Friday, April 16, 2010

One Eighteen Microfiction

So we've been posting Microfiction every day in the Kill Sarah Already! group, and for those of you who are not yet members, here they are.  They really do give you a good view of the One Eighteen post apocalyptic setting (plus we get to remember favorite characters.)  If you want these every day, join the group or the twitter, but I'll throw them up in groups like this so nobody misses anything who doesn't.  It's not intended to read as the awesomest Season Three trailer ever, a lot of these are slices of life and loose ends, so don't read too much into this :)  But it does read like an awesome movie trailer.

Decker walked the lonesome road, Fen at his side. The wolfhound waged it's dead tail lazily. He felt him coming. Andre. No talking to this one; the waves of hatred flowed between them. He came over the top of the hill; a huge black man in a suit, carrying a machete. "You gonna play me a tune," Andre shouted. Decker smiled, dropping a lead pipe out of his coat sleeve. "When I'm done with you," the bard replied.

Big Mike cried beside the road, tears and fluids dripping from his eye socket. "Mr., why are you crying?" a tiny voice said. He felt a girl's hand encircle his. He wiped his eye. "You can come with me," the little girl said. "We need to go south." He nodded. "No more moping! Mama White is waiting for us!" He frowned and pointed to her. "Oh... my name. I'm Cordelia. My name has always been Cordelia."

Malachi bled. "You know, the bitch seat is really only designed for one bitch," Jack said, trying his best to keep Doris steady with all the extra weight. "There's really a doctor in KC?" Justin said, applying pressure as best he could while trying to hold Malachi on the bike. "Yeah, a veterinarian. But she's really good." Malachi groaned. "Hold on, babe." Justin whispered.

 "Son of a bitch," Jackson Tate said, looking through the scope of his rifle. Newports. A full god-damned pack of Newports in the dead thing's shirt pocket. But in the middle of so many. Still... the foil was in tact. He aimed at the dead thing's feet and fired a shot. He blew off it's toe. It growled and broke from the pack. "That's it... a little closer..." Fuckin Newports.

John Hawkins wouldn't cry. Even when they tied him to the watchtower. Even when Horace forced the pin of his tin deputies star through his forhead. He just watched the crowd sadly. "Any last words, son?" Horace said, putting a pistol to the side of his head. "Yes... God's gonna cut you down," Hawkins said quietly. Horace pulled the trigger.

Sarah's stepfather entered her bedroom, and she tried not to cry. She put in her earbuds and turned on Paradise Falls 61.3 FM, sliding the volume to the maximum. She felt her bedsheets rustle. The music changed as she felt his hand on her. The alarm clock read 1:20 AM. "Don't worry, you'll have your revenge," the radio whispered. "They'll all die soon." Sarah smiled. Outside, the gunshots started.

"Here they come," Horace said, putting out his camel on the trunk of the Judas tree. The Valentine brothers shouldered their rifles. Ricky Benson did the same, but hesitantly. Horace picked up his Winchester, and made sure it was loaded. Below them, the line of the Greenly expedition passed. There would never be a better chance than this. "Let em have it boys," Horace said. The deputies opened fire.

Willie Fetch flipped the beer bottle over and over in his hand, trying to catch it by the neck every time. One of Tarantino's movies played on the flat-screen. Valentine and the boys wandered down the stairs, trying to look non nonchalant. Fetch rolled his eyes. "Horace send you down?" "Yup," Valentine said lazily. "We're gonna wreck the play room," Fetch said, catching the bottle. "Yup," Valentine said.

No comments:

Post a Comment