Illuminati throws the gauntlet.
- Thread starter Call Me Tim
- Start date
@ultra_pedroj234 wins by default. Autistic and a pedo. Some how he won the retard lottery.
Illuminati does not have the mental capacity to write anything longer than a paragraph
What the fuck did you just fucking say about me, you little bitch? I'll have you know I graduated top of my class in the Navy Seals, and I've been involved in numerous secret raids on Al-Quaeda, and I have over 300 confirmed kills. I am trained in gorilla warfare and I'm the top sniper in the entire US armed forces. You are nothing to me but just another target. I will wipe you the fuck out with precision the likes of which has never been seen before on this Earth, mark my fucking words. You think you can get away with saying that shit to me over the Internet? Think again, fucker. As we speak I am contacting my secret network of spies across the USA and your IP is being traced right now so you better prepare for the storm, maggot. The storm that wipes out the pathetic little thing you call your life. You're fucking dead, kid. I can be anywhere, anytime, and I can kill you in over seven hundred ways, and that's just with my bare hands. Not only am I extensively trained in unarmed combat, but I have access to the entire arsenal of the United States Marine Corps and I will use it to its full extent to wipe your miserable ass off the face of the continent, you little shit. If only you could have known what unholy retribution your little "clever" comment was about to bring down upon you, maybe you would have held your fucking tongue. But you couldn't, you didn't, and now you're paying the price, you goddamn idiot. I will shit fury all over you and you will drown in it. You're fucking dead, kiddo.
"gorilla warfare" lol
Call Me Tim
EDF Hero
Faggot warfare.
Call Me Tim
EDF Hero
I shall return.
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***textwall power accumulating to over 9000***
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***textwall power accumulating to over 9000***
a classic, for sure.
Call Me Tim
EDF Hero
Correct. But using an oversized font is fourth grade retarded.
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In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I've been turning over in my mind ever since.
"Whenever you feel like criticizing any one," he told me, "just remember that all the people in this world haven't had the advantages that you've had."
He didn't say any more, but we've always been unusually communicative in a reserved way, and I understood that he meant a great deal more than that. In consequence, I'm inclined to reserve all judgments, a habit that has opened up many curious natures to me and also made me the victim of not a few veteran bores. The abnormal mind is quick to detect and attach itself to this quality when it appears in a normal person, and so it came about that in college I was unjustly accused of being a politician, because I was privy to the secret griefs of wild, unknown men. Most of the confidences were unsought—frequently I have feigned sleep, preoccupation, or a hostile levity when I realized by some unmistakable sign that an intimate revelation was quivering on the horizon; for the intimate revelations of young men, or at least the terms in which they express them, are usually plagiaristic and marred by obvious suppressions. Reserving judgments is a matter of infinite hope. I am still a little afraid of missing something if I forget that, as my father snobbishly suggested, and I snobbishly repeat, a sense of the fundamental decencies is parcelled out unequally at birth.
And, after boasting this way of my tolerance, I come to the admission that it has a limit. Conduct may be founded on the hard rock or the wet marshes, but after a certain point I don't care what it's founded on. When I came back from the East last autumn I felt that I wanted the world to be in uniform and at a sort of moral attention forever; I wanted no more riotous excursions with privileged glimpses into the human heart. Only Gatsby, the man who gives his name to this book, was exempt from my reaction—Gatsby, who represented everything for which I have an unaffected scorn. If personality is an unbroken series of successful gestures, then there was something gorgeous about him, some heightened sensitivity to the promises of life, as if he were related to one of those intricate machines that register earthquakes ten thousand miles away. This responsiveness had nothing to do with that flabby impressionability which is dignified under the name of the "creative temperament."—it was an extraordinary gift for hope, a romantic readiness such as I have never found in any other person and which it is not likely I shall ever find again. No—Gatsby turned out all right at the end; it is what preyed on Gatsby, what foul dust floated in the wake of his dreams that temporarily closed out my interest in the abortive sorrows and short-winded elations of men.
My family have been prominent, well-to-do people in this Middle Western city for three generations. The Carraways are something of a clan, and we have a tradition that we're descended from the Dukes of Buccleuch, but the actual founder of my line was my grandfather's brother, who came here in fifty-one, sent a substitute to the Civil War, and started the wholesale hardware business that my father carries on to-day.
I never saw this great-uncle, but I'm supposed to look like him—with special reference to the rather hard-boiled painting that hangs in father's office I graduated from New Haven in 1915, just a quarter of a century after my father, and a little later I participated in that delayed Teutonic migration known as the Great War. I enjoyed the counter-raid so thoroughly that I came back restless. Instead of being the warm centre of the world, the Middle West now seemed like the ragged edge of the universe—so I decided to go East and learn the bond business. Everybody I knew was in the bond business, so I supposed it could support one more single man. All my aunts and uncles talked it over as if they were choosing a prep school for me, and finally said, "Why—ye—es," with very grave, hesitant faces. Father agreed to finance me for a year, and after various delays I came East, permanently, I thought, in the spring of twenty-two.
The practical thing was to find rooms in the city, but it was a warm season, and I had just left a country of wide lawns and friendly trees, so when a young man at the office suggested that we take a house together in a commuting town, it sounded like a great idea. He found the house, a weather-beaten cardboard bungalow at eighty a month, but at the last minute the firm ordered him to Washington, and I went out to the country alone. I had a dog—at least I had him for a few days until he ran away—and an old Dodge and a Finnish woman, who made my bed and cooked breakfast and muttered Finnish wisdom to herself over the electric stove.
It was lonely for a day or so until one morning some man, more recently arrived than I, stopped me on the road.
"How do you get to West Egg village?" he asked helplessly.
I told him. And as I walked on I was lonely no longer. I was a guide, a pathfinder, an original settler. He had casually conferred on me the freedom of the neighborhood.
And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees, just as things grow in fast movies, I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer.
There was so much to read, for one thing, and so much fine health to be pulled down out of the young breath-giving air. I bought a dozen volumes on banking and credit and investment securities, and they stood on my shelf in red and gold like new money from the mint, promising to unfold the shining secrets that only Midas and Morgan and Maecenas knew. And I had the high intention of reading many other books besides. I was rather literary in college—one year I wrote a series of very solemn and obvious editorials for the "Yale News."—and now I was going to bring back all such things into my life and become again that most limited of all specialists, the "well-rounded man." This isn't just an epigram—life is much more successfully looked at from a single window, after all.
It was a matter of chance that I should have rented a house in one of the strangest communities in North America. It was on that slender riotous island which extends itself due east of New York—and where there are, among other natural curiosities, two unusual formations of land. Twenty miles from the city a pair of enormous eggs, identical in contour and separated only by a courtesy bay, jut out into the most domesticated body of salt water in the Western hemisphere, the great wet barnyard of Long Island Sound. they are not perfect ovals—like the egg in the Columbus story, they are both crushed flat at the contact end—but their physical resemblance must be a source of perpetual confusion to the gulls that fly overhead. to the wingless a more arresting phenomenon is their dissimilarity in every particular except shape and size.
I lived at West Egg, the—well, the less fashionable of the two, though this is a most superficial tag to express the bizarre and not a little sinister contrast between them. my house was at the very tip of the egg, only fifty yards from the Sound, and squeezed between two huge places that rented for twelve or fifteen thousand a season. the one on my right was a colossal affair by any standard—it was a factual imitation of some Hotel de Ville in Normandy, with a tower on one side, spanking new under a thin beard of raw ivy, and a marble swimming pool, and more than forty acres of lawn and garden. it was Gatsby's mansion. Or, rather, as I didn't know Mr. Gatsby, it was a mansion inhabited by a gentleman of that name. My own house was an eyesore, but it was a small eyesore, and it had been overlooked, so I had a view of the water, a partial view of my neighbor's lawn, and the consoling proximity of millionaires—all for eighty dollars a month.
Across the courtesy bay the white palaces of fashionable East Egg glittered along the water, and the history of the summer really begins on the evening I drove over there to have dinner with the Tom Buchanans. Daisy was my second cousin once removed, and I'd known Tom in college. And just after the war I spent two days with them in Chicago.
Her husband, among various physical accomplishments, had been one of the most powerful ends that ever played football at New Haven—a national figure in a way, one of those men who reach such an acute limited excellence at twenty-one that everything afterward savors of anti-climax. His family were enormously wealthy—even in college his freedom with money was a matter for reproach—but now he'd left Chicago and come East in a fashion that rather took your breath away: for instance, he'd brought down a string of polo ponies from Lake Forest. it was hard to realize that a man in my own generation was wealthy enough to do that.
Why they came East I don't know. They had spent a year in France for no particular reason, and then drifted here and there unrestfully wherever people played polo and were rich together. This was a permanent move, said Daisy over the telephone, but I didn't believe it—I had no sight into Daisy's heart, but I felt that Tom would drift on forever seeking, a little wistfully, for the dramatic turbulence of some irrecoverable football game.
And so it happened that on a warm windy evening I drove over to East Egg to see two old friends whom I scarcely knew at all. Their house was even more elaborate than I expected, a cheerful red-and-white Georgian Colonial mansion, overlooking the bay. The lawn started at the beach and ran toward the front door for a quarter of a mile, jumping over sun-dials and brick walks and burning gardens—finally when it reached the house drifting up the side in bright vines as though from the momentum of its run. The front was broken by a line of French windows, glowing now with reflected gold and wide open to the warm windy afternoon, and Tom Buchanan in riding clothes was standing with his legs apart on the front porch.
He had changed since his New Haven years. Now he was a sturdy straw-haired man of thirty with a rather hard mouth and a supercilious manner. Two shining arrogant eyes had established dominance over his face and gave him the appearance of always leaning aggressively forward. Not even the effeminate swank of his riding clothes could hide the enormous power of that body—he seemed to fill those glistening boots until he strained the top lacing, and you could see a great pack of muscle shifting when his shoulder moved under his thin coat. It was a body capable of enormous leverage—a cruel body.
His speaking voice, a gruff husky tenor, added to the impression of fractiousness he conveyed. There was a touch of paternal contempt in it, even toward people he liked—and there were men at New Haven who had hated his guts.
"Now, don't think my opinion on these matters is final," he seemed to say, "just because I'm stronger and more of a man than you are." We were in the same senior society, and while we were never intimate I always had the impression that he approved of me and wanted me to like him with some harsh, defiant wistfulness of his own.
We talked for a few minutes on the sunny porch.
"I've got a nice place here," he said, his eyes flashing about restlessly.
Turning me around by one arm, he moved a broad flat hand along the front vista, including in its sweep a sunken Italian garden, a half acre of deep, pungent roses, and a snub-nosed motor-boat that bumped the tide offshore.
"It belonged to Demaine, the oil man." He turned me around again, politely and abruptly. "We'll go inside."
We walked through a high hallway into a bright rosy-colored space, fragilely bound into the house by French windows at either end. The windows were ajar and gleaming white against the fresh grass outside that seemed to grow a little way into the house. A breeze blew through the room, blew curtains in at one end and out the other like pale flags, twisting them up toward the frosted wedding-cake of the ceiling, and then rippled over the wine-colored rug, making a shadow on it as wind does on the sea.
The only completely stationary object in the room was an enormous couch on which two young women were buoyed up as though upon an anchored balloon. They were both in white, and their dresses were rippling and fluttering as if they had just been blown back in after a short flight around the house. I must have stood for a few moments listening to the whip and snap of the curtains and the groan of a picture on the wall. Then there was a boom as Tom Buchanan shut the rear windows and the caught wind died out about the room, and the curtains and the rugs and the two young women ballooned slowly to the floor.
The younger of the two was a stranger to me. She was extended full length at her end of the divan, completely motionless, and with her chin raised a little, as if she were balancing something on it which was quite likely to fall. If she saw me out of the corner of her eyes she gave no hint of it—indeed, I was almost surprised into murmuring an apology for having disturbed her by coming in.
The other girl, Daisy, made an attempt to rise—she leaned slightly forward with a conscientious expression—then she laughed, an absurd, charming little laugh, and I laughed too and came forward into the room.
"I'm p-paralyzed with happiness." She laughed again, as if she said something very witty, and held my hand for a moment, looking up into my face, promising that there was no one in the world she so much wanted to see. That was a way she had. She hinted in a murmur that the surname of the balancing girl was Baker. (I've heard it said that Daisy's murmur was only to make people lean toward her; an irrelevant criticism that made it no less charming.)
At any rate, Miss Baker's lips fluttered, she nodded at me almost imperceptibly, and then quickly tipped her head back again—the object she was balancing had obviously tottered a little and given her something of a fright. Again a sort of apology arose to my lips. Almost any exhibition of complete self-sufficiency draws a stunned tribute from me.
I looked back at my cousin, who began to ask me questions in her low, thrilling voice. It was the kind of voice that the ear follows up and down, as if each speech is an arrangement of notes that will never be played again. Her face was sad and lovely with bright things in it, bright eyes and a bright passionate mouth, but there was an excitement in her voice that men who had cared for her found difficult to forget: a singing compulsion, a whispered "Listen," a promise that she had done gay, exciting things just a while since and that there were gay, exciting things hovering in the next hour.
I told her how I had stopped off in Chicago for a day on my way East, and how a dozen people had sent their love through me.
"Do they miss me?" she cried ecstatically.
"The whole town is desolate. All the cars have the left rear wheel painted black as a mourning wreath, and there's a persistent wail all night along the north shore."
"How gorgeous! Let's go back, Tom. To-morrow!" Then she added irrelevantly: "You ought to see the baby."
"I'd like to."
"She's asleep. She's three years old. Haven't you ever seen her?"
"Never."
"Well, you ought to see her. She's——"
Tom Buchanan, who had been hovering restlessly about the room, stopped and rested his hand on my shoulder.
"What you doing, Nick?"
"I'm a bond man."
"Who with?"
I told him.
"Never heard of them," he remarked decisively.
This annoyed me.
"You will," I answered shortly. "You will if you stay in the East."
"Oh, I'll stay in the East, don't you worry," he said, glancing at Daisy and then back at me, as if he were alert for something more. "I'd be a God damned fool to live anywhere else."
At this point Miss Baker said: "Absolutely!" with such suddenness that I started—it was the first word she uttered since I came into the room. Evidently it surprised her as much as it did me, for she yawned and with a series of rapid, deft movements stood up into the room.
"I'm stiff," she complained, "I've been lying on that sofa for as long as I can remember."
"Don't look at me," Daisy retorted, "I've been trying to get you to New York all afternoon."
"No, thanks," said Miss Baker to the four cocktails just in from the pantry, "I'm absolutely in training."
Her host looked at her incredulously.
"You are!" He took down his drink as if it were a drop in the bottom of a glass. "How you ever get anything done is beyond me."
I looked at Miss Baker, wondering what it was she "got done." I enjoyed looking at her. She was a slender, small-breasted girl, with an erect carriage, which she accentuated by throwing her body backward at the shoulders like a young cadet. Her gray sun-strained eyes looked back at me with polite reciprocal curiosity out of a wan, charming, discontented face. It occurred to me now that I had seen her, or a picture of her, somewhere before.
"You live in West Egg," she remarked contemptuously. "I know somebody there."
"I don't know a single——"
"You must know Gatsby."
"Gatsby?" demanded Daisy. "What Gatsby?"
Before I could reply that he was my neighbor dinner was announced; wedging his tense arm imperatively under mine, Tom Buchanan compelled me from the room as though he were moving a checker to another square.
Slenderly, languidly, their hands set lightly on their hips, the two young women preceded us out onto a rosy-colored porch, open toward the sunset, where four candles flickered on the table in the diminished wind.
"Why CANDLES?" objected Daisy, frowning. She snapped them out with her fingers. "In two weeks it'll be the longest day in the year." She looked at us all radiantly. "Do you always watch for the longest day of the year and then miss it? I always watch for the longest day in the year and then miss it."
"We ought to plan something," yawned Miss Baker, sitting down at the table as if she were getting into bed.
"All right," said Daisy. "What'll we plan?" She turned to me helplessly: "What do people plan?"
Before I could answer her eyes fastened with an awed expression on her little finger.
"Look!" she complained; "I hurt it."
We all looked—the knuckle was black and blue.
"You did it, Tom," she said accusingly. "I know you didn't mean to, but you DID do it. That's what I get for marrying a brute of a man, a great, big, hulking physical specimen of a——"
"I hate that word hulking," objected Tom crossly, "even in kidding."
"Hulking," insisted Daisy.
Sometimes she and Miss Baker talked at once, unobtrusively and with a bantering inconsequence that was never quite chatter, that was as cool as their white dresses and their impersonal eyes in the absence of all desire. They were here, and they accepted Tom and me, making only a polite pleasant effort to entertain or to be entertained. They knew that presently dinner would be over and a little later the evening too would be over and casually put away. It was sharply different from the West, where an evening was hurried from phase to phase toward its close, in a continually disappointed anticipation or else in sheer nervous dread of the moment itself.
"You make me feel uncivilized, Daisy," I confessed on my second glass of corky but rather impressive claret. "Can't you talk about crops or something?"
I meant nothing in particular by this remark, but it was taken up in an unexpected way.
"Civilization's going to pieces," broke out Tom violently. "I've gotten to be a terrible pessimist about things. Have you read ‘The Rise of the Colored Empires' by this man Goddard?"
"Why, no," I answered, rather surprised by his tone.
"Well, it's a fine book, and everybody ought to read it. The idea is if we don't look out the white race will be—will be utterly submerged. It's all scientific stuff; it's been proved."
"Tom's getting very profound," said Daisy, with an expression of unthoughtful sadness. "He reads deep books with long words in them. What was that word we——"
"Well, these books are all scientific," insisted Tom, glancing at her impatiently. "This fellow has worked out the whole thing. It's up to us, who are the dominant race, to watch out or these other races will have control of things."
"We've got to beat them down," whispered Daisy, winking ferociously toward the fervent sun.
"You ought to live in California—" began Miss Baker, but Tom interrupted her by shifting heavily in his chair.
"This idea is that we're Nordics. I am, and you are, and you are, and——" After an infinitesimal hesitation he included Daisy with a slight nod, and she winked at me again. "—And we've produced all the things that go to make civilization—oh, science and art, and all that. Do you see?"
There was something pathetic in his concentration, as if his complacency, more acute than of old, was not enough to him any more. When, almost immediately, the telephone rang inside and the butler left the porch Daisy seized upon the momentary interruption and leaned toward me.
"I'll tell you a family secret," she whispered enthusiastically. "It's about the butler's nose. Do you want to hear about the butler's nose?"
"That's why I came over to-night."
"Well, he wasn't always a butler; he used to be the silver polisher for some people in New York that had a silver service for two hundred people. He had to polish it from morning till night, until finally it began to affect his nose——"
"Things went from bad to worse," suggested Miss Baker.
"Yes. Things went from bad to worse, until finally he had to give up his position."
For a moment the last sunshine fell with romantic affection upon her glowing face; her voice compelled me forward breathlessly as I listened—then the glow faded, each light deserting her with lingering regret, like children leaving a pleasant street at dusk.
The butler came back and murmured something close to Tom's ear, whereupon Tom frowned, pushed back his chair, and without a word went inside. As if his absence quickened something within her, Daisy leaned forward again, her voice glowing and singing.
"I love to see you at my table, Nick. You remind me of a—of a rose, an absolute rose. Doesn't he?" She turned to Miss Baker for confirmation: "An absolute rose?"
This was untrue. I am not even faintly like a rose. She was only extemporizing, but a stirring warmth flowed from her, as if her heart was trying to come out to you concealed in one of those breathless, thrilling words. Then suddenly she threw her napkin on the table and excused herself and went into the house.
Miss Baker and I exchanged a short glance consciously devoid of meaning. I was about to speak when she sat up alertly and said "Sh!" in a warning voice. A subdued impassioned murmur was audible in the room beyond, and Miss Baker leaned forward unashamed, trying to hear. The murmur trembled on the verge of coherence, sank down, mounted excitedly, and then ceased altogether.
"This Mr. Gatsby you spoke of is my neighbor——" I said.
"Don't talk. I want to hear what happens."
"Is something happening?" I inquired innocently.
"You mean to say you don't know?" said Miss Baker, honestly surprised. "I thought everybody knew."
"I don't."
"Why——" she said hesitantly, "Tom's got some woman in New York."
"Got some woman?" I repeated blankly.
Miss Baker nodded.
"She might have the decency not to telephone him at dinner time. Don't you think?"
Almost before I had grasped her meaning there was the flutter of a dress and the crunch of leather boots, and Tom and Daisy were back at the table.
"It couldn't be helped!" cried Daisy with tense gaiety.
She sat down, glanced searchingly at Miss Baker and then at me, and continued: "I looked outdoors for a minute, and it's very romantic outdoors. There's a bird on the lawn that I think must be a nightingale come over on the Cunard or White Star Line. He's singing away——" Her voice sang: "It's romantic, isn't it, Tom?"
"Very romantic," he said, and then miserably to me: "If it's light enough after dinner, I want to take you down to the stables."
The telephone rang inside, startlingly, and as Daisy shook her head decisively at Tom the subject of the stables, in fact all subjects, vanished into air. Among the broken fragments of the last five minutes at table I remember the candles being lit again, pointlessly, and I was conscious of wanting to look squarely at every one, and yet to avoid all eyes. I couldn't guess what Daisy and Tom were thinking, but I doubt if even Miss Baker, who seemed to have mastered a certain hardy scepticism, was able utterly to put this fifth guest's shrill metallic urgency out of mind. To a certain temperament the situation might have seemed intriguing—my own instinct was to telephone immediately for the police.
The horses, needless to say, were not mentioned again. Tom and Miss Baker, with several feet of twilight between them, strolled back into the library, as if to a vigil beside a perfectly tangible body, while, trying to look pleasantly interested and a little deaf, I followed Daisy around a chain of connecting verandas to the porch in front. In its deep gloom we sat down side by side on a wicker settee.
Daisy took her face in her hands as if feeling its lovely shape, and her eyes moved gradually out into the velvet dusk. I saw that turbulent emotions possessed her, so I asked what I thought would be some sedative questions about her little girl.
"We don't know each other very well, Nick," she said suddenly. "Even if we are cousins. You didn't come to my wedding."
"I wasn't back from the war."
"That's true." She hesitated. "Well, I've had a very bad time, Nick, and I'm pretty cynical about everything."
Evidently she had reason to be. I waited but she didn't say any more, and after a moment I returned rather feebly to the subject of her daughter.
"I suppose she talks, and—eats, and everything."
"Oh, yes." She looked at me absently. "Listen, Nick; let me tell you what I said when she was born. Would you like to hear?"
"Very much."
"It'll show you how I've gotten to feel about—things. Well, she was less than an hour old and Tom was God knows where. I woke up out of the ether with an utterly abandoned feeling, and asked the nurse right away if it was a boy or a girl. She told me it was a girl, and so I turned my head away and wept. ‘all right,' I said, ‘I'm glad it's a girl. And I hope she'll be a fool—that's the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool."
"You see I think everything's terrible anyhow," she went on in a convinced way. "Everybody thinks so—the most advanced people. And I KNOW. I've been everywhere and seen everything and done everything." Her eyes flashed around her in a defiant way, rather like Tom's, and she laughed with thrilling scorn. "Sophisticated—God, I'm sophisticated!"
The instant her voice broke off, ceasing to compel my attention, my belief, I felt the basic insincerity of what she had said. It made me uneasy, as though the whole evening had been a trick of some sort to exact a contributory emotion from me. I waited, and sure enough, in a moment she looked at me with an absolute smirk on her lovely face, as if she had asserted her membership in a rather distinguished secret society to which she and Tom belonged.
Inside, the crimson room bloomed with light.
Tom and Miss Baker sat at either end of the long couch and she read aloud to him from the SATURDAY EVENING POST.—the words, murmurous and uninflected, running together in a soothing tune. The lamp-light, bright on his boots and dull on the autumn-leaf yellow of her hair, glinted along the paper as she turned a page with a flutter of slender muscles in her arms.
When we came in she held us silent for a moment with a lifted hand.
"To be continued," she said, tossing the magazine on the table, "in our very next issue."
Her body asserted itself with a restless movement of her knee, and she stood up.
"Ten o'clock," she remarked, apparently finding the time on the ceiling. "Time for this good girl to go to bed."
"Jordan's going to play in the tournament to-morrow," explained Daisy, "over at Westchester."
"Oh—you're Jordan BAKER."
I knew now why her face was familiar—its pleasing contemptuous expression had looked out at me from many rotogravure pictures of the sporting life at Asheville and Hot Springs and Palm Beach. I had heard some story of her too, a critical, unpleasant story, but what it was I had forgotten long ago.
"Good night," she said softly. "Wake me at eight, won't you."
"If you'll get up."
"I will. Good night, Mr. Carraway. See you anon."
"Of course you will," confirmed Daisy. "In fact I think I'll arrange a marriage. Come over often, Nick, and I'll sort of—oh—fling you together. You know—lock you up accidentally in linen closets and push you out to sea in a boat, and all that sort of thing——"
"Good night," called Miss Baker from the stairs. "I haven't heard a word."
"She's a nice girl," said Tom after a moment. "They oughtn't to let her run around the country this way."
"Who oughtn't to?" inquired Daisy coldly.
"Her family."
"Her family is one aunt about a thousand years old. Besides, Nick's going to look after her, aren't you, Nick? She's going to spend lots of week-ends out here this summer. I think the home influence will be very good for her."
Daisy and Tom looked at each other for a moment in silence.
"Is she from New York?" I asked quickly.
"From Louisville. Our white girlhood was passed together there. Our beautiful white——"
"Did you give Nick a little heart to heart talk on the veranda?" demanded Tom suddenly.
"Did I?" She looked at me.
"I can't seem to remember, but I think we talked about the Nordic race. Yes, I'm sure we did. It sort of crept up on us and first thing you know——"
"Don't believe everything you hear, Nick," he advised me.
I said lightly that I had heard nothing at all, and a few minutes later I got up to go home. They came to the door with me and stood side by side in a cheerful square of light. As I started my motor Daisy peremptorily called: "Wait!"
Thats the default. There was no limit previously because i had removed it so people could spam and i havent had a reason to remove it on here
How about you remove it just on this thread?
It doesn't work like that
The limit is now one million characters
The limit is now one million characters
Cool thanks
Call Me Tim
EDF Hero
John1:1-51
1 In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.2 The same was in the beginning with God.3 All things were made by him; and without him was not any thing made that was made.4 In him was life; and the life was the light of men.5 And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not.6 There was a man sent from God, whose name was John.7 The same came for a witness, to bear witness of the Light, that all men through him might believe.8 He was not that Light, but was sent to bear witness of that Light.9 That was the true Light, which lighteth every man that cometh into the world.10 He was in the world, and the world was made by him, and the world knew him not.11 He came unto his own, and his own received him not.12 But as many as received him, to them gave he power to become the sons of God, even to them that believe on his name:13 Which were born, not of blood, nor of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man, but of God.14 And the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us, (and we beheld his glory, the glory as of the only begotten of the Father,) full of grace and truth.15 John bare witness of him, and cried, saying, This was he of whom I spake, He that cometh after me is preferred before me: for he was before me.16 And of his fulness have all we received, and grace for grace.17 For the law was given by Moses, but grace and truth came by Jesus Christ.18 No man hath seen God at any time; the only begotten Son, which is in the bosom of the Father, he hath declared him.19 And this is the record of John, when the Jews sent priests and Levites from Jerusalem to ask him, Who art thou?20 And he confessed, and denied not; but confessed, I am not the Christ.21 And they asked him, What then? Art thou Elias? And he saith, I am not. Art thou that prophet? And he answered, No.22 Then said they unto him, Who art thou? that we may give an answer to them that sent us. What sayest thou of thyself?23 He said, I am the voice of one crying in the wilderness, Make straight the way of the Lord, as said the prophet Esaias.24 And they which were sent were of the Pharisees.25 And they asked him, and said unto him, Why baptizest thou then, if thou be not that Christ, nor Elias, neither that prophet?26 John answered them, saying, I baptize with water: but there standeth one among you, whom ye know not;27 He it is, who coming after me is preferred before me, whose shoe’s latchet I am not worthy to unloose.28 These things were done in Bethabara beyond Jordan, where John was baptizing.29 The next day John seeth Jesus coming unto him, and saith, Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world.30 This is he of whom I said, After me cometh a man which is preferred before me: for he was before me.31 And I knew him not: but that he should be made manifest to Israel, therefore am I come baptizing with water.32 And John bare record, saying, I saw the Spirit descending from heaven like a dove, and it abode upon him.33 And I knew him not: but he that sent me to baptize with water, the same said unto me, Upon whom thou shalt see the Spirit descending, and remaining on him, the same is he which baptizeth with the Holy Ghost.34 And I saw, and bare record that this is the Son of God.35 Again the next day after John stood, and two of his disciples;36 And looking upon Jesus as he walked, he saith, Behold the Lamb of God!37 And the two disciples heard him speak, and they followed Jesus.38 Then Jesus turned, and saw them following, and saith unto them, What seek ye? They said unto him, Rabbi, (which is to say, being interpreted, Master,) where dwellest thou?39 He saith unto them, Come and see. They came and saw where he dwelt, and abode with him that day: for it was about the tenth hour.40 One of the two which heard John speak, and followed him, was Andrew, Simon Peter’s brother.41 He first findeth his own brother Simon, and saith unto him, We have found the Messias, which is, being interpreted, the Christ.42 And he brought him to Jesus. And when Jesus beheld him, he said, Thou art Simon the son of Jona: thou shalt be called Cephas, which is by interpretation, A stone.43 The day following Jesus would go forth into Galilee, and findeth Philip, and saith unto him, Follow me.44 Now Philip was of Bethsaida, the city of Andrew and Peter.45 Philip findeth Nathanael, and saith unto him, We have found him, of whom Moses in the law, and the prophets, did write, Jesus of Nazareth, the son of Joseph.46 And Nathanael said unto him, Can there any good thing come out of Nazareth? Philip saith unto him, Come and see.47 Jesus saw Nathanael coming to him, and saith of him, Behold an Israelite indeed, in whom is no guile!48 Nathanael saith unto him, Whence knowest thou me? Jesus answered and said unto him, Before that Philip called thee, when thou wast under the fig tree, I saw thee.49 Nathanael answered and saith unto him, Rabbi, thou art the Son of God; thou art the King of Israel.50 Jesus answered and said unto him, Because I said unto thee, I saw thee under the fig tree, believest thou? thou shalt see greater things than these.51 And he saith unto him, Verily, verily, I say unto you, Hereafter ye shall see heaven open, and the angels of God ascending and descending upon the Son of man.
John2:1-25
2 And the third day there was a marriage in Cana of Galilee; and the mother of Jesus was there:2 And both Jesus was called, and his disciples, to the marriage.3 And when they wanted wine, the mother of Jesus saith unto him, They have no wine.4 Jesus saith unto her, Woman, what have I to do with thee? mine hour is not yet come.5 His mother saith unto the servants, Whatsoever he saith unto you, do it.6 And there were set there six waterpots of stone, after the manner of the purifying of the Jews, containing two or three firkins apiece.7 Jesus saith unto them, Fill the waterpots with water. And they filled them up to the brim.8 And he saith unto them, Draw out now, and bear unto the governor of the feast. And they bare it.9 When the ruler of the feast had tasted the water that was made wine, and knew not whence it was: (but the servants which drew the water knew
the governor of the feast called the bridegroom,10 And saith unto him, Every man at the beginning doth set forth good wine; and when men have well drunk, then that which is worse: but thou hast kept the good wine until now.11 This beginning of miracles did Jesus in Cana of Galilee, and manifested forth his glory; and his disciples believed on him.12 After this he went down to Capernaum, he, and his mother, and his brethren, and his disciples: and they continued there not many days.13 And the Jews’ passover was at hand, and Jesus went up to Jerusalem,14 And found in the temple those that sold oxen and sheep and doves, and the changers of money sitting:15 And when he had made a scourge of small cords, he drove them all out of the temple, and the sheep, and the oxen; and poured out the changers’ money, and overthrew the tables;16 And said unto them that sold doves, Take these things hence; make not my Father’s house an house of merchandise.17 And his disciples remembered that it was written, The zeal of thine house hath eaten me up.18 Then answered the Jews and said unto him, What sign shewest thou unto us, seeing that thou doest these things?19 Jesus answered and said unto them, Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up.20 Then said the Jews, Forty and six years was this temple in building, and wilt thou rear it up in three days?21 But he spake of the temple of his body.22 When therefore he was risen from the dead, his disciples remembered that he had said this unto them; and they believed the scripture, and the word which Jesus had said.23 Now when he was in Jerusalem at the passover, in the feast day, many believed in his name, when they saw the miracles which he did.24 But Jesus did not commit himself unto them, because he knew all men,25 And needed not that any should testify of man: for he knew what was in man.John3:1-36
3 There was a man of the Pharisees, named Nicodemus, a ruler of the Jews:2 The same came to Jesus by night, and said unto him, Rabbi, we know that thou art a teacher come from God: for no man can do these miracles that thou doest, except God be with him.3 Jesus answered and said unto him, Verily, verily, I say unto thee, Except a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God.4 Nicodemus saith unto him, How can a man be born when he is old? can he enter the second time into his mother’s womb, and be born?5 Jesus answered, Verily, verily, I say unto thee, Except a man be born of water and of the Spirit, he cannot enter into the kingdom of God.6 That which is born of the flesh is flesh; and that which is born of the Spirit is spirit.7 Marvel not that I said unto thee, Ye must be born again.8 The wind bloweth where it listeth, and thou hearest the sound thereof, but canst not tell whence it cometh, and whither it goeth: so is every one that is born of the Spirit.9 Nicodemus answered and said unto him, How can these things be?10 Jesus answered and said unto him, Art thou a master of Israel, and knowest not these things?11 Verily, verily, I say unto thee, We speak that we do know, and testify that we have seen; and ye receive not our witness.12 If I have told you earthly things, and ye believe not, how shall ye believe, if I tell you of heavenly things?13 And no man hath ascended up to heaven, but he that came down from heaven, even the Son of man which is in heaven.14 And as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, even so must the Son of man be lifted up:15 That whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have eternal life.16 For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.17 For God sent not his Son into the world to condemn the world; but that the world through him might be saved.18 He that believeth on him is not condemned: but he that believeth not is condemned already, because he hath not believed in the name of the only begotten Son of God.19 And this is the condemnation, that light is come into the world, and men loved darkness rather than light, because their deeds were evil.20 For every one that doeth evil hateth the light, neither cometh to the light, lest his deeds should be reproved.21 But he that doeth truth cometh to the light, that his deeds may be made manifest, that they are wrought in God.22 After these things came Jesus and his disciples into the land of Judaea; and there he tarried with them, and baptized.23 And John also was baptizing in Aenon near to Salim, because there was much water there: and they came, and were baptized.24 For John was not yet cast into prison.25 Then there arose a question between some of John’s disciples and the Jews about purifying.26 And they came unto John, and said unto him, Rabbi, he that was with thee beyond Jordan, to whom thou barest witness, behold, the same baptizeth, and all men come to him.27 John answered and said, A man can receive nothing, except it be given him from heaven.28 Ye yourselves bear me witness, that I said, I am not the Christ, but that I am sent before him.29 He that hath the bride is the bridegroom: but the friend of the bridegroom, which standeth and heareth him, rejoiceth greatly because of the bridegroom’s voice: this my joy therefore is fulfilled.30 He must increase, but I must decrease.31 He that cometh from above is above all: he that is of the earth is earthly, and speaketh of the earth: he that cometh from heaven is above all.32 And what he hath seen and heard, that he testifieth; and no man receiveth his testimony.33 He that hath received his testimony hath set to his seal that God is true.34 For he whom God hath sent speaketh the words of God: for God giveth not the Spirit by measure unto him.35 The Father loveth the Son, and hath given all things into his hand.36 He that believeth on the Son hath everlasting life: and he that believeth not the Son shall not see life; but the wrath of God abideth on him.
John1:1-51
1 In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.2 The same was in the beginning with God.3 All things were made by him; and without him was not any thing made that was made.4 In him was life; and the life was the light of men.5 And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not.6 There was a man sent from God, whose name was John.7 The same came for a witness, to bear witness of the Light, that all men through him might believe.8 He was not that Light, but was sent to bear witness of that Light.9 That was the true Light, which lighteth every man that cometh into the world.10 He was in the world, and the world was made by him, and the world knew him not.11 He came unto his own, and his own received him not.12 But as many as received him, to them gave he power to become the sons of God, even to them that believe on his name:13 Which were born, not of blood, nor of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man, but of God.14 And the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us, (and we beheld his glory, the glory as of the only begotten of the Father,) full of grace and truth.15 John bare witness of him, and cried, saying, This was he of whom I spake, He that cometh after me is preferred before me: for he was before me.16 And of his fulness have all we received, and grace for grace.17 For the law was given by Moses, but grace and truth came by Jesus Christ.18 No man hath seen God at any time; the only begotten Son, which is in the bosom of the Father, he hath declared him.19 And this is the record of John, when the Jews sent priests and Levites from Jerusalem to ask him, Who art thou?20 And he confessed, and denied not; but confessed, I am not the Christ.21 And they asked him, What then? Art thou Elias? And he saith, I am not. Art thou that prophet? And he answered, No.22 Then said they unto him, Who art thou? that we may give an answer to them that sent us. What sayest thou of thyself?23 He said, I am the voice of one crying in the wilderness, Make straight the way of the Lord, as said the prophet Esaias.24 And they which were sent were of the Pharisees.25 And they asked him, and said unto him, Why baptizest thou then, if thou be not that Christ, nor Elias, neither that prophet?26 John answered them, saying, I baptize with water: but there standeth one among you, whom ye know not;27 He it is, who coming after me is preferred before me, whose shoe’s latchet I am not worthy to unloose.28 These things were done in Bethabara beyond Jordan, where John was baptizing.29 The next day John seeth Jesus coming unto him, and saith, Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world.30 This is he of whom I said, After me cometh a man which is preferred before me: for he was before me.31 And I knew him not: but that he should be made manifest to Israel, therefore am I come baptizing with water.32 And John bare record, saying, I saw the Spirit descending from heaven like a dove, and it abode upon him.33 And I knew him not: but he that sent me to baptize with water, the same said unto me, Upon whom thou shalt see the Spirit descending, and remaining on him, the same is he which baptizeth with the Holy Ghost.34 And I saw, and bare record that this is the Son of God.35 Again the next day after John stood, and two of his disciples;36 And looking upon Jesus as he walked, he saith, Behold the Lamb of God!37 And the two disciples heard him speak, and they followed Jesus.38 Then Jesus turned, and saw them following, and saith unto them, What seek ye? They said unto him, Rabbi, (which is to say, being interpreted, Master,) where dwellest thou?39 He saith unto them, Come and see. They came and saw where he dwelt, and abode with him that day: for it was about the tenth hour.40 One of the two which heard John speak, and followed him, was Andrew, Simon Peter’s brother.41 He first findeth his own brother Simon, and saith unto him, We have found the Messias, which is, being interpreted, the Christ.42 And he brought him to Jesus. And when Jesus beheld him, he said, Thou art Simon the son of Jona: thou shalt be called Cephas, which is by interpretation, A stone.43 The day following Jesus would go forth into Galilee, and findeth Philip, and saith unto him, Follow me.44 Now Philip was of Bethsaida, the city of Andrew and Peter.45 Philip findeth Nathanael, and saith unto him, We have found him, of whom Moses in the law, and the prophets, did write, Jesus of Nazareth, the son of Joseph.46 And Nathanael said unto him, Can there any good thing come out of Nazareth? Philip saith unto him, Come and see.47 Jesus saw Nathanael coming to him, and saith of him, Behold an Israelite indeed, in whom is no guile!48 Nathanael saith unto him, Whence knowest thou me? Jesus answered and said unto him, Before that Philip called thee, when thou wast under the fig tree, I saw thee.49 Nathanael answered and saith unto him, Rabbi, thou art the Son of God; thou art the King of Israel.50 Jesus answered and said unto him, Because I said unto thee, I saw thee under the fig tree, believest thou? thou shalt see greater things than these.51 And he saith unto him, Verily, verily, I say unto you, Hereafter ye shall see heaven open, and the angels of God ascending and descending upon the Son of man.
John2:1-25
2 And the third day there was a marriage in Cana of Galilee; and the mother of Jesus was there:2 And both Jesus was called, and his disciples, to the marriage.3 And when they wanted wine, the mother of Jesus saith unto him, They have no wine.4 Jesus saith unto her, Woman, what have I to do with thee? mine hour is not yet come.5 His mother saith unto the servants, Whatsoever he saith unto you, do it.6 And there were set there six waterpots of stone, after the manner of the purifying of the Jews, containing two or three firkins apiece.7 Jesus saith unto them, Fill the waterpots with water. And they filled them up to the brim.8 And he saith unto them, Draw out now, and bear unto the governor of the feast. And they bare it.9 When the ruler of the feast had tasted the water that was made wine, and knew not whence it was: (but the servants which drew the water knew
John3:1-36
3 There was a man of the Pharisees, named Nicodemus, a ruler of the Jews:2 The same came to Jesus by night, and said unto him, Rabbi, we know that thou art a teacher come from God: for no man can do these miracles that thou doest, except God be with him.3 Jesus answered and said unto him, Verily, verily, I say unto thee, Except a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God.4 Nicodemus saith unto him, How can a man be born when he is old? can he enter the second time into his mother’s womb, and be born?5 Jesus answered, Verily, verily, I say unto thee, Except a man be born of water and of the Spirit, he cannot enter into the kingdom of God.6 That which is born of the flesh is flesh; and that which is born of the Spirit is spirit.7 Marvel not that I said unto thee, Ye must be born again.8 The wind bloweth where it listeth, and thou hearest the sound thereof, but canst not tell whence it cometh, and whither it goeth: so is every one that is born of the Spirit.9 Nicodemus answered and said unto him, How can these things be?10 Jesus answered and said unto him, Art thou a master of Israel, and knowest not these things?11 Verily, verily, I say unto thee, We speak that we do know, and testify that we have seen; and ye receive not our witness.12 If I have told you earthly things, and ye believe not, how shall ye believe, if I tell you of heavenly things?13 And no man hath ascended up to heaven, but he that came down from heaven, even the Son of man which is in heaven.14 And as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, even so must the Son of man be lifted up:15 That whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have eternal life.16 For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.17 For God sent not his Son into the world to condemn the world; but that the world through him might be saved.18 He that believeth on him is not condemned: but he that believeth not is condemned already, because he hath not believed in the name of the only begotten Son of God.19 And this is the condemnation, that light is come into the world, and men loved darkness rather than light, because their deeds were evil.20 For every one that doeth evil hateth the light, neither cometh to the light, lest his deeds should be reproved.21 But he that doeth truth cometh to the light, that his deeds may be made manifest, that they are wrought in God.22 After these things came Jesus and his disciples into the land of Judaea; and there he tarried with them, and baptized.23 And John also was baptizing in Aenon near to Salim, because there was much water there: and they came, and were baptized.24 For John was not yet cast into prison.25 Then there arose a question between some of John’s disciples and the Jews about purifying.26 And they came unto John, and said unto him, Rabbi, he that was with thee beyond Jordan, to whom thou barest witness, behold, the same baptizeth, and all men come to him.27 John answered and said, A man can receive nothing, except it be given him from heaven.28 Ye yourselves bear me witness, that I said, I am not the Christ, but that I am sent before him.29 He that hath the bride is the bridegroom: but the friend of the bridegroom, which standeth and heareth him, rejoiceth greatly because of the bridegroom’s voice: this my joy therefore is fulfilled.30 He must increase, but I must decrease.31 He that cometh from above is above all: he that is of the earth is earthly, and speaketh of the earth: he that cometh from heaven is above all.32 And what he hath seen and heard, that he testifieth; and no man receiveth his testimony.33 He that hath received his testimony hath set to his seal that God is true.34 For he whom God hath sent speaketh the words of God: for God giveth not the Spirit by measure unto him.35 The Father loveth the Son, and hath given all things into his hand.36 He that believeth on the Son hath everlasting life: and he that believeth not the Son shall not see life; but the wrath of God abideth on him.
Eric Harris Rants
I hate the fucking world, to many god damn fuckers it in. to many thoughts about societies all wrapped up together in this place called AMERICA. everyone has their own god damn opinions on every damn thing and you may be saying "well what makes you so different?". because I have something only me and V have, SELF AWARENESS, Call it exortenstiolism or whatever the fuck u want. we know what are to this world and what everyone else is. we learn more than what caused the civil war and how to simplify quadratics in school. we have been watching you people. we know what you think and how you act, all talk and no actions. people who are said to be brave or couragous are usually just STUPID then they say later that they did it on purpose cause they are brave when they did on fucking accident. GOD everything is so corrupt and so filled with opinions little and points of view and peoples' own little agendas and shedules. this isnt a world anymore, its H.O.E. and [no]one knows it. self awareness is a wonderful thing. I know I will die soon, so will you and everyone else. maybe will we be lucky and a comet will smash us back to day 1. people say it is immoral to follow others, they say be a leader. well here is a fuckin news flash for you stupid shits, everyone is a follower! everyone who says they arent a follower and then dresses diff. or acts diff. ... They got that from something they saw on TV or in film or in life. no originality, how many JO MAMMA jokes are there and how many do u think are original and not copied. KEINE. Its a fucking filthy place we live in. all these standards and laws and Great Expectations (webb) are making people into robots even though they might "think" they arent and try to deny it. no matter how hard they try to NOT copy someone I still AM! except for this fucking piece of paper right here, and B.T.W spelling is stupid unless I say. I say spell it how it sounds, it's the fuckin easiest way. hey try this sometime, when someone tells you something, ask "why?" eventually they will be stumped and cant answer anymore. thats because they only know what they need to know in society and school, not real life science. they will end up saying words to this "because! Just shut up!" people that only know stupid facts that arent important should be shot, what fucking use are they. NATURAL SELECTION. KILL all retards, people w/ brain fuck ups, drug adics, people cant figure out to use a fucking lighter. GEEEAWD! people spend millions of dollars on saving the lives of retards, and why. I don't buy that shit like "oh hes my son though!" so the fuck what, he aint normal, kill him, put him out his misery. he is only a waste of time and money, then people say "But he is worth the time, he is human too" no he isnt, if he was then he would swalow a bullet cause he would realize what a fucking waste and burden he was. -- 4/10/98as I said before, self awareness is a wonderful thing. I know what all you fuckers are thinking and what to do to piss you off and make you feel bad. I always try to be different, but I always end up copying someone else. I try to be a mixture of different things and styles but when I step out of myself I end up looking like others or others THINK I am copying. One big fucking problem Is people telling me what to fuckin do, think, say, act, and everything else. Ill do what you say IF I feel like it. But people (I.E. parents, cops, God, teachers) telling me what to [arrow points to do, think, say, act, and everything else] just makes me not want to fucking do it! thats why my fucking name is REB!!! no one is worthy of shit unless I say they are, I feel like GOD and I wish I was, having everyone being OFFICIALLY lower than me. I already know that I am higher than almost anymore in the fucking welt in terms of universal Intelligence and where we stand in the universe compared to the rest of the UNIV. and if you think I dont know what Im talking about then you can just "ßUCK DICH" and saugen mein Hund! Isnt america supposed to be the land of the free? how come, If im free, I cant deprive a stupid fucking dumbshit from his possessions If he leaves then sitting in the front seat of his fucking van out in plain sight and in the middle fucking nowhere on a Fri fucking day night. NATURAL SELECTION. fucker should be shot. same thing with all those rich snotty toadies at my school. fuckers think they are higher than me and everyone else with all their $ just because they were born into it? Ich denk NEIN. BTW, "sorry" is just a word. it doesnt mean SHIT to me. everyone should be put to a test. an ULTIMATE DOOM test, see who can survive in an environtment using only smarts and military skills. put them in a doom world. no authority, no refuge, no BS copout excuses. If you cant figure out the area of a triangle or what "cation" means, you die! if you cant take down a demon w/ a chainsaw or kill a hell prince w/ a shotgun, you die! fucking snotty rich fuckheads [Censored by J.C.Sheriff Office] who rely on others or on sympathy or $ to get them through life should be put to this challenge. plus it would get rid of all the fat, retarded, crippled, stupid, dumb, ignorant, worthless people of this world. no one is worthy of this planet only me and who ever I choose. there is just no respect for anything higher than your fucking boss or parent. everyone should be shot out into space and only the people I saw should be left behind. 4/12/98
ever wonder why we go to school? besides getting a so called education. its not to obvious to most of you stupid fucks but for these who think a little more and deeper you should realize it. its societies way of turning all the young people into good little robots and factory workers thats why we sit in desks in rows and go by bell schedules, to get prepared for the real world cause "thats what its like". well god damit no it isnt! one thing that seperates us from other animals is the fact that we can carry on actual thoughts. so why don't we? people go on day by day. rutine shit. why cant we learn in school how we want to. why cant we sit on desks and on shelves and put our feet up and relax while we learn? cause thats not what the "real world is like" well hey fuckheads, there is no such thing as an actual "real world". its just another word like justice, sorry, pity, religion, faith, luck and so on. we are humans. if we dont like something we have the fucking ability to change! but we dont, atleast U dont. I would. U just whine/bitch thoughtout life but never do a goddamn thing to change anything. "man can eat, drink, fuck, and hunt and anything else he does is madness" - Based on Lem's quote. boy oh fuckin boy is that true. when I go NBK, and people say things like, "oh it was so tragic," or "oh he is crazy!" or "It was bloody!" I think, so the fuck what, you think thats a bad thing? just because your mommy and daddy told you blood and violence is bad, you think its a fucking law of nature? wrong, only science and math are true, everything, and I mean everyfuckingthing else is man made. my doctor wants to put me on medication to stop thinking about so many things and to stop getting angry. well, I think that anyone doesnt like me is just bullshitting themselves. try it sometime if you think you are worthy, which you probly will you little shits, drop all your beliefs and views and ideas that have been burned into your head and try to think about why your here. but I bet most of you fuckers cant even think that deep, so that is why you must die. how dare you think that I and you are part of the same species when we are sooooooo different. you arent human you are a Robot. you dont take advantage of your capabilites given to you at birth. you just drop them and hop onto the boat and headdown the stream of life with all the other fuckers of your type. well god damit I wont be a part of it! I have thought to much, realized to much, found out to much, and I am to self aware to just stop what I am thinking and go back to society because what I do and think isnt "right" or "morally accepted" NO, NO, NO GOD FUCKING DAMIT NO!I will sooner die than betray my own thoughts. but before I leave this worthless place, I will kill who ever I deam unfit for anything at all. especially life. and i fyou pissed me off in the past, you will die if I see you. because you might be able to piss off others and have it eventually all blow over, but not me. I dont forget people who wronged me. like [Censored by J.C. Sheriff Office] he will never get a chance to read this because he will be dead by me before this is discovered -- 4/21/98
The human race sucks. human nature is smuthered out by society, jobs, and work and school. instincts are deleted by laws. I see people say things that contradict themselves, or people that dont take any advantage to the gift of human life. they waste their minds on memorizing the stats of every college basketball player or how many words should be an a report when they should be using their brain on more important things. the human race isnt worth fighting for anymore. WWII was the last war worth fighting and was the last time human life and human brains did any good any made us proud. now, with the government having scandals and conspiracies all over the fucking place and lying to everyone all the time and with worthless pointless mindless discraceful TV shows on (scratched out) and with everyone ub-fucking-sessed with hollywood and beauty and fame and glamour and politics and anything famous, people just arent worth saving. Society may not realize what is happening but I have; you go to school, to get used to studying and learning how youre "supposed to" so that drains or filters out a little bit of human nature. but thats after your parents taught you whats right and wrong even though you may think differently, you still must to have more of your human nature blown out of your ass. society trys to make everyone act the same by burying all human nature and instincts. Thats what school, laws, jobs, and parents do If they realize it or not and them, the few who stick to their natural instincts are casted out as psychos or lunatics or strangers or just plain different. crazy, strange, weird, wild, these words are not bad or degrading.. if humans were let to live how we would naturaly it would be chaos and anarchy and the human race wouldnt probably last that long, but hey guess what, thats how its supposed to be!!!!! society and goverments are only created to have order and calmness, which is exactly the opposite of pure human nature. take away all your laws and morals and just see what you can do. if the goverment was one entity it would be thinking "hey, lets make some order here and calm these crazy fucks down so we can be constructive and fight other goverments in our own little so called self created "civilizied world" and get rid of all those damn insticts everyone has" well shit I'm to tired wright anymor tonight, so until next time, fuck you all -- 5/6/98
It has been confirmed, after getting my yearboook and watching people like [censored] and [censored] the human race isn't worth fighting for, only worth killing. give the Earth back to the animals, they deserve it infinitely more than we do. nothing means anything more, most quotes are worthless, especially the rearranged ones like "dont fight your enemies, make your enemies fight" you know, quotes that use the same phrase just rearranged, Dumbfuck shit [illegible] wear. its funny, people say "you shouldn't be so different." to me, and 1st I say fuck you dont tell me what I should and shouldn't be and 2ND mother fuckers different is good, I dont want to be like you or anyone which is almost impossible this day w/ all the little shits trying to be "original-copycats", I expect shits like you to criticize anyone who isnt one of your social words; "normal" or "civilized" - see tempest and Caliban. allyou degrading worthless shits. all caught up and brainwashed into the 90's society. "what? you AREN'T going to college, are you are crazy!" holy SHIT that is one fucking BIG Quote that just proves my point. step back and look at yourself fuckers, I dare you, maybe I'll get lucky and you'll step back to far like Nick in Elm3. w/ the same concequence. -- 5/9/98
wooh, different pen. HA! alright you pathetic fools listen up; I have figured it out. the human race strives for exellence in life and community always wanting to bring more =good= into the comm. and nulify =bad= things. anyone who thinks differently than the majority or the leaders is deamed "unusual" or weird or crazy. people want to be a part of something; a family, a service, a club, a union, a community, whatever. thats what humans want. who cares waht you as an individual thinks, you must do what you are told, whether it is jump of a bridge or drive on the right side of the road. protesters in the past protested because the human race that was dominant (Ghandi and the Brits or the king and the americans) wasnt working out = they had fault = they failed = their ideas didnt work. humans dont change that much, they only get better technology to do their work quicker/easier. people always say we shouldnt be racist. why not? Blacks ARE different, like it or not they are. they started on the bottom so why not keep em there. it took the centuries to convince us that they are equal but they still use their color as an excuse or they just discriminate us because we are white. Fuck you, we should ship yer black asses back to Afri-fucking-ca were you came from. we brought you here and we will take you back. America=White. Gays....well all gays, ALL gays, should be killed. mit keine fragen. lesbians are fun to watch if they are hot but still, its not human. its a fucking disease. you dont see bulls or roosters trying to fuck do you? no, I didn't think so. women you will always be under men. its been seen throughout nature, males are almost always doing the dangerous shit while the women stay back. its your animal instincts, deal with it or commit suicide, just do it quick. thats all for now. -- 5/20/98
If you recall your history the Nazis came up with a "final solution" to the Jewish problem... kill them all. well incase you havent figured it out yet, I say, "K I L L M A N K I N D" no one should survive. we all live in lies. people are saying they want to live in a perfect society, well utopia doesnt exist. It is human to have flaws. you know what, Fuck it. why should I have to explain myself to you survivors when half of the shit I say you shitheads wont understand and if you can then woopie fucking do. that just means you have something to say as my reason for killing. and the majority of the audience wont even understand my motives either! they'll say "ah, hes crazy, hes insane, oh well, I wonder if the bulls won." you see! it's fucking worthless! all you fuckers should die! DIE! what the fuck is the point if onlu some people see what I am saying, there will always be ones who dont, ones that are to dumb or naive or ignorrant or just plain retarded. If I cant pound it into every single persons head then it is pointless. fuck mercy fuck justic fuck morals fuck civilized fuck rules fuck laws... DIE manmade words...people think they apply to everything when they dont/cant. theres no such thing as True Good or True Evil, its all relative to the observer. its just all nature, chemistry, and math. deal with it. but since dealing with it seems impossible for mankind, since we have to slap warning labels on nature, then... you die. burn, melt, evaporate, decay, just go the fuck away!!!! YAAAAAH!!!! - 6/12/98-
KEIN MITLEID
"when in doubt, confuse the hell out the enemy" - Fly 9/2/98
wait mercy doesnt exist....
heres something to chew on....: today I saw a program on the discovery channel about satelites and radar and aircraft and stuff, and at the end of the show the narrator said some things that made me think "damn, we are so advanced, we kick ass, america is awesome, we have so many things in our military, we would kick anyones ass." for a minute I actually had some pride in our nation.... then I realized, "hey, this only the Good things that I am seeing here. only the Pros, not the cons. maybe thats what people see, only the Pros, and thats why they are under control. but me, I see all... you can only blind me for so long. but alas, I have realized that Yes, the human race is still indeed doomed. It just needs a few kick starts, like me, and hell, maybe even [censored]. If can whipe a few cities off the map, and even the fuckhead Holding the map, then great. hmm, just thinking if I want ALL humans dead or maybe just the quote-unquote "civilized, developed, and known-of" places on Earth. maybe leave little tribes of natives in the rain forest er something. hmm, I'll think about that. eh. done for tonight -REB- 6/13/98
As part of the human race, and having the great pleasure of being blessed with a brain, I can think. Humans can do whatever they want. There are no laws of nature that prevent humans from making choices. maybe from actually DOING some of those choices, but not from making the choice. If a man choosses to speed while driving home one day, then it is his fault for whatever happens. If he crashes into a school bus full of kidies and they all burn to death, its his fault. Its only a tragedy if you think it is, and then its only a tragedy in your own mind. so you shouldn't expect others to think that way also. it could also be a miracle for another person. maybe the bus stopped the car from plowing into a little old lady walking on the sidewalk. one could think it was a "miracle" that she wasnt hit. you see, anything and everything that happens in our world is just that, a HAPPENING. anything else is relative to the observer, but yet we try to have a "universal law" or "code" of what is good and bad and that just isnt fucking correct. we shouldn't be allowed to do that. we arent GODS. just because we are at the top of the food chain with our technology doesnt mean we can be "judges" of nature. sure we can think what we can think what we want, but you can "think" and "believe" you can judge people and nature all you want, but you are still wrong! why should your morals apply to everyone else. "morale" is just another word. and thats it. I think we are all a waste of natural resources and should be killed off, and since humans have the ability to choose... and I'm human... I think I will choose to kill and damage as much as nature allows me to so take that. fuck you, and eat napalm + lead! HA! only Nature can stop me. I know I could get shot by a cop after only killing a single person, but hey guess the fuck WHAT! I chose to kill that one person so get over it! Its MY fault! not my parents, not my brothers, not my friends, not my favorite bands, not computer games, not the media. IT is MINE! go shut the fuck up! -REB- 7/29/98
someones bound to say "what were they thinking?" when we go NBK or when we were planning it, so this what I am thinking. "I have a goal to destroy as much as possible so I must not be sidetracked by my feelings of sympathy, mercy, or any of that, so I will force myself to believe that everyone is just another monster from Doom like FH or FS or demons, so It's either me or them. I have to turn off my feelings." keep this is mind, I want to burn the world, I want to kill everyone except about 5 people, who I will name later, so If you are reading this you are lucky you escaped my rampage because I wanted to kill you. It will be very tricky getting all of our supplies, explosives, weaponry, ammo, and then hiding it all and then actually planting it all so we can achieve our goal. but if we get busted any time, we start killing then and there, just like Wilks from the AlIENS books, I aint going out without a fight. Once I finally start my killing, keep this in mind, there are probably about 100 people max in the school alone who I dont want to die, the rest, MUST FUCKING DIE! If I didnt like you or if you pissed me off and lived through my attacks, consider yourself one lucky god damn NIGGER. Pity that a lot of the dead will be a waste in someways, like dead hot chicks who were still bitches, they could have been good fucks. oh well, too fucking bad. life isnt fair... not by a long fuckin shot when Im at the wheel, too. God I want to torch and level everything in this whole fucking area but Bombs of that size are hard to make, and plus I would need a fuckin fully loaded A-10 to get every store on wadsworth and all the buildings downtown. heh, Imagine THAT ya fuckers, picture half of denver on fire just from me and Vodka. napalm on sides of skyscrapers and car garages blowing up from exploded gas tanks.... oh man that would be beautiful. -- 10/23/98
you know what, I feel like telling about lies. I lie a lot. almost constant. and to everybody, just to keep my own ass out of the water. and by the way (side note) I dont think I am doing this for attention, as some people may think. lets see, what are some big lies I have told; "yeah I stopped smoking," "for doing it not for getting caught," "no I'm havent been making more bombs," "no I wouldn't do that," and of course, countless of other ones, and yeah I know that I hate liers and I am one myself, oh fucking well. Its ok If I am a hypocrite, but no one else. because I am higher then you people, no matter what you say if you disagree I would shoot you And I am one racist mother fucker too, fuck the niggers and spics and chinks, unless they are cool, but sometimes they are so fucking retarded they deserve to be ripped on. some people go through life begging to be shot. and white fucks are just the same. if I could nuke the world I would, because so far I hate you all. there are probly around 10 people I wouldnt want to die, but hey, who ever said life is fair should be shot like the others too. - 11/1/98
heh heh heh. I sure had fun this weekend. lets see, what really happened. before going to the Rock n Bowl we stopped by King Soopers and one and [censored] picked up some big ass stoges. we then went to the Rock n Bowl and I had a few cigarettes and one of brand new cigars. we then went back to [censored] house where her mom had previousely bought us all a fuck load of liquor. personally I had asked for Tequilla and Irish cream, Vodka got his vodka, and there was beer, whiskey, schnopps, puckers, scotch and of course, orange juice! so we had some fun there playing cards and making drinks. we eventually made it to bed at about 5AM. got up at 10, went to safeway got some donouts and then I took Vodka home. the bottle of Tequilla is almost full and is in car, right by my spare tire and right by the bottle of irish cream. heh heh. I'll have to find a spot for those. and by the way, this nazi report is boosting my love of killing even more. like the early Nazi government, my brain is like a sponge, sucking up everything that sounds cool and leaving out all that is worthless, thats how Nazism was formed and thats how I will be too! 11/8/98
Fuck you Brady! all I want is a couple of guns, and thanks to your fucking bill I will probably not get any! come on, I'll have a clean record and I only want for personal protection. Its not like I'm some person who would go on a shooting spree.... fuckers. Ill probably end up nuking everything and fucking robbing some gun collectors house. Fuck, thatll be be hard. oh well, just as long as I kill a lot of fucking people. Everyone is always making fun of me because of how I look, how fucking weak I am and shit, well I will get you all back: ultimate fucking revenge here. you people could have shown more respect, treated me better, asked for my knowledge or guidence more, treated me more like senior, and maybe I wouldn't have been as ready to tear your fucking heads off. then again, I have always hated how I looked, I make fun of people who look like me, sometimes without even thinking sometimes just because I want to rip on myself. Thats where a lot of my hate grows from, the fact that I have practically no selfesteem, especially concerning girls and looks and such. therefore people make fun of me... constantly... therefore I get no respect and therefore I get fucking PISSED. as of this date I have enough explosives to kill about 100 people, and then if I get a couple bayonetts, swords, axes, whatever I'll be able to kill at least 10 more. and that just isnt enough! GUNS! I need guns! Give me some fucking firearms! 11/12/98
HATE! I'm full of hate and I Love it. I HATE PEOPLE and they better fucking fear me if they know whats good for em. yes I hate and I guess I want others to know it, yes I'm racist and I don't mind. Niggs and spics bring it on themselves, and another thing, I am very racist towards white trash p.o.s.s like [censored] and [censored] they deserve the hatred, otherwise I probly wouldnt hate them. Its a tragedy, the human nature of people will lead to their downfall. Peoples human nature will get them killed. whether by me or Vodka, Its happened before, and not just in school shootings like those pussy dumbasses over in Minnesota who squeeled. throughtout history, Its our fucking nature! I know how people are and why and I cant stand it! I love the nazis too... by the way, I fucking cant get enough of the swastika, the SS, and the iron cross. Hitler and his head boys fucked up a few times and it cost them the war, but I love their beliefs and who they were, what they did, and what they wanted. I know that form of gov couldn't have lasted long once the human equation was brought in, but damnit it sure looked good. every form of gov leads to downfalls, everything will always fuck up or yeah something. its all DOOMed god damnit. this is beginning to make me get in a corner. I'm showing too much of myself, my views and thoughts, people might start to wonder, smart ones will get nosey and something might happen to fuck me over, I might need to put on one helluva mask here to fool you all some more. fuck fuck fuck it'll be very fucking hard to hold out until April. If people would give me more compliments all of this might still be avoidable... but probably not. Whatever I do people make fun of me, and sometimes directly to my face. I'll get revenge soon enough. fuckers shouldn't have ripped on me so much huh! HA! then again its human nature to do what you did... so I guess I am also attacking the human race. I cant take it, Its not right... true... correct... perfect. I fucking hate the human equation. Nazism would be fucking great if it werent for individualism and our natural instinct to ask questions. you know what maybe I just need to get laid. maybe that'll just change some shit around. thats another thing, I am a fucking dog. I have fantasies of just taking someone and fucking them hard and strong. someone like [censored] were I just pick her up, take her to my room, tear off her shirt and pants and just eat her out and fuck her hard. I love flesh... weisses fleisch! dein weisses fleisch emegt mich soo... Ich bin dech nur ein gigilo! I want to grab a few different girls in my gym class, take them into a room, pull their pants off and fuck them hard. I love flesh... the smooth legs, the large breasts, the innocent flawless body, the eyes, the hair; jet black, blond, white, brown. ahhh I just want to fuck! call it teenage hormones or call it a crazy fuckin racist rapist... BJ ist mir egal. I just want to be surrounded by the flesh of a woman, someone like [censored] who I wanted to just fuck like hell, she made me practically drool, when she wore those shorts to work.. instant hard on. I couldnt stop staring. and others like [censored] in my gym class, [censored] or whatever in my gym class, and others who I just want to overpower and engulf myself in them. mmmm I can taste the sweet flesh now... the salty sweat, the animalistic movement... Iccchhh... lieeebe...... fleisccchhhh. who can I trick into my room first? I can sweep someone off their feet, tell them what they want to hear, be all nice and sweet, and then "fuck em like an animal, feel them from the inside" as Reznor said. oh... thats something else... that one NIN video I saw, broken or closer or something, the where the guy is kidnapped and tortured like hell... actual hell. I want to do that too. I want to tear a throat out with my own teeth like a pop can. I want to gut someone with my hand, to tear a head off and rip out the heart and lungs from the neck, to stab someone in the gut, shove it up to the heart, and yank the fucking blade out of their rib cage! I want to grab some weak little freshman and just tear them apart like a fucking wolf. show them who is god. strangle them, squish their head, bite their temples into the skull, rip off their jaw. rip off their colar bones, break their arms in half and twist them around, the lovely sounds of bones cracking and flesh ripping, ahh... so much to do and so little chances. -- 11/17/98
"weisses fleisch" - perfect - song - for - me
Well folks, today was a very important day in the history of R. Today along with Vodka and someone else who I wont name, we went downtown and purchased the following; a double barrel 12ga. shotgun, a pump action 12ga. shotgun, a 9mm carbine, 250 9mm rounds, 15 12ga slugs, 40 shotgun shells, 2 switch blade knives, and total of 4 - 10 round clips for the carbine. we....... have.... GUNS! we fucking got em you sons of bitches! HA! HAHAHA! neener! Booga Booga. heh. its all over now. this capped it off, the point of no return. I have my carbine, shotgun, ammo and knife all in my trunk tonight and theyll there till tomorrow... after school you know its really a shame. I had a lot of fun at that gun show, I would have loved it if you were there dad. we would done some major bonding. would have been great. oh well. but, alas, I fucked up and told [censored] about my "flask". that really disappoints me. [censored] I know you thought it was good for me... in the long run and all that shit, smart of you to give me a such big raise and then rat me out, you figure it was supposed to cancel each other? god damn flask, that just fucked me over big time. now you all will be on my ass even more than before about being on track. I'll get around it though, If have to cheat and lie to everyone then thats fine. THIS is what I am motivated for, THIS is my goal. THIS is what I want to do with my life! you know whats weird, I dont feel like a punching through a door because of the flask deal, probly cause I am fucking armed now. I feel more confident, stronger, and more Godlike. I have confidence in my ability to dese(cei)ve people. hopefully Ill make it to April, but that might not happen. Ug, Its been a busy weekend, I need to sleep, I'll continue tomorrow. 11/22/98
yesterday we fired our first actual firearms ever. 3 rounds from the carbine. taught that ground a thing or 2. I even had the 2 clips in my pocket while talking to vodkas dad about senior ditch day. God it felt great firing off that bad boy, and hopefully I'll be able to get more than just 4 clips for it. I dubbed my shotgun "Arlene" after Arlene Sanders from the DOOM books. She always did love the shotgun. Vodka's DB is looking very fucking awesome, all cut down to the proper lengths. this is a bitch trying to keep up on homework while working on my guns, bombs, and lying. by the way, I bought that flask in the mall and I had a friend fill it up w/ scotch whiskey, only had about 3 swigs in the 3 weeks I had it. plus monday I gave my T and IC to Vodka, just in case. I never really did like alcohol, just wasn't my thing, but It felt good to just have around. that argument on the 22nd was a real bitch, but I think I should have won a fucking oscar. I even quoted a few movies, remember "what the hell am I gonna do now man?! what am I gonna do!?" thats good ole Hudson from aliens. Sounded good too. and hey goddamnit I would have been a fucking great marine, It would have given me a reason to do good. and I would never drink and drive, either. It will be weird when we actually go on the rampage. hopefully we will have plenty of clips and bombs. Im gonna still try and get my calico 9mm. just think, 100 rounds without reloading.... hell yeah!
We actually may have a chance to get some machine pistols thanks to the Brady bill. If we can save up about 200$ real quick and find someone who is 21+ we can go to the next gun show and find a private dealer and buy ourselves some bad-ass AB-10 machine pistols. Clips for those things can get really fucking big too. 12/3/98
Woohoo, I'll never have to take a final again! feels good to be free. I just love Hobbes and Nietzche. Well tomorrow I'll be ordering 9 more 10 round clips for my carbine. I'm gonna be so fucking loaded in about a month. the big things we need to figure now is the time bombs for the commons and how we will get them in and leave then there to go off, without any fucking Jews finding them. I wonder if anyone will write a book on me. sure is a ton of symbolism, double meanings, themes, appearance vs reality shit going on here. oh well, it better be fuckin good if it is writtin. 12/17/98
heh, get this. KMFDM's new album is entitled "Adios" and it's release date is in April. how fuckin appropriate, a subliminal final "Adios" tribute to Reb and Vodka. thanks KMFDM... I ripped the hell outa the system 12/20/98
jesus christ that was fucking close. fucking shitheads at the gun shop almost dropped the whole project. oh well, thank god I can BS so fucking well. I went and picked up those babies today, so now I got 13 of those niggers. WOOHAH. the stereo is very nice, but having no insurance payments to worry about so I could concentrate of BOMBS would have been better. oh well, I think I'll have enough. now I just need to get Vodka another gun. 12/29/98
Months have passed. Its the first Friday night in the final month. much shit has happened. Vodka has a Tec 9, we test fired all of our babies, we have 6 time clocks ready, 39 crickets, 24 pipe bombs, and the napalm is under construction. Right now I'm trying to get fucked and trying to finish off these time bombs. NBK came quick. why the fuck cant I get any? I mean, I'm nice and considerate and all that shit, but nooooo. I think I try to hard. but I kinda need to considering NBK is closing in. The amount of dramatic irony and foreshadowing is fucking amazing. Everything I see and I hear I incorporate into NBK somehow. Either bombs, clocks, guns, napalm, killing people, any and everything finds some tie to it. feels like a Goddamn movie sometimes. I wanna try to put some mines and trip bombs around this town too maybe. Get a few extra flags on the scoreboard. I hate you people for leaving me out of so many fun things. And no don't fucking say, "well thats your fault" because it isnt, you people had my phone #, and I asked and all, but no. no no no dont let the weird looking Eric KID come along, ohh fucking nooo. 4/3/99
Surviving The Dead; a story by Jeff Weise
This is the first in a 3 part series, tell me what you think.Warning: Readers Discretion Is Advised.
Surviving the Dead. 1
The small town of Grovers Mill sat somewhere East, nearly forgotten by all except those who lived there. It was after eleven and dark as most stormy nights are, rain hammered down on the town relentlessly accompanied by its usual acquaintances thunder and lightening. Its dull barren streets were completely void of anything living, all the shops had closed for the night and everyone was in their warm beds dreaming simple dreams.
The shadowy figure stood on the outskirts of the towns eastern border looking from side to side making sure it was clear, the black storm poncho kept his black jumpsuit and tactical gear safe from the rain. He tilted the cap of his black battle helmet upwards so that he could see better, seeing the coast was clear he shifted his M-16 to his right hand and brought up his flashlight pointing it down the opposite direction of the road flicking it off and on twice.
In the distance through the falling rain a pair of headlights flicked on after seeing his signal, the man put his flash light away and took the M-16 into both arms once again as the truck slowly started to drive forward. The truck came to a rustic stopped near the towns morgue, a one story tall concrete monstrosity with a freshly mowed lawn with lush green grass looking almost fake. From the passengers side another man jumped out dressed in the same manner as the signaler had been.
The looming military figure removed his talk box from his tactical belt and pressed down the talk button, speaking a single word. Masks.
Hearing him over the radio the driver pulled a gas mask up from the floor of the truck and quickly put it on, those on the military hummer that had escorted the transport truck slid their masks on too. The passenger from the transport truck slid on his gas mask moving towards the back of the truck, he climbed onto the bed and removed a single barrel, he set it down on the wet concrete and looked for the keypad somewhere on its top.
He punched in a four digit code on the keypad attached to the barrel and with a loud pop the top opened releasing a plume of yellow smoke, quickly he moved to the front of the truck jumping into the passengers side.
He picked up the CB radio, GO GO GO!, his tone was frantic and frightened.
The transport truck quickly backed out of the morgue parking lot and sped off towards the western exit followed by its escort. Unbeknownst to the townsfolk Operation Paperclip had just begun
Maxs tired eyes fell upon the clich maroon brick school as he stepped off the trademark yellow bus, he let out a sigh and started towards the entrance. He surrendered his black book bag to the ape like security guard named Ben and took anything metal out of his pockets, (a set of keys and a CD player), and stepped through the metal detector. It buzzed as it went off, he let out a sigh.
I dont have anything, said Max annoyed.
Ben pulled open the drawer of the metal desk he sat behind and pulled up a hand held metal detector, he moved around the desk and Max assumed the position. He put his arms up as if he was reaching for the sky, Ben waved the wand all around him, when it didnt beep he simply said, go on.
Max let out a sigh, even for a small town the security was tight. He hated that, after the school shootings like Columbine and Cold Springs they had stepped up the security at the front door, Max grabbed his stuff off the desk and started towards the Canteen where he and his friends hung out.
Hey, Max said to the others as he walked in.
A few of them were already talking and barely acknowledged him, a few nodded their hellos and one actually returned his greeting. He took a seat in the corner on an aluminum folding chair plopping his back pack down next to him. The canteen was small, very small, yet he and his six friends still used it as their main headquarters. It was theres pretty much, it wouldve been if it didnt belong to the school.
Max looked at the watch on his wrist, 8:01 AM, 14 minutes till first class.
What did you do last night?, asked Mike.
The question came so quickly it almost knocked Max off his chair, uh Nothing really. Listened to music, watched a movie thats about it.
Mike nodded and sat down on the chair next to Max, cool I went to see Cher again.
Cher was Mikes girlfriend who lived 10 miles away at the next town, he had met her at the last basketball game when the schools Wolverines faced their Badgers. It had been a slaughter, Badgers won twenty to nothing, Max had lost ten dollars on that game. Either way, Mike had been bragging about her for ages, though Max had half the mind to tell him she wasnt much to brag about But he couldnt do that, Mike was his best friend, and theyd probably end up throwing punches over it. Before either could speak another word the bell rang, 14 minutes only seemed like a couple seconds when Max thought about it.
He stood up slinging his backpack over his shoulder, see ya.
Mike nodded as everyone exited the canteen, Mrs. Silver, (the librarian), closed the Canteens door and locked it as everyone was trying to get in to by a pop at the last minute. First class was always a pain for Max, Mr. Reinhardts class, he had his mustache shaved like Adolf Hitler, even had the same hair style, which made everyone uncomfortable and nervous around him. A few of the kids had complained about it to the principle, but nothing came of it.
Now class, open your text books open to page 420, said Mr. Reinhardt, he taught American Civics, not really Maxs favorite subject either, since he planned on moving to England when he turned 18.
CODE RED! CODE RED!, came over the intercom, a few gasps and oh my gods came from some of the class.
Mr. Reinhardt quickly ran over to the door and locked it, class move to the back of the room!
No one argued, most rushed to the back of the room, Max didnt have to, he was already there. Code Red had been discussed a lot by the teachers, Max had been growing sick of it. Code red was what would be said over the intercom if someone entered the building with a gun, teachers were supposed to lock their classroom doors and move all students to the back of the room. So far so good.
Now kids stay calm, said Mr. Reinhardt who sounded as if he was about to pass a stone.
Max wasnt really afraid for his life like most of the other students probably were, the only thing running through his mind was the school had it coming. He couldnt help but wonder if he knew the shooter, maybe it was Ray, he hadnt shown up that morning The class was quiet, too quiet, Max could hear a few whimpers and someone sobbing but that was it. Most were probably waiting to hear a gunshot, Max knew thats what he was waiting for. He hoped it wasnt a stupid drill, though as time passed he would wish it had been.
In the distance, somewhere else in the school, the sound of a blood curdling scream echoed through the hallways. Max nearly jumped out of his seat when he heard it, fear was setting in now. He had heard plenty of screams in his sixteen years of life but never anything like that, it was a cry. A death cry.
Jesus, the word had escaped Maxs mouth too quick for him to stifle it.
Jesus had nothing to do with that, son, Mr. Reinhardt said in a cold emotionless tone. That was the devils work.
The words sent a chill down Maxs spine as he thought about them, then again another scream broke the silence, the sound of shattering glass and the sounds of a man screaming in agony were all too real. Max closed his eyes trying to take his mind off of now, he wouldve given anything to be elsewhere.
Thats when the pounding started. The classroom door began to shake, with each strike every person in the classroom shook. The moaning started shortly after, bone chilling moans of hunger. The strength and pace of the strikes began to quicken, there was now more than one person trying to get in.
Dont worry kids, said Mr. Reinhardt. That doors solid reinforced steel, theyre not going to get in.
Whatever held the door in place was now starting to bend, soon the door was nearly flying open with each strike. The collective fear in the room could be felt strongly by all. The door was struck once more, finally swinging open in submission. Maxs eyes snapped open as he heard the door strike the wall, in shambled two men. The first was tall, dressed in a suit. A burial suit. Its face had been caked with make up, some of which had been washed away near the mouth by blood, his eyes had sunken deep into the sockets and were surrounded by black rings.
The second was Ben, the security guard, or what was left of him. His throat had been ripped out, replaced by a bloody mass of torn tissue, crimson had drenched his blue work shirt below the neck. A white foam dripped from the sides of his mouth which hung open loosely. The site of both men sent the room into chaos.
One of the students shattered one of the classroom windows with a chair and climbed out, others took his cue and did the same. Max climbed out one of the windows, turning back just in time to see Mr. Reinhardt being tackled to the floor by both men. Max had cut his hand as he climbed out the window, but he didnt even care, the adrenaline helped him ignore the pain and soldier on, he ran for the mass of police cars that had gathered by the front of the school. He looked at the front of the building, two men dressed in tactical gear stood cautiously by the front entrance while another evacuated students who came out quickly with their hands atop their heads.
How many were in there? Can you tell me?, asked a police officer as a paramedic bandaged Maxs hand.
Max remained silent, he had no answer. He wouldve spoken if he had something to say. The officer moved on to another student to ask the same question like a mindless automaton.
Max, said a female voice.
Max looked up, it was one of his friends, Morticia, he finally broke his silence. Hey
Oh my God are you ok?, she asked seeing his bandage.
Mike was standing next to her, damn man. Did you get shot?
There wasnt a gun, Max mumbled.
Huh?, asked Mike.
Max shook his head. Nothin I cut my hand climbing out that window over there.
The sound of gunfire made Max jumped, he turned his head towards the school where it was coming from.
They aint goin down!, someone said over the radio, Max could hear it from the cop standing next to the ambulance.
More gunfire came from inside the school, the three police officers in tactical gear near the front doors began to run as they saw something inside, more rain began to fall from the gray sky. Max sat unmoving on the back of the ambulance watching, the rain wetting his black pants and shoes. Out of the front entrance came another officer dressed in black tactical gear as the others running , four people chased after him, as he ran he unholstered his Colt M1911 .45. He turned and fired two shots point blank into one of his pursuers but to no avail. The bullets did nothing, the person chasing him merely jerked a few times then tackled the fleeing officer. No one could do anything but watch in horror as the mans throat was tore out by human teeth, his blood flowed mixing with fallen rain in a steady stream down to a gutter than into a storm drain.
Cannibals, Max heard someone say.
Max had come to a conclusion that only time would prove right or wrong. These cannibals werent living, but dead. It was beyond him where the conclusion came from, maybe his subconscious had pieced it together. Maybe not.
Drop em!, was the order that came over the police radio.
Gunfire erupted from the police who had their guns trained on the four creatures. Bullets tore through them as they feasted on the police officers body, trained guns and sighted rifles blew them back to hell, where they belonged.
Cease fire, Max could hear the order over the police officers radio who stood next to the ambulance.
Unnerved law enforcement lowered their guns, then slowly the four creatures rose to their feet Along with the police officer they had killed. Maxs eyes widened, total shock and awe. The undead creatures began to run at the living with only one thing on their minds: Food.
The entire town had already succumbed to the ranks of the mass murder and carnage committed by the ravenous humans, who seemed to be in a trance like state. The phenomenon had ravaged the town, spreading quickly like a wild fire in dry brush, Morticia and Max had seen a lifetimes worth of violence in just the first hour since the crisis had started in their small town.
Come on!, Morticia shouted pulling Max along the long alley way.
Max ran as fast as he could, though it was still not fast enough for the things were gaining on him. His soaked shoes sloshed each time his foot pressed down on the wetted concrete, his clothes were soaked as well from the rain that seemed to never stop. The overhanging gray storm clouds seemed to cast a gray hue over everything, for everything seemed a duller color than it really was.
Come on!, Morticia shouted again.
Max heard her, but here was little he could do. She was faster then him, and it seemed so were the creatures that pursued them.
Over here!, a voice ahead of them shouted.
Both Max and Morticia could hear it over the sound of raindrops hitting various things. Ahead of them was a man, one who looked as if he wasnt a day over 20, standing dressed in black BDUs, a matching cap on his head, soaked from head to toe. In his right hand he held a large rifle, like something out of an Arnold Schwarzenegger film.
Hurry!, he continued.
Morticia and Max quickened their pace, running with renewed purpose. Max glanced over his shoulder as he ran seeing a site that encouraged him to go faster, the site of the snarling human monstrosities reaching out after him with ravenous claws. He reached the man standing at the end of the alley a few steps after Morticia, every inch of his being filled with absolute fear.
The stranger with the gun looked ahead of him as the two frightened teenagers rushed past him, three of the creatures in hot pursuit, hell bent on acquiring yet another hot meal. The first to reach the end of the alley was met with a swift and deadly blow to the skull from the stock of the strangers rifle. The second one doubled over as a 5.56mm slug tore through its forehead, exiting through the back of its skull blowing much of it away. The thirds knees were blown out from under it with two expertly placed shots, the heroic stranger stepped forward looking down upon the horrific creature with disgust. Its head cracked open like a melon under his black combat boot, he gave another stern kick to the merely destroyed skull for good measure.
Max had nearly crashed to the ground from exhaustion while Morticia on the other hand was fairing well, she leaned against a brick wall taking in as much oxygen as she could. Max hadnt been built for running like Morticia had. The stranger dressed in black checked the creatures, to make sure that they were truly dead, before turning to the two shaken teenagers.
You two kids alright?, the stranger asked, his voice was filled with something that wasnt quite concern, but wasnt quite anything else.
Max simply nodded his reply.
Morticia had finished catching her breath and looked at the mysterious stranger before asking, who are you?
Lieutenant 1st Class Edward Hawkins, at your service, he replied in a polished tone.
The stranger, who had identified himself as Edward Hawkins, looked at Morticia noticing her slightly unusual attire, wearing all black clothes in an unusual style he had never seen. Her counterpart max was the same, dressed in complete black garb with a chain hanging from his left back pocket attached to one of his belt loops, his wet hair which looked like it had once been in spikes that had been destroyed by the bombarding rain. He was a little less stringy then the girl, but that was only to be expected.
Now may I ask who you two are?, he asked casually.
Im Morticia and thats Max, she replied snappily. But my friends call my Morty, since Morticia is too long.
Whered you come from?, asked Max, he was a little uneasy around this Edward.
Recon element, second SS, I was separated from my squad a few blocks from here when we ran into these, he paused thinking about it for a second, things.
SS? Max gave him a curious look.
The Lieutenant replied almost on cue, Slayer Squad.
To Max the name sounded like something out of a low B-grade movie of the 80s, or rather like something from a video game.
So I take it youre military, said Morticia, looking at him untrustingly.
Edward gave a quick nod, yes. This whole areas an I.Z.
I.Z.?, asked Max curiously. This was all so new to him, though the Lieutenant seemed more comfortable with it.
Infected Zone, the Lieutenant said again in a polished tone, sounding more like a brainwashed automaton from the cheerfulness of his nature. We should probably get a move on, find a place to hide until help comes, the shots I fired will undoubtedly bring more of the creatures.
Neither Max or Morticia voiced any disagreement with the lieutenants idea, they followed him willingly like obedient lap dogs.
The three had taken refuge in a small corner coffee shop, the Lieutenant had secured the place with the tops of tables and other assorted wooden items that could be nailed across openings. Luckily the owner of the place had kept a healthy supply of nails in the pantry. The rain continued to fall from the heavens outside, it filled the air with its unusually fresh scent that wouldve been welcomed happily any other day. But not that day; for it was truly the day of the dead.
So, Lieutenant Hawkins Whatre you really here for?, Morticia asked him as she sat on a bar stool she had frequented regularly, sipping a random cold cup of coffee.
The lieutenant sat with his back to her and Max checking his guns, an M4 Carbine and a Beretta 9mm pistol, facing the front door which had been boarded up from the inside. Im sorry, but I cannot disclose that information.
His tone had been monotonous, noticeably different from when he had spoken before.
Morticia rolled her eyes as she looked at him, are you serious? Were in the middle of something like this, most likely going to die, and you cant tell us a single thing?
Were not going to die, said Max who had become unusually quiet, though he never had never really been a talker for the years Morticia had known him. And that was kindergarten through present.
Morticia had never been a pessimist, but she seemed to be doing well at it. Were going to end up just like Mike.
Max closed his eyes thinking about what happened to Mike, then tried to shift his mind onto something else since the thought was too painful, tears began to streak down his cheeks as he silently wept.
No, hes right, said the Lieutenant. Were not going to die. He knew it was a lie, but false hope was all he could give.
Morticias eyes darted around the coffee shop, all windows had been effectively and sufficiently boarded up to keep the things out, though they hadnt found the three survivors yet, but there was no doubt in her mind that they would. She looked at the lieutenant who kept a watchful eye on the door. Whered you learn to do this stuff? Like the nailing, and all that jazz
Basic training for all in the SS, securing a perimeter to effectively stave off the U.D. is one of the most invaluable skills I was taught, replied the Lieutenant.
W-wait, U.D., whats that?, Morticia asked.
The lieutenant was silent for a few seconds before replying. Undead.
Morticia nearly choked on the drink of the cold coffee she took when she heard him, she spit it out and gasped for air. Undead?!
Told ya, said Max who sat behind the counter hugging his knees to his chest.
You mean, those things out there, theyre already dead?!, she had thought Max was only making things up, lies caused by fear and an inability to explain what had been occurring.
Affirmative. The only way to deal with one of the U.D. is to destroy the brain, the Lieutenant spoke as if it were all normal. This is merely a training exercise, one Ive been long preparing for.
Morticia asked no more questions, the shocking information provided by the Lieutenant was enough to make her wish shed never asked. She was afraid to ask anything else now, scared of what she might be told. I dont need this, she thought. Im only a kid still, I want to live, I want to live
Max remained silent, what had started as a regular day had turned into a blood bath for the ages, one he would not soon forget. The air seemed to be alive with a sort of electric feeling, Max could smell it as well as feel it slightly. Mixed in with the scent of the rain that continued to poor as if God was crying was barely noticeable. Max closed his eyes, thinking of his house. His nice little house on Gorman ST where he and his mom and dad lived, and his dog Chopper. He wanted to be home, in bed, he wanted to wake up and find that this had all been a bad dream. He wanted to wake up and find that this had all been an elaborate nightmare, cooked up by his subconscious from eating the wrong things and watching horror movies before bed.
He pinched himself to reassure himself that this wasnt a dream, a nightmare, but reality. Cold harsh merciless reality. He pondered on his loved ones, and his friends he hadnt seen since the school that morning, wondering if they were ok. He began to doubt that he would ever see them again, that he would ever wake up Saturday mornings to the smell of his is mother making breakfast, since she never had the time during week days because of work. Saturdays were always special, more tears began to well up in his eyes as he realized he would never see another Saturday morning.
Morticia had the same feelings, she wanted to be home, listening to music and drawing as she usually did out of boredom. She wanted to hear her Evanescence CD once more, she had forgotten it that morning on her dresser. But it wouldnt have been of much good use, since her CD player ran out of batterys that morning. She wanted to see her cat again, she wanted to hold Boots once more and pet him. Hear and feel him purring in her arms affectionately. She wanted to argue with her mother about things that werent really important, only now had she come to the realization that she and her mother never really talked. Arguing was their form of communication, the arguments were never anger filled, they were the only way the two knew how to talk. She realized now, now that it was too late, that she wanted to have a regular conversation with her mother. She lowered her head in sadness, knowing that that would never happen.
Morticia, said Max from behind the counter, still sitting in his spot hugging his knees to his chest.
Yeah?, she asked.
How are you feeling?, Max sat silently waiting for her reply.
Im alright How about you?
Max wiped away his tears, Im alright Ive been better though. The pain was present in his voice, though he tried to hide it.
Better? Like that time in 8th grade when we spit in Mr. Nilbogs coffee, and he came back from the office and took a big drink?, said Morticia with a grin, recalling happier times.
Max closed his eyes, laughter coming from him as he remembered that day with crystal clarity. And, he paused. That time Tex McCormick came to school without any pants on, and no one told him till 1st hour when he walked into Misses Lizs class wearing nothing but a muscle shirt and tighty whiteys.
Morticia slapped her knee, nearly hurting with laughter now. How about that time when we put Clearsol in Mikes pop in 3rd hour, and he started farting all wickedly?
Tears were coming from both their eyes now, but they were tears of joy, tears from their laughter. Max grinned, I remember that, he had to go home and c-change his pants and underwear cause of the stuff gave him the Hershey squirts.
Mortica started to laugh again, y-yeah, and Allison Cordaine broke up with him after that cause she was embarrassed to be seen with him We were mean, she paused. Good times good times
The two were both indeed weird, each one of a kind. But that was part of the reason they got along so well...
Something struck the front door of the coffee shop with great force, shaking the entire building, the door nearly flew off the hinges from the first strike.
Jesus!, Morticia said frightened by it, she hopped over the counter landing next to Max.
Both crouched low, peeking over the edge of the counter.
Stay down kids, if those things get in here I want you both to lock yourselves in the pantry, said the lieutenant standing with his M4 at the ready, pointing it at the door way as inhuman moans came from outside.
The glass windows shattered as discoloring hands shot through the openings between the boards, fingers curling and uncurling hungrily, reaching for whatever was inside. With each strike the door weakened, the boards nailed across coming loose. Lieutenant Hawkins undid the button to the leather strap that held his pistol in its holster, just in case he had to draw it quickly.
Lieutenant Hawkins drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, calming his nerves like he had been trained to. He had to remained focused, there was no telling how many of the things had accumulated outside, he shouldve told the kids to keep quiet, their voices were like a dinner bell to the undead. But he hadnt, he wanted them to enjoy their final hours as the living.
Another devastating blow came to the door, the lieutenant knew it wouldnt be able to take much more. Another strike was delivered knocking a door hinge loose, the lieutenants eyes narrowed as his hand impatiently wrapped around the pistol grip of the M4, a weird feeling in his stomach developed, his index finger curled around the trigger as he waited anxiously.
Another coordinated strike was delivered to the wooden door knocking three of the four boards nailed across it off, hardened fists knocked away the table top that had been nailed across the doors window sending it to the shops tiled floor. Through the exposed window the three survivors could see a sea of dead faces, expressions of hunger and pain on all. Some had suffered vicious wounds to the skull that had not finished them, Max could see one pour soul missing an eye and a jaw. Morticia caught a glimpse of one whos face had been torn away, the flesh and muscles eaten away down to the surface of the bone. She turned around and dry heaved, Max looked away too, he couldnt bare the sight of them.
Another strike tore the door from the frame tipping it like a tree, before the first could enter the lieutenant had already started firing. He took his shots carefully yet quickly, the roar of his M4 mixed in with the chorus of the undead moans was a hellish anthem of carnage and torment. Yet still, for each one the lieutenant shot another took its place, his gun clicked empty and before he could draw his pistol they were on him, the first tackled him to the tile floor, his unsecured pistol slid out of its holster towards the counter landing close to the two teenagers.
A few of the reanimated corpses noticed Morticia and Max and started towards them, though some were slower than others, rigor mortis had set in, Max scooped up the Beretta 9mm in his left hand as he and Morty fled to the pantry. The thick metal pantry door slammed shut just as the first corpse arrived, bouncing off the solid steel surface clumsily. The two teenagers sat in the rather large pantry, still breathing heavily from fear. All Max could do was stare at the door, it looked similar to the one of Mr. Reinhardts classroom, the one that had given way so easily to so little of the dead.
What now?, asked Morticia.
Max looked in her direction, though neither could see each other for the pantry was dark. I dont know I I really dont
A light clicked on in the room, Morticia had found a light switch, the two looked at one another, each expecting the other to know the answer. They could hear the sounds of the lieutenant screaming in pain outside, though neither paid him any attention. So selfish. The pounding on the door could faintly be heard as well as the moans, the thick walls as well as the door kept almost all sound from reaching the two.
Max looked at the black Beretta in his hands, he had never held a gun his entire life before now. It wasnt at all like the movies, the gun was definitely heavier then he would have expected, and strangely cold, like a block of ice. He didnt know much about guns, only that you pointed it at whatever you wanted to die and pulled the trigger.
Wait, said Morticia as she moved a box out of the way near the door.
Max looked up, huh?
Theres something here, some kind of hatch, she said now on her knees pulling at something.
Max climbed to his feet and walked over, looking over her shoulder just as she pulled whatever it was up. It came open with a strange noise as musty air was released into the pantry.
Yuck, smells like.
Sewer, Max finished her sentence. This might be our only way out.
She looked at him with her icy blue eyes. Well what are you waiting for?
He shrugged his shoulders. What did he have to lose? He tucked the pistol into his kangaroo pocket on his black hoodie and started his slow descension by means of the rusty cold bars that were mounted to the concrete sewer wall. The last two bars were missing, he was forced to drop the rest of the way, which wasnt that far. He landed with both feet evenly, the grayish green sewer water knee high, some of it splashed upwards getting on his hooded sweater as he landed.
Aw sick, you have no idea what just floated past me, said Max.
Morticia rolled her eyes as she started to climb down, wheres the other bars?!, she asked sheepishly.
Just jump, Max replied looking up at her. Its not far, trust me.
Oh, right, trust you, Max Kimble, the kid who once told me to trust him in the 2nd grade by wearing a blindfold, then pushing me into a mud puddle, yeah right, she said sarcastically.
Im serious, come on.
Well ok, but youve got to catch me, Morticia waited for a response.
Uh, ok sure. Ill catch you.
She let go of the bars and jumped down, Max tried to catch her but she fell on him knocking them both over into the sewer water. Max kept his head above the surface, he didnt want to swallow any, sadly Morty wasnt so lucky, she shot up from the sewer water gasping for air.
MAX!, she shouted angrily, YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO CATCH ME YOU IDIOT!
Max helped her up. Sorry, I tried, but you came down at a funny angle, he said trying to stifle a laugh.
Oh sure, erm gross, now I smell like sewer water, she wiped her eyes with the back side of her right forearm. Where to now?, she asked.
Max looked both ways down the nearly pitch black tunnel, lit only by dim light bulbs that hung from the ceiling of the sewer which seemed to be entangled with vines and brown roots of some kind, he shrugged his shoulders, dont ask me man, I just work here.
A man hole, weve got to find one, Morticia started down the right side of the sewer tunnel.
How do you know thats the right way?, Max asked.
She stopped and turned to him, Max, the town aint that big if you havent noticed. Were bound to run into one sooner or later, this place cant be that big.
Max stood still, looking in the opposite direction.
Morticia stopped again, turning towards him once more, you coming or are you just gonna stand around with that Im lost look on your face all day?
Max scoffed and unwillingly followed.
Minutes later they found one, by now they were dreading the stench of the sewer, eager to get to the surface to the rain, the only thing they dreaded worse than the smell of the sewer was the flesh eating corpses which awaited them above. Max was the first up, since he was the one with the pistol, and probably had a better chance of being eaten first. Such a friend Morticia was. Max didnt let it get to him though, she was his best friend now, and if that meant getting nibbled on by ravenous corpses then so be it. He reached the top of the bar ladder, pushing the manhole cover up, it came open easier then expected but was heavy.
He pushed it aside, the cold rain drops hitting his face, he could see his own breath in the air as he surfaced. He climbed up all the way and turned back to help Morticia up, she surfaced and she too was relieved to feel the cold rain drops on her face. The dual sat next to the man hole for a second, taking in the welcoming fresh air, a nice change from the stagnant stench of the sewer system.
T-time to go!, Max said climbing to his feet, Morticia saw what he saw and scrambled to her feet as well.
Max had been a few steps ahead of her but turned and waited for his friend before continuing to flee. Behind them a sea of the undead moved towards them, spread out thick taking up the full width of the street, moving ever forward like a cannibalistic tidal wave of the damned.
Where are we going?, asked Max in between breath, Morticia had taken the lead once again as she was a faster runner than him.
Morticia looked back, seeing the intimidating army of the undead shambling after them, only a few now fresh enough to run, the bridge, weve got to get out of this town!
Max voiced no disagreement and continued to run, the dusty pike bridge was on the west side of the town, where he and Morticia where, if they could make it there then maybe they could loose the creatures. It wasnt long before they could see the bridge in sight, though the heavy fog which had set in rather quickly only permitted them to see so much
***
Private Beckman stood behind the sandbag and barbwire blockade formed on the bridge, on the opposite side of the blockade bullet riddled vehicles littered the base of it along with the bodies of the re-killed corpses. The towns other exits had been blocked by similar methods, though most of the wooded area had to be patrolled by helicopter and ground units. All of the SS units that had entered the town hadnt returned or reported back.
Private Beckman, has there been any contact with the SS?, Captain Luc asked.
Beckman shook his head, no sir, this storms been messin with our radio equipment, havent been able to raise anyone within the I.Z.
The captain mumbled something then went off to bother someone else.
Beckman sighed, he couldnt wait till this stuff was over, he wanted to get home to his family. His wife had just had their first kid a few days earlier, named him George after General George S. Patton, which was Beckmans idol. He let out a raspy cough which nearly name him drop his M4, he walked over to Private Bates who manned the m60, positioning its tripod on the top of a sandbag as he knelt on one knee.
Bates had seen a lot of things that day, things he hadnt been prepared for, though hed been selected to protect the bridge all he could do was his duty, not to let any body out. If anyone were to approach the blockade they were to be put down immediately, be they man woman or child. He wasnt the only one with his gun trained in the direction of the town, towards the opposite side of the bridge. There were forty other men with him, but even that didnt make him feel safe. The first car that had sped towards the bridge had been riddled with a barrage of bullets from nervous troops, those who survived only lived long enough to see their family members bleed to death, in one case a kid in the back seat had only been injured but the rest of his family had been killed. After a few minutes the other three in the car came back to life, and tore the kid apart as he sat wounded in the back seat. Yes sir, there was one to tell his grand kids some day.
Hey, said Beckman as he took a knee next to Bates.
Bates nearly jumped out of his skin, he had been deep in thought, hey, he replied keeping his eyes dead ahead.
Hell of a day, huh?, commented Beckman who was now pointing his M4 in the same direction as Bates.
To say the least. I didnt join the corps for this kinda thing, I joined to see the world, hell, I wanted to be the first kid on my block to get a confirmed kill, I didnt join to be put out in the sticks to kill innocent civilians, Bates grip tightened on the m60s pistol grip as he stared ahead.
Yeah, well the only innocent are the unborn, replied Beckman. But yeah, I know what youre talkin about. I didnt join up to put holes in my neighbors either, orders are orders.
Everyones real nervous, theres things happenin here that shouldnt be happenin, Bates sighed. I dont know if Ill ever be able to sleep again man, not after Ive seen this kinda shit Dead people comin back to life, mothers and fathers eatin their children It aint right
Beckman let out another raspy cough, he paused for a long time before replying. You know, when they told me to aim for the head, cause other shots wouldnt work, I told myself my hearins goin. Told myself I was hearin them wrong, until I saw my first. Its wrong, I know, but orders are orders.
You hear that?, asked Bates.
Beckman quieted down and listened, he could hear it. The sound of hundreds of the undead moaning in unison, their distinctive dreadful hunger filled moans.
Lock and load ladies, weve got company!, Captain Luc shouted as he heard the same noise as the rest.
Beckmans breathing became ragged and unsteady, he was getting nervous, his hand trembled as it rested on the M4s pistol grip, his index finger anxiously resting on the trigger gently. Bates swallowed his fear and righted the M60, mounted it to his shoulder sternly, relying on the tripod to take most of the weight. The soldiers were ready to gun down anything that came out of the thick gray fog, who ever and whatever it may be.
***
Come on, were almost there!, shouted Morticia to Max.
Max ran as fast as he could, the sound of the creatures moaning behind him pushed him harder.
Come on!, Morticias foot clanked down on the steel surface of the bridge.
Morticia was on the ground before she heard the shots, Max heard the shots before he felt the pain. Max could feel his warm blood rushing up his throat, forcing his lips open as it shot into the air and fell across his face and pavement in a random scarlet pattern. He coughed up more of his own coppery flavored crimson body fluid and closed his eyes, he could feel them in his stomach and chest, a few of the bullets still burned inside. He had never thought about bullets burning though, never thought the pain would be like this. He flopped around on the ground like a fish on land, the pain clouding his mind like the fog that engulfed him, he whimpered and groaned in pain.
He caught a glimpse of Morticia out of the corner of his eye, she wasnt moving; wasnt breathing. A pool of blood was steadily forming around her motionless body, but Max could only feel his own pain, his hands curled into tight fists, his black painted fingernails dug into his palm as the pain from his wounds made him press harder. Cold bodies crashed to the steel surfaced bridge near him, few seconds passed before he could feel the pain leaving him, all was going peaceful now. He could hear nothing, but he watched with a silent eye as the corpses that had once pursued him dropped like flies, most down for good but others with shattered ankles and knees, only slowed by the slugs which the living threw by means of their guns. Max closed his eyes as everything seemed to be getting brighter, though it didnt hurt his eyes, he knew soon he would be seeing Morticia. His breathing slowed, his fists uncurled, his body went limp, the warmth already fleeing, his last breath escaped freely carrying away his soul, he was leaving hell behind
***
Theres too many, the freight filled words crawled slowly out of Private Beckmans gaping maw.
Private Bates still fired away, but for every one he put down another took its place. It seemed pointless, even for a town the size of Grovers Mill there was still more than they had expected. Beckman slapped a fresh clip into his M4, lock and load, he continued to fire at random targets with no time to choose, some of the damned things were running.
Keep shooting men!, Captain Luc shouted in a tone that was something like seriousness, but bordering on the verge of psychopathic.
It wasnt long before the things reached the barbed wire and turned over wrecked cars, not much of a blockade but it would have to do. The enemy was only inches away, Bates and Beckman could smell them, it was no longer firing at distant shapes, it was looking at their faces. The faces of the damned, the faces of evil. The first to reach the barbed wire sheepishly walked into it, then fell forward becoming entangled in the sharp and treacherous fray, becoming easy targets.
Beckman had been firing away randomly when he had heard the two single most beautiful words that had ever been spoken.
FALL BACK!
There was no need to tell him twice, he stood up and moved in the opposite direction along with the other troops, Bates at his side keeping a weary eye. The falling rain and fog shielded hazardous dangers that could pop out at any moment, and when they did theyd meet Bates welcoming M60. The troops piled into various military transport vehicles, both air and land before leaving the area in a speedy pace.
Minutes later the sound of fast moving aircraft shooting through the air excited some of the creatures below as they shambled about through the streets of Grovers Mill, still in search of food. Endlessly in search. Most lazily tilted their heads towards the gray sky as a pair of black objects fell from the heavens, a high pitched whistling noise accompanying them. The town disappeared in a flash of bright light, shock waves spread outwards from the impact points leaving a path of fiery destruction in their wake.
As the smoke cleared and the fires fizzed out all that remained where Grovers Mill once sat was a flat lot littered with random lumps of ash and the charred shells of ravaged buildings
***
General Worthington sat behind his steel desk, a few manila folders sitting before him idly. He puffed on a fat Cuban cigar as he sat back in his swivel chair, feet up on the desk. He took the time to reach over and grab one of the folders and opened it, looking at the paper clipped pages.
No less than 24 hours after the chemical was released into a controlled environment the entire town, population 650, succumbed to its effects, either infected by the carriers or by the chemical itself through inhalation. Special operation units known as the SS efforts to survive within the I.Z. were hopeless, suggestion is of course more training to combat and contain the U.D. within an I.Z. so that if said chemical were ever used in war time scenarios the U.D. may be swiftly dealt with after their purpose was fulfilled. Storms caused by the chemical in open air have been reported to mess with radio and radar equipment. The general flipped the page in the thin report. Estimated time it would take for the chemical to infect the population such as a city - Example: Bullethill City - no less than 7 days. Smaller areas would succumb in a shorter time frame.
The General picked up the other folders and opened his file cabinet, he slid them in a larger brown folder marked Operation Paperclip. He opened one of his desks drawers and pulled out a liter of Vodka and a shot class, he poured himself a shot with a sigh.
He wished the chemical had never been developed, there were some weapons mankind shouldnt possess.
The End.
@Call Me Tim give up already?