Eddie (edminster) wrote,

  • Mood:


Right. So, there's not much happening, in life or on the web. Volunteer work today was entirely uneventful, as was everything else today. Got home around 16.15, took a nap around 17.00, and woke up a few hours ago. Luckily, I don't have to deal with the noise that ribanomalyjoe does when trying to get to sleep.


Looks like they're trying to raze us again. Not 'us', specifically, since they don't know that anyone is alive over here. No, they're trying to thin out the Enemy, most likely. Not that mortar fire is going to do much to them, being demons and all. All it does is remove another one of our hideyholes.


It's only a matter of time, now. All we can do is keep our heads down and pray that we don't get hit. Or pray that the Enemy doesn't sniff us out while we sleep. I've heard stories of people snatched in the middle of the night, dying gruesome deaths. Not that anyone who propagates these stories have seen it firsthand. It's always happened to a friend of a friend.


You know, it's times like this that make you wonder exactly which decision in your life led to the present circumstances. Where in my not-so-illustrious career did things go awry? At what point was the fatal coin flip? Knowing my luck, it was probably something innocuous. Or about a girl. Most likely about a girl.


Cindy. Cindy Bennett. An argument with Cindy Angeline Bennett. Yup, that's why I'm here. Cowering in this storage shed in Enemy Territory, friendly fire being distinctly un-friendly. All because of an argument. Over my smoking habit. She couldn't stand it. Sure, I smoked two packs a day, but at least I could afford it. She didn't even have a job.


I had run out of smokes earlier in the evening, and was getting ready to head to the store for another carton. She did not like this. Said that if I really loved her I would quit smoking, starting that night. I've tried quitting cold turkey before, and knew that I would not be successful.


Harsh words were exchanged, I accused her of being lazy. She called me worse, but I don't like remembering her that way. I keep her picture in my wallet, and that one perfect frame is how I see her in my mind. In the picture she is smiling, hands busy washing dishes. It was my chore, she was doing it in one of her random acts of kindness.


I went out to the store, still angry. She told me to not bother coming back. We lived twenty miles from the closest stores, so I was calm by the time I got to the shop. I understood that I was wrong, and wanted to show her I was sorry. I picked up some flowers, and a couple of packs of nicotine patches.


I got back, and the house was trashed. I figured it was an attemt at revenge, considering as how it was my place. I saw a red puddle creeping along the hardwood floors, a vibrant red against the peppercorn-black hickory. I ran towards it, praying that I wouldn't find what I thought I would.


A Demon was standing over the body, looking disoriented. It had emerged within the past five minutes, or it would have been long gone. You see, Demons are incredibly disoriented for the first few moments after incorporating in the physical world. I didn't know it was a Demon at the time, Basic Training taught me later. All I knew was that a Big Red Thing was between me and the phone. The bag fell from my hand. The Demon turned.


I ran. I ran out of the room, out of the house, and into my car. I drove fast and far, only stopping when the tank ran dry. I got out, and I ran some more. I finally stopped when I couldn't move my legs any more. I can remember the blue and red lights, but I can't remember any sirens. I remember the steel-grey eyes of the paramedic, but could not hear his voice. I couldn't hear anything but the


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