(Ah yes. The Times New Roman is back. Helvetica just wasn't looking formal enough for me. I know Christmas isn't formal as it is, but Helvetica just makes everything round and curved and almost too perfect for the human eye...erodjoaiejfoaaefldijaiocalijeoiamklf...)
Where am I going with this post? Well, I might as well start it off with a couple of drawings.
|Yet again, English class. Trenchcoats, guys. Just trenchcoats.|
(I started writing this post, like, 12 hours ago, and only just came back to it after a great Christmas Eve dinner and a drive to see all the lights and stuff. Enjoy the little things. Like those cracker things that you take one end with and the person next to you takes the other end and you both pull and there's a pop and someone gets a little coloured paper crown and a tiny toy and often a really bad joke on a piece of paper...Surely I'm not the only one who knows what those are...even if I can't remember the names of them...)
Ok. But it's seriously getting late, so I'm going to go ahead and put up the last two unfinished stories before it's turned Christmas already XD
Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. This next bit. I should have posted this a loooooooong time ago. This is Part 3 of my World War 2 story. Fdsklfkajdoiefldagjoe remember this? And I was like "I'm going to finish this" and I never did? Yes. I remember this. Every painful moment of never completing it and procrastinating and finally deciding to write something else. I was so close, though. So close...
As I remember it, at the end of Part 2 of this story Tanya had saved them with some amazing upside-down sniper fire and they had all piled off into the jeep and ridden off into the sunset. Something like that.
Israel sat cramped in the jeep, Tanya on his left, cleaning her rifle, and Dmitri on his right, taking a rest from driving and letting Nikolai have a turn instead. The road seemed to be evening out now, becoming flatter and easier to navigate.
But they were running out of gas. They needed to stop and refuel the jeep, or change vehicles, or something. Everyone knew it. But no-one knew how they were going to do it. They hadn't a clue where the next house was, and at the speed they were travelling they weren't going to reach the Russian military based until tomorrow.
So Israel sat, cramped and worried, in the dark on an empty road. There was nothing but silence and the sound of the jeep’s engine puttering away on its last legs.
There was a light in the distance. It was a nice, yellowish light that got distinctly larger as they approached. They stopped a hundred metres away from the light, which they saw came from a small house next to a large barn. They exited the jeep and crouched in the dark, cold and wondering whether to risk asking the residents for food and fuel. The temperature got the better of them, and they drove the jeep until it was parked right outside the house.
They turned the engine off and Vasilev told them all to stay put, walking around to the door of the house and quietly going inside.
Israel sat on the ground beside the jeep, staring at his pistol. Tanya had successfully pulled apart her rifle and was polishing the bolt. After a few minutes, Israel sighed.
"Why do you even bother with that gun? If you die tomorrow, no-one will ever find it and clean it the same way. It would of all been for nothing."
Tanya shrugged. She held back a component and put the bolt back into's place and made sure everything was properly held together before saying "Because it is mine. This rifle, I had it before the war."
Israel chuckled. "I guess rabbit hunting's the last thing you want to be doing now, hey?"
Tanya frowned. "Oh, I hunted bigger game than animals."
She stood up and left Israel with an expression of horror and walked towards Nikolai, who wasn't taking his eyes off the house, waiting for Vasilev to come out and give the 'all clear' signal. It had already been five minutes.
"I'm ready to storm the building when you are, Comrade," Tanya told him. He nodded and smiled.
"Good. If he does not come back out in the next minute, we'll go in." He called over Israel and Dmitri and told them of he plan.
"Ten seconds," Nikolai said from the shadows by the small house's door. He had with him his machete, while Israel and Dmitri held empty PPSH's. Tanya was the only one with a loaded gun- her rifle. They were all truly out of ammo and out of luck.
"...three, two, one." There was a pause. "Alright, let's hope these folk have a cellar full of ammo..."
And with that, Nikolai ran to the door and gave it a mighty shove with his shoulder, stumbling inside. Tanya followed right behind him with her rifle raised, and Israel brought up the rear. Dmitri had been given the job of looking after the three commanding officers they were still looking after. They entered onto the scene of Captain Vasilev munching on a piece of cake at a table with an elderly man and his wife.
"Mrmph?" Vasilev said to his squad, then finished his mouthful. "I thought I sent the all clear signal ages ago."
"...or not?" Vasilev added, unsure of himself. "Um, have a cake. They're great. Courtesy of Mr and Mrs...hang on..."
He spoke rapidly in Russian to the two owners of the house and they spoke back equally fast. They all laughed heartily and Vasilev turned back to tell Nikolai their names. But Nikolai and he rest of the squad were already gorging themselves on the small platter of plates at the table.
Two hours later, the squad plus the three officers were fast asleep inside the barnhouse.
Well, the officers, Tanya and Vasilev were.
Nikolai cooly regarded Dmitri and Israel over the tops of his playing cards. He selected a single card, a Jack of Hearts, and put it on top of the small pile in front of them.
"Jack," he spoke his accented voice. Then he added, "Let's see you do better."
Israel stared at his cards, his eyes forced open with his left hand. No magic was allowed in this game, and Nikolai and Dmitri knew of his foresight power.
All he had was a Jack and a Queen. If he played the Jack, him and Nikolai would have to compete in the ultimate test of strength to win- an arm wrestle. And Israel was sure that he could beat Nikolai...
He played the Jack, placing it face up on the hay stack and waiting for the next turn.
Dmitri smiled. He selected a card from the few in his hands and placed it down, tapping it once and leaning back.
Israel frowned, and Nikolai gaped. "Seriously? An Ace? How the hell did you-"
Nikolai's arm shot forward and grabbed Dmitri's wrist, pulling down the sleeve with surprising speed. But there were no hidden cards there, and when Dmitri showed his hand there were only a four and a seven.
Nikolai grumbled and sat back onto the haystack he was using for a seat. "Enough. I'm not to lose another game to you." He took Dmitri's cards and Israel's as well, then grabbed the pile and stuffed it inside his jacket. There was a moment's pause as they all leaned back and wondered what they were going to do. Then came a sound from the road that made them all jump to their feet.
"Truck," Dmitri said, edging closer to a gap in the barn wall. Israel and Nikolai saw that it was true and frowned when they saw a lone man limping out of the house to greet it.
"It's the old man," Dmitri said, and then something clicked. "Captain Vasilev..."
Vasilev didn't look away from what was happening outside. "Hmm?"
"Where are we...?"
"We're in Germany, you idiot. Fighting a war!"
Dmitri waited for Vasilev to realize it. When he did, him and Nikolai cursed and started hurriedly shaking Tanya and the officers awake.
"What?!" Israel asked Dmitri. "What has this got to do with us being in Germany?"
"There aren't any Russian farmers in Germany, not during a warzone."
"My God," Israel said, as the truck was waved onwards by the man. "The farmer is a spy!"
Nikolai turned around as Tanya jumped to her feet, instantly awake. She swung her rifle around and grinned. "The farmer's betraying us, isn't he?" she said, pulling the bolt back and ejecting the shell of a bullet she has fired earlier. The small ammo clip's mechanism pushed another bullet into the chamber and she slid the bolt forward again.
"Sadly, yes," Vasilev said, hoisting the officers to their feet and pushing them up the small wooden ramp to the second floor of the barnhouse and not feeling sad at all. They helped him drag around some hay bales, and soon they were well hidden.
Vasilev strolled back down and called to Israel. "How close are they?"
"Forty metres. They're pretty well armed, Captain," Israel replied, peering through the small gap in the barn house wall. "What's our ordinance like?"
Nikolai searched his pockets. "No ammo left for anything," he said glumly. Vasilev, Israel and Dmitri were the same.
Tanya hefted her rifle. "I still have my gun."
Vasilev glanced through the gap next to Israel. "Remember when we were inside their house? They have a hunting shotgun of sorts, double barrel. Tanya will move with Dmitri towards the house, grab the gun, and head back here."
Tanya nodded and Dmitri pulled out a small knife in answer. Vasilev turned to Dmitri, "Please tell me you grabbed those bottles of Vodka, comrade," he asked.
Dmitri grinned. "Of course. It's in the jeep."
"Good," Vasilev said. "Leuitenants Israel and Nikolai will make their way with me to the jeep and make ourselves some Molotov Cocktails. Drinking isn't the only thing Vodka is good for."
Israel took one last look outside. "They're here," he whispered, and backed up to stand with the rest of the squad.
Vasilev and Nikolai smiled and clicked their fingers simultaneously.
Tanya crouched next to Nikolai, looking through her scope and at the large barn doors in front of her.She could hear the soldiers on the other side, muttering and breathing heavily. She was not afraid. She had been in worse situations.
There was a sound beside Tanya but she didn't turn. It came from deep within Nikolai's chest, a low, gutteral voice that steadily rose. The soldiers stopped muttering on the other side of the doors.
Vasilev joined in a second later, then Dmitri, then Israel. Tanya began to say it as well, drawing the word out and letting her voice get louder and louder.
"Oooorrraaaaahhh," they chanted. When the word was finished, they started again, faster and louder, Nikolai and Dmitri slamming their fists on the wooden walls closest to them to match a beat. "Ooooooraaaaahhh!"
She could imagine their enemies on the other side of the barn doors, frightened from this demon-like chant emanating from inside. Nikolai and Dmitri picked up the beat and as it got faster, they chanted one last time.
"OOOOOOORAAAAAAAAAHHHH!" they yelled, and the German soldiers kicked down the doors.
Nikolai and Vasilev threw their hands out in front and directed a solid stream of fire at the soldiers. Their screams weren't heard by Tanya, who had leaped to her feet and pulled the trigger on her gun the moment the doors were battered down. She grinned like a lunatic and pulled the bolt, jumping onto the wall and running at the soldiers from an angle they weren't used to. Her next shot hit her target dead on, even though she was running at full speed, and the same was with her next shot, and the one after that. She clapped her hand onto Dmitri's shoulder and he nodded before running full pelt out of the double doors.
She ran out with him and a gun instantly swung her way. She fired blindly at the source and dropped to the ground, sliding under the enemy fire. When she stumbled back to her feet she kept going, her eyes trained on Dmitri's running form ahead of her and the house that was looming closer and closer.
Bullet holes suddenly peppered the wall when Tanya reached it, and she ducked and swung her entire body around to face the attacker. Her rifle came up, and within that second she scoped him in and fired.
His body fell backwards but she didn't stay to watch. Dmitri had already shoved the house's door open and they collapsed inside, kicking it shut behind them.
There was only the slightly muffled sound of gunfire now, and the occasional shouts of alarm or fury. Tanya rested crookedly on the floor of the house, the action over the last day finally catching up with her.
"This way," Dmitri said, pushing himself to his feet. He grabbed Tanya's hand and hoisted her to her own and then stumbled down the hallway. The floorboards creaked as they reached the end, where the kitchen began and the flickering light shone through.
Tanya closed her eyes. There was silence, save Dmitri's breath and her own. But it was too silent. Slowly, she motioned to Dmitri to keep moving, while she carefully placed a palm onto the wall beside her. Her other palm followed, and then her right and left foot as she used her magic and altered her center of gravity.
"Dmitri!" she whispered, and he looked up and nodded. He withdrew his machete and threw it up to where she crouched, upside-down on the roof.
They started moving again, Tanya crawling in the darkness above, blade in hand and rifle slung over her shoulder, and Dmitri striding confidently below, a grin on his face and his hands swinging by his sides.
They reached the living room and Tanya stopped at the top of the doorway; it was too well lit for her to move stealthily. So she motioned Dmitri onward and crouched, hidden in the shadows.
You know, I should get on to finishing this. Just rereading it makes me want to write more. I really liked this. In fact, I like it so much that I'm not going to tell you my plans for it. Because maybe in the near future I'll start writing again, and it'd suck if you knew the end of the story before I wrote it out. Actually, I could tell you the end and then change it later. For instance; Israel totally gets shot and dies.
(But that doesn't make much sense, cos the entire story is meant to be a flashback from Israel's mind...unless... the whole thing is a dream and Israel is really being played by Leonardo Dicaprio or something :O)
Alright. Last story. I know you have had a long day/have just woken up/are just about to go to bed. But I beg of you. Read this last story.
This is the first Private Eye story I started writing. I had big ideas for this story. Man, it was going to be cool. I haven't read it in ages. Brb.
I DEEM IT FIT FOR YOUR EYES.
HERE YOU GO:
"Private Investigator," I said to myself, rolling the word around in my mouth. "P.I... Private Eye."
I propped my feet up onto my desk and sighed, leaning back on the creaky chair. I was old fashioned, I know. To be honest, I wasn't even sure how I had landed myself a job like this. I hadn't ever wanted to be one as a child. I don't even remember applying, really. But here I was, a 21st century P.I, lounging back in his small office space, with no money and no cases.
I lazily reached out with my right hand to try and snatch up my hat from the stand near me, leaning far out of the chair until it creaked on the verge of tipping.
The door to my small office burst in and my concentration at balancing vanished long enough for the chair to win and send me and it sprawling onto the floor. I glanced up, wincing at the expression of disappointment on the chief of police's face in front of me. He sighed and watched with his arms folded as I stood up, dusting my shirt off.
"What's up, Chief?" I asked.
"We have a situation, the top of Milne road. A few armed, some innocent hostages- you know the drill." He threw me a Manilla folder, filled with several photos. "They're not terrorists, but they're all armed. They have yet to kill anyone, although there have been some pretty heavy threats thrown about. We've been ordered to take them down, Private."
I gave Chief Mckenzie a pained look. "It's not a rank, sir. It's my title. 'Private Investigator'. And can't you and your buddy's deal with this? It ain't exactly my area of expertise."
"I don't care what 'Private' means to you- as long as you don't have a case and we need an extra shooter, you're mine. Your office is in my police station, your gun is from our armory, and every bullet you fire is paid for by us. You're running on the Police's time, Private. And it's running out for you, fast."
I ignored him and flipped my hat up with my foot and donned it, and with a flourish as the Chief left my office I swung my trenchoat around my shoulders. The wooden carved box that held my beautiful Smith and Wesson revolver opened on well-oiled brass hinges as I retrieved my weapon of choice. At all times I had a box or two of the special magnum bullets my revolver used, and I dug them out of my coat pocket and flicked the chamber out as my feet took me from my office and through the crowded station.
"-showing up randomly, all over town-"
"-a big old fashioned rifle, never seen anything like it-"
"-got another one yesterday, thinks he's from the fifties or something-"
I should have been listening to the policemen and women around me in the office, and deep down I guess I was, storing it away for later use, but at that moment my mind was working on a one-track-mind. Coffeecoffeecoffeecoffee...
I snagged a travel mug off of a distracted officer's desk and didn't look back, tipping it's strong contents down my throat as I followed the chief into the daylight and down the concrete steps outside the station's entrance. Half a dozen or so smartly dressed officers were in the chief's tow as well, and they got into their respective police cars and started the engines, smoothly pulling out onto the open road. I hurried to my own police vehicle and slid in, and for a moment I stared at the dashboard, completely lost. I didn't know whether to us the dial with the wavy green lines on it or to mash the button with the red triangle inside of another one. It was all a foreign language to me, and I slowly put the key into the ignition and turned. It started first time, which, to my memory, had never happened before. And then my eyes fogged over and I could feel my arms moving strangely of their own accord, pushing down a pedal with my foot, shifting the stick next to me, and flooring another pedal as I peeled out of the parking space.
The moment I was out onto the open road, my vision de-fogged and I was in control again. I had no idea what had happened; my arms and feet had not been moving due to me, but whatever I had done had worked, and now I was on the road and following the other police men on the way to the shoot-out.
The lights changed to red and it happened again- my hand moved of it's own accord, pushing the stick next to me down and to the right, and then up again. Gear stick floated into my mind strangely, labeling it. My foot gently eased onto the brake, a pedal that I knew already, seemingly. The lights flicked and I set off again, accelerated neatly with everyone else in line.
I glanced to the other seat and at the photos splayed across it. They were stills of ordinary-looking people, and yet under each of them they had a stamp saying 'Highly Dangerous'. The top one that was clearest to me seemed oddly familiar. The name underneath the photo was "Jacob Cook".
Chief Mckenzie's voice crackled through the radio speaker. "Just on the right here, lads."
I pulled the car over by a huge construction site with the other police cars, and stepped out of my vehicle. Less then a second passed of me observing the site when a bullet pinged on the hood of my car. "Shooter!" I yelled to the rest of the officers before sliding over the hood and into a crouch behind the car. More bullets hit the car and I crawled along the warm asphalt until I was near the back wheel. I pulled my revolver out and span the chamber restlessly. The few cars parked next to mine had the other police officers, all strangely poised in the exact same crouching position. They didn't fidget, or talk in hushed tones as the shooter somewhere in the construction site rained hell onto their cars. And without a visible signal, all six or seven of the officers rose and fired.
There was silence. I didn't know what the hell was up with them. One or two shook their heads, muttered "Weird..." and then they were back to normal, moving towards the construction site, weapons raised. I followed them, ignoring it for the moment.
"Spread out!" the chief said. "There's three hostages somewhere, we gotta find them."
I crept into the only finished part of the construction site, a four wall room of cold cement slabs. There was a billowing orange tarp covering the exit on one end, and it gave me something to point my gun at while I looked around the room. It wasn't completely finished, of course- there wasn't any furniture or wallpaper of the sort, only the boredom-grey of the concrete.
I found the first body slumped under a concrete mixer, a revolver not unlike mine in the finger's death-grip. His slack features matched one of the photos the Chief had given me.
"Scratch one shooter," I spoke into the walkie talkie I had with me, and slipped it back into my pocket. I examined the man further and realized that he was the one that the officers had just gunned down. Weirdly, he didn't have several bullet holes in him. Only one large hole in his chest. Complete accuracy.
"Synchronized shooting, or something..." I said to myself, recalling the way the officers had shot him. They hadn't even needed a signal, and they had all hit him in the exact position. I mentally noted it for later.
There was a gunshot and I was at my feet in an instant, rushing to where it came from. The orange tarp wrapped around me frustratingly as I pushed on through it. I was in another barely finished room, the bland grey colours draining all the brightness around it. I took everything in instantly as my eyes glanced quickly around.
Lying on the ground and in his own blood was the prone figure of another shooter, an old fashioned Tommy gun strapped to his chest. One of the police officers stood over the body, his head cocked to the side as he stared at it. And then he looked upwards at the other two men in the room, who wore frightened looks like gloves. The officer raised his gun and the man closest to him started weeping, pleading for his life. The policeman pulled the trigger and the man collapsed to the ground.
"What the hell?!" I yelled as I ran into the room. I bashed the but of my own gun into the officer's head sharply, knocking him out. "You just shot him, you crazy bastard!"
The policeman couldn't hear me- already he was spiralling into unconsciousness- but I still shouted at him angrily. I gave myself pause and breathed in and out, and heard a sound behind me.
"Hands up," the person behind me said meekly. I turned slowly around to meet a wavering revolver, pointed at my head. I recognized the face behind the gun immediately as the man I had seen in the photos- Jacob Cook. Highly dangerous, indeed. The man didn't even seem to know how to hold a gun properly.
My left hand shot up and grabbed the revolver, twisting it out of his grip with barely a struggle. I held both my gun and his trained on him, fingers lightly resting on the triggers. He stepped back, shaking and sobbing. "I ain't gonna shoot you," I said to him, but he didn't calm down. As if to prove my point I threw his revolver to the other side of the room, and slowly fished a pair of handcuffs out of my back pocket. He pulled himself together when I clinked them on his wrists. I thought for a moment and took another pair out, attaching them to the unconscious policeman.
"So...you're not with him?" Jacob asked me.
"What? Of course I'm with him, he's an officer of the law. But he shouldn't have killed that man... I don't know what happens now, but he won't go unpunished."
I turned to face Jacob, wondering where the other policemen were. They should have heard the two gunshots and came running, like me. Jacob was staring at me incredulously.
"Don't you understand? He won't be punished- he's one of them."
Oh no, I thought to myself. A lunatic. Great.
Jacob seemed to read my mind. "No, listen to me. The others will be here soon. They're changing things. They tried bringing us here, but something went wrong, and now they have to clean things up."
"What the hell are you talking about?" I demanded.
His face suddenly brightened up. "Hey, I know you- I hired you once, back at the Nightwalker. You know, that joint near the middle of town."
I closed my eyes and groaned as my head was suddenly attacked by a massive headache. I saw a dark alleyway, the flashes of car's headlights and the glow of a neon sign. The smell of alcohol and cigar smoke, red leather booths and soft music playing from the record player in the corner-
My eyes forced themself open. I was crouching on the ground, massaging my head with my hands. Sadly, I was still at the construction site, not at the Nightwalker, downing a cool glass of whiskey as Jacob pushed a suitcase of money over the table to me and commented on the music artist's perfect voice drifting to our ears...
Sadly? I shook my head. Why would I be sad to be here? What the hell was going on?
I reached for my pistol- it had fallen to the ground- and stood up dizzily, facing Jacob. "Tell me what the hell is going on!" I shouted at him. There were footsteps from the other room and I could feel the presence of the other policemen behind me.
Jacob shook his head sadly and smiled at me. But sobs broke through the smile as he looked over my shoulder. I turned to and saw the policemen raising their sidearms silently.
"No!" I yelled at them. "Stop! He's unarmed! I've detained him! Do. Not. Shoot!"
"Don't mourn for me," Jacob whispered behind me. "I'm not even meant to be here. I'm not real. At least, I hope so."
"What the hell do you mean?" I looked back and asked him. "Of course you're real!"
"I hope not," Jacob replied, taking a deep breath. "Or this is really going to hurt."
There were seven gunshots that sounded at almost the exact same time. Jacob's head whipped back in a mini-explosion of bloody pieces as all seven shots skimmed over my shoulder and hit him. I turned in rage to the policemen as they lowered their pistols as one. I screamed and my eyes closed and my scream was the soundtrack to the murder of dozens of people, soon to be hundreds and even thousands by a madmen unknown. And while every investigator in the country was looking for him, I was sitting in the Nightwalker, accepting the money and the job of finding one little girl, lost in the chaos of it all. And as the story unfolded I saw myself track her down and succeed where every other in the world had failed; I found the madman, too. And my screams continued as I sat bolt-upright in bed, in my apartment, in the year 2012 and not 1948. My screams went on and on until my throat could take it no more and my lungs needed fresh air.
And I was the albatross of my own demise.
Even reading this too makes me want to write more. I liked this story, I really did. And I can see a possible future for it. So (rather annoyingly, I suppose) I'm not going to tell you how I was planning for this story to pan out, not at all. I shall make you suffer >:D
I've posted all that I had planned to post. I'm fresh out of old drawings and unfinished story ideas. My back hurts. Damn sunburn. My cat is being adorable and giving himself a bath (which I think is adorable no matter how old the cat is or fearsome he appears to be). Dogs bark at the cold night and the computer's hum fills in the gaps of silence. And suddenly, I'm filled with an urge to switch it off. I would lose all of this paragraph here, which I'm probably just going to delete anyhow as it's just an extension of my thoughts... Unless Blogger saves it (good old Blogger) which has most definitely happened in the past and will no doubt happen again. More dogs barking. Rorschach quotes flying around my head. The fedora's sitting fine, thanks for asking. Still trying to unbutton this crisp white shirt so I can go to bed already, and scowling at the cleanliness that it glows back at me. It's taunting me. There's chocolate in my draw, greasy chicken in the fridge and all manner of raspberry and strawberry jams in various hiding spots strewn throughout the kitchen. Don't tempt me, crisp white shirt. Don't tempt me.
Oh wow, I just ended a paragraph like that. I would have never thought. I'm not even going to repeat how I ended it, that would be pointless. This is all pointless talk right now, filler talk to make the post seem bigger ;P
What about the sound now? Let's see. Computer hum. Check. Dogs barking. Check. Voices from the other room- my brother and father. Check. My cat breathing? Well, my hearing isn't that good, but it sure as hell looks like he's breathing. Kinda. He's asleep. I hope.
Alright. That's it. I might as well say it, now.
Merry Christmas, all.
G'day, Irish...Scottish...Dubliners... UK..ians...people...