Screaming Planet

Where old bloggers come to die.

And So It Begins…

Posted on | November 1, 2011 | No Comments

[flickr]photo:6303470730[/flickr] “[…] Once they realized they were late, they abandoned all pretense of stealth.

Their group was never one for subtlety – they usually bulled through confrontations with sheer force of numbers and firepower, but now, even the tentative veneer of martial orderliness was gone, and B’day found himself trotting to keep up with the grownups, branches and leaves whipping his hands and face, legs skidding on wet roots and mud, as the adults hacked a path of destruction through the foliage. The air around him felt heavy with the green smell of spilt sap.

B’day noticed some of the company members were unusually quiet and subdued, marching with a steady, but sullen step, hands gripping guns and eyes cast groundwards, and he couldn’t help but wonder if they, too, had seen something last night?


Polo lifted an eyebrow and silently tried to tell him something, mouthing some cryptic message with exaggerated grimaces, but B’day could not read his lips, and merely shrugged. Then their time for talking was up, the company was on its way once more, following, as quietly as they could, the whizzing of the lieutenants machete through the branches. B’day crouched low, held his gun tight, and tried to walk as silently as a forest spirit. […]”

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    Written in minutes and fact-checked in seconds via Google. May contain unsafe levels of self-righteousness. Past cleverness is no guarantee of future results.
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