Last Topic: 9:59:00am, 10/02/2011
Last Post: 12:45:00pm, 06/22/2012
“What's the word, kid?” charon continued to ramble, still not blinking. “Make a wrong turn next to where your heart should be? It's alright – we do what we ca-”
charon's words were interrupted as GFK mustered all his strength into a kick aimed squarely at charon's ribcage. Caught off-guard, charon doubled over and GFK weakly grasped the nail gun with his other, undamaged hand, firing a shot into charon's shoulder and recoiling slightly from the blast.
He wouldn't lose. Not like this.
The nail enters. And it makes you think. What would happen. What would've happened if you'd been more alert. What would've happened if you'd headbutted him instead of trying to break his wrist? What would've happened if she'd never said goodbye?
This kid looks at me with this determined look in his eyes. He wants to win. He doesn't want to die. It's a goal in direct opposition to mine. Only one of use can go home with the grand prize. Only one of us can win the Showcase Showdown. Sorry, Bob Barker – looks like his price was wrong.
I size him up in a split-second. He's wobbling, unsteady, an old man in the body of a twentysomething. He wants to win... but he knows he can't. He lifts his gun and fires – it's a blind shot in the vicinity of my head. He's hoping he'll cut off part of my frontal lobe. Not much point in going for something that doesn't exist.
The nail flies through the air, but it's too late. My weapon is raised and at the ready. The flag is unfurled, and the little point manages to catch the nail, jarring it off its predestined path to my face. I stagger back a bit, but the kid is completely thrown off – is it the flag, standing there proudly that does it? Is it the knowledge that he failed? I don't know. I don't care. I run up to him and wrap the flag around his head. He kicks against my grip, struggles a bit, but he gives up in the end. Everyone does.
He slips out of my grasp like a dead puppet, his chosen weapon rattling on the concrete. And I wonder if things would've been different for me if I hadn't gotten out of bed this morning. If I hadn't made the choices I'd made.
I look at the kid, dead at my feet. Cities crumble, empires fall to dust. And in spite of a nail, some things never change.
Time to keep walking. Time to keep scowling.
Panthera sighed.
It was bad enough that he'd woken up on top of a multistory building due to a painful electric shock. It was even worse that he had received a very loud (and kinda cat-like) message that said in no uncertain terms that he was supposed to be out killing other random people until only one was left. And it was even worse that his only weapon to accomplish this was a frying pan.
But the absolute worst part was probably the fact that he was also decked out in a frilly pink dress with whole gloves and a little gold tiara-crown thing for no discernible reason.
Yeah, not the best way to start off his day.
He looked down off the building and couldn't see anyone immediately beneath him. He tried scanning the horizon and even put his hand up to his ear to listen for far-off noises (since that's what you do when you want to hear farther), to no success. He sighed, letting his hands rest on his elegant dress. He really didn't want to go out there and kill people – and he certainly didn't want to do so dressed like this – but he supposed it was better than waiting around to be ambushed and killed.
Panthera turned around and began walking towards the stairwell that led downstairs – but he heard footsteps coming from below. He froze, and suddenly a man appeared there, out of breath, clutching his sides.
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"With Harry, it's cool. We don't speak a lot and he doesn't care if I smile or if I know who the next team we play is." - Benoit Assou-Ekotto
Last Post: 7:24:29pm, 01/19/2007
You're all arguing so much that you missed the fact that omegaman just posted >_>
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"God, I'm so much ****ing better than Smurf at each and everything I do, and I like it." - Sess
*is XIII is cool*