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TITLE (EDIT)
My Journey |
DESCRIPTION
The interpretation is up to you.
[765 words] |
TITLE KEYWORD
Mystical |
AUTHOR
Kevin Miller |
ABOUT
THE AUTHOR
Just a college student who enjoys writing.
[May 2007] |
My Journey
Kevin Miller
I rounded the corner firing, twice, three times. Still I couldn't discover from where the shots were being fired. It felt like it was raining hail around me. Only instead of frozen water, it was pointed metal being shot horizontally with me as its primary target. I turned back, taking cover once again under the bridge. I had to discover a way out.
Suddenly I remembered the two grenades I had grabbed just before I left the base. I knew it would give me only two chances and with one of them I would have to take out the gunner. I grabbed the first one and pulled out the pin. I quickly tossed the grenade in one of the directions I thought the shots might be coming from. A huge explosion sounded. I listened. There was silence. But then it started again, shots firing on the bridge where I was hiding. If the shooting had stopped for a few seconds, I must have hit somewhere near where he was, I reasoned. But then, was he farther right or farther left of where I had tossed it? I decided to take a guess.
I took out the second grenade, praying once before I removed the pin. I threw it with all my might just to the right of where the first one landed. Again, an explosion. There was silence. But would it last? 10, 15, 20 seconds, nothing. Soon a minute passed and then two. I knew I must have taken him out and I breathed a prayer of thanks. But I had to move, more soldiers would soon be on their way. I had to reach the border or the information that I had gathered would be of no value to anyone but the insects that would feed on its decaying material in the distant future.
I shot out from under the bridge firing the whole time. No one returned fire. I was home free. Or so I thought. I ran through the forest, dodging low branches and underbrush. Just a half mile to the border. But then I heard it. Branches breaking, leaves cracking. Someone was chasing me. Harder I ran, faster. I fired over my shoulder, but still he came, and I knew he was gaining on me.
I turned around pointing my gun frantically. “Come out!” I yelled.
Nothing. As soon as I turned he had disappeared. Silence once again filled the forest. I turned again and began running, this time harder. And there it was again, he was behind me, following hard on my heels.
“Was it my imagination?” I wondered. “Had the stress and loss of sleep finally taken its toll on me?”
I shook these thoughts off violently. I wasn't mad, there was someone following me and he would soon be upon me if I did not reach my destination which was now just in sight. But then he was there, to the right of me, I heard him closing in.
I turned, firing 4, 5, 6 rounds into a dead and empty forest. I emptied my gun. Yet there were no cries, no sounds of pain. I had missed. And there was yet still no one. He was there. If I had not stopped running I know that I would soon have seen him out of the corner of my eye. His gaze would be terrible, his resolution and skill unmatched. Indeed, how could there be such a human upon this earth so as to exceed my own speed in running and yet to remain completely hidden from my view? He seemed now almost to take a supernatural character.
But again, I shook these thoughts and ran. It was but just in front of me now. Safety and victory.
I still heard the running, the branches breaking under his heavy feet. But I was there, he could not stop me now. 10 feet, 7 feet, 3 feet, I stopped.
There he stood, guarding the border. How he had gotten there I know not. But as I reached within a arm's length of my goal, there stood that terrible creature who had been long stalking me. His features I cannot describe. To attempt it would be folly. I took out my knife; no creature, human or inhuman, would stop me from completing my quest. I lunged.
As it seemed I would pierce the devil's heart, I felt a pain in my own. His arm extending forward had pierced my very soul with his own polished sword. I was late, I had failed. He raised his other arm for that final stroke of death...and I awoke.
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COPYRIGHT NOTICE
© 2007 Kevin Miller |
STORYMANIA PUBLICATION DATE
May 2007 |
NUMBER OF TIMES TITLE VIEWED
1580
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