Wednesday, June 06, 2018


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"Damn it, John, you are going to die." He continued to repeat between each gunshot he fired. Blood splattered and human parts painted his house in red. His ears ringing from the concussion of the gunfire echoing in the living room, resulting in him barely hearing his own voice yelling at him to get up.

Though the click of his shotgun and the fifth and final person that broke into his house fell to the ground, forcing him to finally listen to himself.

He staggered to his feet, the room spinning as went against his instincts. It was at this moment he realized the bodies of the dead people were not dead. Not only dead but dismembered from shotgun slugs. Yet, it didn't seem to matter as they continue to hunt John down.

He darted upstairs and went looking for ammunition. rummaging in the draws of his end table for an emergency reload. He only found two rounds. Swearing to his lack of preparation, he inserted the cartridges. John then moved across the hall to a second bedroom. The room was obviously a children's bedroom at one point, as it still showed reminisce of sports paraphernalia and kids' toys. He paused a brief moment with tears weeping down his cheek. He just realized how fucked up how his life had become. Wiping the sad moment away from his face he heard rustling coming from behinds him.

John turned quickly, trying to bring his shotgun when he tripped over his feet. Falling to the ground the shotgun went and blood spattered all over him, things went black.


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