave. I checked it wasn’t home of some animal and lined the entrance with a claymore. I lean on my pack holding my gun close for comfort in an attempt to become even the slightest bit comfortable. The next morning comes and I start by opening my military issued breakfast. I look out from the cave to find the claymore ripped apart. Disarmed and destroyed. I dive for my rifle, but I’m stopped by the cracking thump of a large boot breaking my arm. I look up to find my reflection in a motorcycle helmet and my body won’t even let me scream. He stares at me and picks up my rifle. He rips it in two like steel is only a five-letter word to him. He steps off my arm and picks me up. I’m helpless. Or at least that’s what he thinks. I pull my knife from my boot and stick in between his collar and helmet. Instead of a geyser of blood and a fall of a giant, I hear a groan and suddenly I’m thrown to the ground with the force of a truck. All I feel is the wet of blood-freezing instantly in contact with the snow. It all starts to fade when my own knife crashes into my chest. His fist doesn’t even fit inside the handle and he pushes it deeper cracking my ribs. All I tasted was blood but suddenly I’m drowning in it. My head fits perfectly in his hand like a golfball and he squeezes. “Let me die! Let me die!” I scream muffled by my own blood and his hand. My head collapses in on itself and all I feel is heat. A pain so deep my body cannot even register it. He leaves and I lay there, unable to move, my senses are fading one by one. The only one left is my sight. I can’t even process. I’m mindless. I’m still alive. I’m suffering.
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Dee
I'm a writer, artist, and comic enthusiast. Archives
September 2020
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