Poll: Bliss?

[The Afrodactyl]

:EDIT: please ignore the poll, the escapist refuses to cooperate with me.

I want to post the piece of coursework I wrote, which I was particularly proud of - entitled "Bliss?". Please comment!

:CAUTION: Just wanna warn any squeamish folk that this is pretty gruesome.

(Page 1)

How long? How many hours? How long had it been since I fell? How long since the bullet struck?

Death. The unescapable release. The cruel, heartless Harlequin, perpetually like peculiar puppets.

Perverse.

White hot searing pain surges through my enfeebled body, as I investigate the cavernous wound in my gut with a probing finger.

I pull my finger free of the wound. It is quickly followed by a vulgar, wet sucking as air rushes to fill the void. Blood begins to puor from the wound. An immense knot of fear begins to well up in what is left of my stomach. I try to cry for help. I am unable to scream. I make no sound but a guttural groan.

I look around for any sign of aid or rescue. There is nothing. Just the inky, mottled blackness of the night sky, and a halo of gore surrounding me.

A jolt of rapierlike pain tears through me once more as a chill wind rips acrodd the landscape. I claw at the soil for release; its dry, craggy texture lending no comfort to a dying man. I taste the foul metallic tang of blood.

(Please do not post yet)

 

[The Afrodactyl]

(Page 2)

I spasm violently and am rewarded ith an explosive, hacking cough; which propels a gout of ichor liberally into the darkness.

I panic. I'm going to die. Soon. Hopefully. I cannot stand the agony. I cannot stand the waiting. I clutch the soil once more. I feel trapped. Helpless. The empty blackness makes me feel as though buried alive.

I can take it no longer...

"Finish it! Take me! Stop toying with me you loveless bastard!" I scream at no-one in particular.

I break out in tears, the hysterics catching up with me. As the heavy, salty tears roll down my dirt-smeared face, I wonder: "How long is left?"

A small part deep inside my brain clicks.

"You mean you don't know?" It asks. "No-one can or will save you now" It mocks.
"You're already dead! Your body just hasn't caught up yet!" The mocking collapses into a hideous belittling giggling fit.

It is some time before I realise that it is me that is giggling like a loon, not some hate-fuelled part of my brain.

(Please do not post yet)

 

[The Afrodactyl]

(Page 3)

I feel tired. I feel dizzy. Woozy from exhaustion.

"I can't fight any longer" I think "I must sleep".

I slowly and gratefully close my eyes, waiting for rest. I hear screams. And explosions. And the repetetive rat-tat-tatting and dakka-dakking of gunfire. Slowly but surely, a picture knits itself together in my mind's eye.

The crossfire. When we were caught between the enemy. I see Slavini go down first, images of his skull exploding interrupted by the staccato flashing of gunfire. Pieces of flesh and bone scattering like foul rain as his limp, lifeless body spins to the ground like a leaf in a storm. Then Poliwicz. His body being hurled through the air like a grotesque doll. His flight ends with the vulgar crack-thump of breaking bone.

The screams. The unrelenting screams.

I pray, beg and cry out for release.

And then...

Finally...

The screams stop...

Darkness descends...

I'm free...

(Feel free to post now)

What do you think?

 

[Sleekgiant]

Sounds like a monologue for a war game

 

[The Afrodactyl]

We were instructed to write a piece detailing our worst nightmare, so I wrote a piece about being a mortally wounded soldier, left to die alone.