Scratch

Okay, I'm writing a post-apocalyptic story.  Just a warning, it is a bit gory, but it is probably okay.  If it's too much just tell me and I won't post more.  Anyway, here's the first chapter.


Chapter One

    I lie with the blanket over me, listening to the sounds of gunfire nearby.  Still, I think, gotta stay still.  They won't see me if I'm still.
    Screams echo from somewhere close, but I feel little reaction.  Those who are unfit or unlucky died.  It's just the way of things.
    My mother and little brothers were three of the unlucky ones.
    Eventually the sounds subside, but I don't move.  Not yet.  Not until Dad gives the word.
    It feels like an eternity until he finally does. "Scott, it's safe now.  You can come out." His voice is hoarse from dehydration, and I know mine must be little better.  Gingerly pushing aside the dirt-colored blanket, I try to stand.  Dad's scabbed, calloused hand reaches down and helps me up.
    Looking around, I see the dead bodies bleeding in the dust.  Most of them I don't feel sympathy for, but then my gaze sweeps over the body of a small boy.  I step over to him and - to my horror - feel a tear forming in my eye, but sweep it away quickly with a grimy hand.
    I had been younger than him when this whole apocalypse started. 
    When I look into his glazed blue eyes, I realize how similar to the older of my younger brothers, Jonathan, he looks.  Everything, from the dirty-blond hair to the freckles across his face, to the pale blue eyes, reminds me of little Jonny.
    "Hey!  You!  Get away from my boy!" I look up to see a woman running towards me.  Her brown hair hangs in filthy strands, clothes ripped and muddied, dirt streaking her skin.
    I back away quickly. ''I'm sorry!  I was just thinking how much he looks like my little brother, who died a year ago from sickness."
    "Tough luck," growls the woman as she carefully picks up the limp form of her son.  I see something glint in her soot-gray eyes, but she turns and hurries off into the trees.
    Dad takes hold of my wrist and leads me away from the battlefield.  "Scott, I know he looked like Jonny.  But I thought you knew to stay away from dead bodies - they might have sicknesses.  And especially stay away from kids.  Most likely there'll be some insane parents wanting anyone to vent their rage on."
    "You and Mom weren't crazy, even when Jonny and Browny died."
    "If you go and die on me that'll be the last straw.  I'm really close to snapping.  You think your mom and brothers dying was any easier for me?"
    I'm about to reply when I found Dad's hand covering my mouth. "Be quiet, Scott."
    From somewhere farther up the cobblestone path, harsh voices reach our ears.  Dad pulls me to the side of the path, diving behind several thick bushes.  I reach automatically for the old, dirty blanket tied around my waist like a rope.  Throwing it over us, I grab for the large rusty knife thrust into the back of the leather strap circling my chest and going over one shoulder.
    Dad stays my hand as a group of about ten people parade past.  They were raggedy and dirty, but well-armed.  "Too many to fight," Dad breathed.
    I gaze longingly at the backpacks slung over their shoulders.  Food.  I haven't tasted food in almost two days, and not a drop of water since last night.
    The survival section of my mind knows that I could kill the last person silently and steal the food.  I had done it before.  I could do it again. 
    But that same survival mind knows that I can't risk it.  They'd find me and kill me and then Dad would finally go insane, like he said he would.
    Trying to ignore the sharp pangs of hunger and the stings of my thirsting mouth, I watch the group tramp into the distance.

I hardly added anything so it's not even worth updating but whatever


    White fills the sky slowly, like cold, dense cream settling low over the horizon and hanging low on the tops of buildings. Impossibly close. No one is awake except for him, the boy in the safety of his bedroom, soft red hair and light hazel eyes peering out unsteadily from behind the window pane. Everything is still and quiet. A village asleep. But they will wake up soon. That one thought will reverberate through them all, a silent earthquake. Today, it’s today. Yes. Today. It’s happening today.
    Ben trains his eyes on that sky. Is that where they’re going? It’s not far at all. He feels certain he could go that high on a stepladder. He wonders what it will look like up close.
    He won’t find out, of course.
    He slips away from that window, a shadow passing over his face.

(and I have no idea where to go from here kfnwrtgnws)

PlutoIsHades wrote:

Wickimen wrote:

Good  ^^
Just please don't tell me it's zombies or aliens

No aliens, no stereotypical zombies.  There are zombies in a sense, but not the stereotypical come-back-from-the-dead zombies.  My story has more like living zombies.

Lolol okay 
I think I can trust you not to make it cliched haha

For everyone on this thread, I found a cool writing site 
http://www.youngwriterssociety.com/

soupoftomato wrote:

I would like to take the time to warn against encoding anything in your stories.

xDDD

soupoftomato wrote:

I would like to take the time to warn against encoding anything in your stories.

...what do you mean encoding?

soupoftomato wrote:

PlutoIsHades wrote:

soupoftomato wrote:

I would like to take the time to warn against encoding anything in your stories.

...what do you mean encoding?

Xigh zwys, rcb’h qcrs ghitt pfc! Hvs hfobgzohwcb hoysg tcfsjsf!

Um, what...?  How is that encoding?

Last edited by PlutoIsHades (2012-03-31 21:24:49)

soupoftomato wrote:

PlutoIsHades wrote:

soupoftomato wrote:

Xigh zwys, rcb’h qcrs ghitt pfc! Hvs hfobgzohwcb hoysg tcfsjsf!

Um, what...?  How is that encoding?

rot14

I honestly am not understanding what any of this is about.

W qob\’h twbr ob ibsbqmdhcf.

"JUST LIKE, DON’T CODE STUFF BRO! THE TRANSLATION TAKES FOREVER!"
That was -12, not 14?

Last edited by Wickimen (2012-03-31 21:38:05)

Wickimen wrote:

"JUST LIKE, DON’T CODE STUFF BRO! THE TRANSLATION TAKES FOREVER!"
That was -12, not 14?

rot14, unencrypt by piling rot12 on top.

But yeah, imma go work on Mr. Brown.
And I'm going to skip the coding of stuff for now.

Last edited by soupoftomato (2012-03-31 21:39:50)

exceedingly, should rot13 be a necessity