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Author Topic: A scene from "J.Oker's Poker"  (Read 622 times)

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Offline Thall213

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A scene from "J.Oker's Poker"
« on: December 29, 2016, 08:29:46 PM »
“Sanders, run!”

Run.
“Get out of here!”
Faster.
“Get the *censored* out o-“. The sound of bullets being fired fills the air while the noise of the casings hitting the ground echoed lightly enough just for you to catch it.
Don’t look back. They’ll catch you. Faster. Run. Faster. The tears streamed down Sanders’ face as he ran.
Quicker, he thought. I can’t die! He cried, pleading to the gods above even though at this point he was all but sure they did not exist. A bullet flies past his face with a soft whizz tickling his cheek. The wind nipped at his cheeks as he moved closer and closer to the end of the tunnel. He turned his head around while unconsciously slowing down and losing his jogging rhythm.
Splat
One of the bullet shots became very clear and evident to Sanders. As a sharp pain pierced his back, a sharp noise pierced his ear drum. His body became very heavy as he continued to try and run. The pain, which was so excruciating, more than anything he had ever such encountered, began to take his consciousness as well as his vision. Flashes of death scattered themselves in his mind. Believing this was the end and he could not continue on he began to slow down once more. Bringing his head down looking to his feet.
Sound started to fade as it hit his ears. His blurriness had risen to an extreme and he could barely make out the shapes of his hands in front of him. As he tried to focus he looked to his left hand. The hand he grabbed his side with. The deep crimson scattered on his hand took over his eyesight. Everything became true and clear once again as he focused on the blood on his hand.
I must go on.
The floor was wet. Not completely wet, but lightly sprinkled with rain drops blown in by the downpour outside. There was no vibrant streaks of sunlight waiting at the end for Sanders. As his body move into the storm and out of what was once his cage and into the clearing, a sensation overcame him. As he faced the clouds where the moon lie behind, he closed his eyes and felt the rain fall upon his face and body. As he stood there, feeling the fresh mud beneath his feet and around him, he kept his eyes closed and fell into what he could only think was eternity. Losing himself in the feeling of the rain touching his skin, it was all amazing to him.
As the feeling continued to arise, Sanders’ felt the sensation that he should “Wake Up”. A feeling so indescribable and mysterious its memory almost scared him ran through his body and jolted his eyes open.
I should have kept them closed.
What his gaze revealed terrified him within his entire core, but for some reason he could not move. In a circle around him were men from the Bandiagi family. Each one of them seemed to almost mirror the other with the same black rayban sunglasses, slim fit black suits with a red handkerchief, and what seemed to be brand-new, polished, MAC 11 assault rifles.
“I told you my family would take care of you, Figlio di troia.” An Italian man emerges into the circle, standing in line with his weapon drawn. “Shoot him!”
As the guns were all loaded and the men started to cock them to draw fire, a sense of ease came over Sanders’. He felt… Right. As the first bullets started to leave the chambers towards his body, Sanders’ closed his eyes again.

Gloop.
What was Sanders’ became a statue of fresh mud and collapsed upon itself. The gunfire stopped before it became uncontrollable and would cause harm to the other mafia men, but in some of the cases it was too late. As stray bullets connected with flesh of the gunmen’s allies, before they had time to think of the pain inflicted, the same question popped into everyone’s mind.
Where’d he go?
As quick as the thought appeared in their minds, the mud under their feet started to quake. On the outer edges of their human circle the mud began to shift upwards and throw off the balance of those inside of its round trap. As the ground rose up to their ankles and tensed up harder than able for them to move out they started to panic.
And when they started to panic they noticed. The mud was moving up into a dome on all sides. They were to be trapped in the ground itself. On the outside view of the mud-dome, it was more than just a mud-dome. It was Sanders’ head. Made of mud. His head was molded of the earth and his gaping mouth closed upon all of those within him.
The air became still. The screaming could not break the exterior of the mud walls. And then the shifts started. The walls seemed to start to shift inward. Sanders’ mud head became smaller and smaller as it began to shrink upon itself. The new inhabitants of Sander’s mud mouth screamed in agony and terror only for their attempts to be muffled and then swallowed in the mud.
As they would be.
As their eminent demise approached them with swift caution, the mud collapsed completely onto itself and sat silently back in the ground it had once came from.
As the forest stay still and the rain continue to come down, something began to emerge from the center of the mud. The figure, long and tall, fully emerged, began to take shape. As it’s form became defined and true, it became evident who it was.
Sanders.
He stood there in the center of the mud, unscathed with a smile on his face. As the rain down poured upon his body he began walking into the woods.
And he didn’t look back.