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Morning Writing
September 9, 2009
8:25AM-10:58AM

The contraction in his chest grew stronger. He was choking with every knockout beat his heart took. This feeling was not new. It is a feeling he recalls having during basic training. He entered the building by picking the gate located on the far right side of the property, as good a place he could ask for. Tall trees had been rooted centuries ago and their branches concealed the moonlight. The gate was made from copper. Its state was poor, the deep rich color greening with time. Just like everything else in this G-d forsaken city, he thought to himself. His infiltration route led him between two large SUVs. He had chosen to enter behind the makeshift car port. Crouching in between the vehicles his line of sight came into contact with three figures. Their silhouettes were each a different hight and build. He had determined that what he gazed upon saw is a family. The father looked tall in the distance. He hovered over the other two by a no less than a foot. The mother was more round than lengthy and the child was a boy, he determined since in the shadows he could not see any signs of hair long enough to warrant indecision. His moment had come. He had revised his plan and objective. Take no prisoners it said, leave no witnesses. When he was ordered to join this unit he knew he would do things he would not normally do. His morals and values were for sale to the highest bidder or man or woman with the biggest balls. He never moved his weapon on safe. He shouldered his rifle. A round was chambered, the barrel was short and compact. The weapon was made specifically for entering and killing in close environments. His heart had stopped its choking and the straining of his breath. It had now commenced jumping from his chest. The silencer in front of his weapon was ready. There would be no flash, little sound. The thump of limp bodies, especially of the tall father would be the only noise anyone would hear. He pulled the trigger. Click. Miss fire! The error had given away the element of surprise and the family turned towards the car port. The lanky figure moved towards the cars. A heightened sense of urgency allowed him to clear his rifle and ready his weapon faster than any training he had received. As he retracted the bolt to chamber a new round the father grew closer and closer until the two had met face to face. The father was grotesque. His skin toughened as if callus had overtaken his whole body. Where there had been pink flesh gave way to rotting green and gray. The man looked and inhaled as if he were going to alert everything ,living or dead, that there was an intruder among them. The man was told to stay as far away as possible and to never physically contact the creatures. He had no other choice. This was not anything he wanted to do. Instinctually and without hesitation he choked the monster by the neck hushed its mouth and with such brutality twisted its head until the monster had gone limp. There was very little sound that came from the scuffle. However, there was enough to warrant the curiosity of the round woman. She moved cautiously in between the cars and as she took a step in between the tall SUVs the steel blade of his combat knife had met her left eye. She dropped on top of the body of her husband, his body muffled the sound. It was not what the man planned but he was lucky no more suspicion or alarms were raised. He checked his hands and gloves to see if any blood had come in contact with them. He left the knife where it lay, in the eye of the round woman whose flesh resembled that of the other monstrosity. He could not use the knife anymore. However, as a precaution he always carried more than one. Just the faintest touch of blood could saturate his clothing and form his clothes transfer to the pores of his skin and through his pores turn him into one of these foul beasts. There stands only one target left. He had chosen to take action as impersonable as possible and put one round through the head of the little boy. It would conserve his ammo and allow him to keep his distance. He moved from the rear of the vehicles to the front. He stared towards silhouette of the boy. His position was he same. He had been right where he was standing before, motionless, as if he were given orders by the other two to stay totally still. The man raised his weapon again. His breath had calmed. The odds were now in his favor. The adrenalin was moving rapidly through his system. He inhaled, paused, and pulled the trigger. From what he could see the round had done its job. The cold body of the small figure had thudded as it hit the floor. However, his ears had heard more than flesh dropping lifelessly towards concrete . He thought he heard what sounded like chains. He decided to move from his position. With fears of being compromised he had decided to cross the courtyard and enter the house to seek a funnel to gun down his opposition. On his travel to the house he had past the small figure. Passing the on the right and looking over his left shoulder he noticed a clasp around the boys left ankle. A chain about seven links long was bolted to the cement. Was this some type of sacrifice? Some type of feast? Were these monsters going to gorge on their boy? It made sense. The monsters have eaten most of humanity. They have probably become so famished they stated killing the weaker ones or offered them as prizes to please larger gangs. A prisoner? He had thought to himself. Quickly scanning the courtyard he felt he was secure and that his stealth had not been compromised. He focused on the boy. He had become numb to killing. Numb to seeing bodies sprawled across floors, limbs and tissues leaving trails of blood to pools of carnage where some poor soul had stood. Quiverless to the sight of streets painted in blood. He had once felt he could never prepare for the taking of a life. He had grown up believing in G-d. He knew there was something more powerful. But his G-d was compassionate and understanding. The evils of the world convinced him that there was divine power. However, his G-d had abandoned the throne long ago. Now, countless lives later taken by his own hands the routine of killing had made his actions as cold has those he hunted. He cannot fathom himself giving up the kill. There is a rush, a joy he has in exterminating the already dead. However, image he was about to see was not something he had ever been prepared for. He poked the child with his rifle. There was no response the boy did not move. The boy was wearing a ball cap. Clothing covered every inch of his legs, feet, hands... torso. The only area touching the wind was his neck and face. When the child had fallen the cap had positioned its self covering the boys face. Wanting to see the extent of his marksmanship he used the barrel of his rifle to flick off the boys cap. The cap had been hiding rich blond hair as gold as anything the man had seen. His legs quivered and then he sank as he noticed the round perfectly placed in the middle of the forehead of a little girl with pink flesh, green eyes and her beautiful blond hair. Tears had left trails on her cheeks from the fear that had muted her. She had been alive. She is now dead... he was her executioner. Her warm blood would attract a frenzy. He entered the house and prepared for combat.

Happy Thanksgiving! Early salutations since I'll be gone for the week.
P.S. Don't forget to loosen up ur britches so u can stuff more good eats in ur tummy