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"Blood is the Life" Short Story

Hello everyone, I couldn't find the Original Literary Fiction forum on here, but I wanted to share this anyways. (If it has to be moved, that's fine) First off, this is a short story that I wrote for my English class. the asgnment was to create a war story. Well, of course I had to deviate a bit from that theme. I hope you guys like it! Also, just a warning, I used several obscenities, and it is extremely violent, continue at your own risk!“Blood is the Life” By Eric Sanford

I have to make this quick. It’s just Renfield and I left now, our entire squadron ... dead. We didn’t stand a chance against the freaks. At least the two of us are safe for now. Ok, let me introduce myself. I am Sergeant Jonathan Van Helng, and I hope to God that someone will find this letter. I’ve been a part of the restance to Orlok‘s regime nce it began, over eight years ago. Just thinking of the bastard makes me shudder. He took control with one well-timed nuke to D.C. And then there’s his army of Freaks. Ugly fuckers who attack our camps at night, tearing through our ranks with overwhelming firepower. I’ve heard stories; most seem imposble, but right now, anything could be posble. Stories about fallen comrades suddenly reviving and attacking others; about how the freaks aren’t really human at all; about one being shot with an auto at close range, then getting up and attacking seconds later. The most common story though, is how they began. See, Orlok was a scientist working on a government project to create superhuman soldiers to fight terrorists in the Middle East, but was dismissed when his experiments became too aggresve to be handled. Rejection, of course wasn’t something that he would forgive quickly, and so here we are, in a crappy little safe house, half bleeding to death. The bastards got both of us, but fortunately Renfield is our medic, and was able to fix us both up quickly. This is what happened:

Sun had just set; our squad was preparing to set up camp for the night. The fog was low and thick. Suddenly, we heard a loud CRACK from where Westenra, a skinny young guy who had volunteered for first watch, had been. A figure stepped forward out of the darkness, with a set of glowing yellow eyes. The man was huge, he looked about eight feet tall, and he was dressed all in black. But what I remember is the face. His skin seemed shrunken; clinging to his skull tightly, and was transparent, revealing every vein and the cranium beneath. Glowing demonic yellow eyes were nearly buried in charcoal black sockets. His mouth was full of razor teeth, like a shark’s, and he was covered in blood. In his right hand, he held an Uzi, and in his left, Westenra’s very-deceased head. We opened fire. He took at least a hundred rounds to the chest, and stood there, looking quizzically at us. From behind, at least thirty more pairs of glowing eyes emerged, like evil candles floating through the air. It went dead lent. And then, they attacked. Shots rang out, the majority from our de, yet none of the freaks fell. Their opening fire was unsuccessful, only wounding a few of our men, but then they threw ade their guns. Everything happened so fast, yet those moments were an eternity. They swooped in, some slit throats, some tearing off limbs, and some just slashing through us with their inhuman teeth. I watched, paralyzed, as my best friend, Abe Harker, was torn in half, watching in awe-struck terror as his own intestines spilled out, steaming in the cold, unforgiving air. A relatively small freak got me, trying to tear at my neck but only managing to get a chunk of my shoulder. I spat in his nasty face, and he threw me like a rag doll.

My helmet was knocked off of my head, and my rifle flew out of my hand on impact. When I landed, I didn’t move, and playing possum saved my life. For two hours I lay there, hearing the gunfire and shrieks of my friends and compatriots as they fell. I was kicked and prodded, but I lay limp, wondering if I could move even if I had wanted to. When the commotion stopped, I sat up, slowly. Renfield ran up to me as soon as he saw me, saying that the freaks had moved on. He helped me up, clutching at a masve wound on his arm, which was barely hanging on. The night was pitch black, and I was incredibly thankful that we both had flashlights. The carnage was extreme. Everything was stained a dark, brownish red. Human innards lined the ground, severed limbs hung from trees like twisted ornaments, familiar faces on decapitated heads stared up at us in awestruck horror. We found this little shack near the woods, and holed up good and tight. About an hour into our little vacation, however, Renfield began to act strangely. Weird shit. He started talking to himself, and eating bugs. Must be either in shock or he just snapped. I haven’t been feeling too hot either, I’ve been coughing up blood for a while now (sorry if it got on the pages) and I’ve had some really screwed up vions, like nightmares. Body pieces spread out everywhere; blood dripping from branches; men, women and children impaled on twenty-foot stakes; a hollowed out skull made into a mug and filled to the brim with steaming red-black blood.

And the worst part is that I’m enjoying it, like I’m doing these things and LIKING IT.

MY GOD

THEREISNOGOD WHY? WHY? WHY?

THE BLOOD.

THE BLOOD IS THE LIFE.

BLOOD IS THE LIFE.

BLOOD IS THE LIFE.
Kidtut Sunday 10/21/2012 at 11:27 PM | 97276