A - Willows Run. Chapter 03

Story written by common on Sunday 28, June 2009

Member Avatar
Description
The Cold of War Can still make you feel alive.

Overall Rating: 84%

This writing has been rated by 3 members, resulting in a rating of 84% overall. Below is a breakdown of these results:

Concept/Plot:87.666666666667%
Imagery:84%
Spelling & Grammar:77.666666666667%
Flow/Rhythm:84.666666666667%
Vocabulary:86%
Chapter 3 of Willows Run. Not my strongest chapter. But continues the story no less. Chapter Three - The Resistance I roll off the lounge, vodka bottle still tightly clenched in my hand. My stomach begins rumbling and growling like the sound of a car starting up, complaining to me as if vodka wasn't enough to suffice and like it hadn't been fed in days. Come to think of it, it had been days since I had eaten. Days and nights all just seem to roll into one when you have no day to day structure, well, except to survive. Staggering to the table I grab the can of food, half torn label and the only words to be able to be read "in tomato'. I push my finger under the pull tab and begin to peel it back, unsure of what exactly is going to be "in tomato'. Stewed Beef in tomato by the looks of it. Mashed up tomato into practically water and chunks of stewed beef floating about, looked more like death than a nightly dinner. But it's all I have, not like I can duck down to the store. I close my eyes and press the cold tin to my lips and drink some down, the beef falling apart on my tongue leaving my entire mouth feeling pasty. I have as much as possible before feeling my stomach rebel and growling again, it was getting fed but no less it wasn't happy with what it was given and was sure to turn it around and throw it out. I quickly have a belt of vodka hoping that it will silence the rebel army that is my stomach, luckily it does. I better get going, but before leaving I head upstairs and scrounge around the 2 bedrooms. The first bedroom reveals nothing more than an unmade bed, broken wardrobe door and some scattered clothes. They must have been in a hurry. I turn to leave to check the second bedroom when I notice on the floor a part of a newspaper. Title reading: "Governments Perfect People?' The article below read: "The Governments plans to make the perfect society backfires when the local populous is found to know their evil secrets to eradicate the lower class people and use them in testing for their experiments. It is thought that such experiments have already taken place somewhere near the Bardines forest in their secret laboratories. A small resis' The rest of the paper had been ripped off. "What the hell is going on?" is all I could say as I made my way into the second bedroom. This room looked to be that of a little girls' room. Small dressing table with an assortment of dolls and light pink wallpaper and a flowered bed spread. I open the cupboard door slowly hoping there is no little girl inside. But there is nothing except a black backpack and a brown teddy bear keeping guard over it. I pick the backpack up; well this is a step-up to the tattered rucksack of before. As I turn to walk away I look back over my shoulder and look at the now poor lonely teddy bear sitting there with its big round eyes. "Well, we can't leave you there alone can we" I say as I pick him up and hold him tight. It's at that moment I feel warm and like a normal girl, in her room with her teddy bear and flowered bed spread. But the harsh realisation soon sets in that this isn't my room and nor is it my house. I make my way down stairs and put the lid back on the vodka and place it in the back part of my newly acquired backpack along with my other supplies and zip it up. I open the front zipper and place the teddy in and zip it up so its head is sticking out. "Gotta let you breathe, hey ted". I sling the backpack over my shoulders, grab my gun and make my way to the door; I take one last look at "my" house and then leave down the hallway and carefully back out onto the front street. The cool night air felt fresh against my face and through my hair, even in its dirty state. Owls are hooting away happily nearby and leaves were flowing carelessly down the street like a gentle river, I close my eyes and for a second you could almost forget what had happened here not long ago as if the presence of people were still around. I open my eyes quickly with a sudden thought, presence of people, not a good thing. I couldn't help but have a mind full of questions after reading that snippet from the newspaper. The main one being that of Why? Perfect society, how did that even work? Through them trying to create it, looks at what they have accomplished so far. A city in ruins, I need to find some answers; but where and from who? It's at that moment I thought I heard some footsteps or people scurrying around, but that couldn't be right as everyone had long since cleared out. I soon realised I wasn't alone at all but before I even had time to fully turn around and react my head was met with the butt of a gun. That was the last thing I remember seeing. Nice way to say good evening. When I came to I was sitting tied to a chair my head was aching and throbbing like someone with a drill inside my head trying to burrow their way out. Quiet whispers around me, in what direction I couldn't tell, not with this much pain going on in my head. I couldn't even make out a single word they were saying. I slowly lifted my eyes, the light shining brightly into them like I were a rabbit looking into some high beams, this sending jolts of pain through my eyes. I could just make out someone walking towards me, looked to be a young guy. From what I could make out anyway. "Wake up!" he snapped as he threw a mug of ice cold water over my face. I gasped, the coldness of it taking my breath away but leaving the feeling of a person in my head with a drill burrowing out but now out of an ice cavern. He walked back and forth for a little bit as I gained my sight fully. I looked to be in some sort of basement. Three men in total. One leaning against the wall having a smoke, the other standing near a door casually looking on. The room had a slight smell to it like it had been locked up for a month, much like the smell of my little house back on "Cleric St', how I wished I were back there again. I looked at the man pacing back and forth, and then he turned to me. "We've been watching you" he said calmly "you've done well to survive, but my question is what the hell are you doing here still?" I tried to form a sentence but all I could manage was inaudible gibberish, my brain still recovering from the blow to the head. He stood and looked at me for a few seconds; I could tell he was getting impatient. "I...I'm trying to.." is all I could manage before he angrily walked up slapping me hard across the side of my face. The taste of blood forming in my mouth. "Answer my god damn question you bitch!" he raised his hand to hit me again but was stopped by the guy who was before leaning on the door. "That's enough" he said calmly "Untie her and get her cleaned up, I'm sure we can trust her. She isn't army" "How can you be sure, she might be a spy?" He looked at me and then back at the other guy, "Does she really looks like a spy to you Sergei? Now get her cleaned up and fed. We'll get answers to our questions soon enough" Upon that I was untied. My wrists sore from the rope digging into them, I spat blood onto the floor before being able to form my first audible sentence "Who are you?" He glanced at me, "We're the Resistance"
   

Post Comment

Please Login to Post a Comment.

Comments

    nice progress. the rate of mistakes r also coming down......let's see what happens
    Good job. Just a bit of grammar and punctuation cleanup needed.
    Thew story is certainly getting better as it goes along. The punctuation is also improving.

    Well done. Grin