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Freedom; A story.
Topic Started: Jan 3 2009, 05:17 PM (317 Views)
** Death's servant
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Freedom

Shadows danced and flickered over the walls as she ran through the alley. Blood seeped from the wounds on her arms, and her breath came in short gasps around broken ribs and already-forming bruises. The knife in her hand glistened scarlet, and he eyes flashed with fear and rage. Had you been standing by her you could almost have smelled the adrenalin in her veins.

Behind there were four men. Two were dead, and of the other two one displayed a gash about six inches long down his left arm and a large bruise at the base of his neck. the other was uninjured more or less. Both carried steal cudgels, and had knives at their belts. they followed her with bloodlust in their eyes. Though only two people this was a mob, as mindless as one of ten thousand.

She stumbled, and almost fell, catching herself on a wall, then returned to her sprint. The two surviving pursuers were gaining steadily. her raven hair was matted on the right with dried blood. the other side was covering her face, making it hard to see ahead. Desperately she tried to wipe it away with her free hand, but only succeeded in smearing her brow with the blood dripping from that arm. blood was dripping into her eyes, permeating the fabric of her shirt's sleeve and shoulder. Her pursuers were gaining faster now.

A block away more men were letting loose the bloodhounds which quickly found her scent. they ran like the avenging gods of bygone times with no thought but fury! Four hounds there were, each as black as midnight on a moonless night. Their eyes were lipstick red, and their teeth shining porcelain white. Inconsolable rage was all they had in life, and all they would have in death. The hounds of hell would have cowered at their feet like wounded pups before the lions frightful gaze.

She ran on, swerving quickly to the left through to another alley and then around three more turns, then she stopped. Fear, anger, pain, and hate burned in her sapphire eyes in rapid succession, and she blinked back tears of defeat. Her eyes glistened with the salty tears. A single tear escaped her guard and ran down her bone-white face. Slowly, she turned raising her left hand with the knife. Saoirse (pronounced SEER-sha) was only eighteen, but she could fight. She had proven that. The two corpses behind were proof, as were seven more in the hotel, one in a garage, and the several injured she'd left along the way. She raised the blade, suddenly she became icy calm. She wiped the blood from her blade, and readied herself. Were a person to see her then, the term "Cool" would become their most terrifying dream, for she was the epitome of cool, she was on ice, she was totally and completely f*cking cool. There was nothing for her at that second but the fight to come, so she was "Cool" she was cold, and she was in the essence of the word terrifying.

The two men turned the final corner and stopped for a moment, just for a moment overwhelmed by terror. Then the training took effect, they raised their weapons, and the advanced. All three were in crouches. The dogs barks, yelps, and growls could be heard as they pursued. Then the first man (with the gash on his arm) was dead. The second looked calmly at his corpse then leapt into action. There was a blur of motion, Saoirse whirled or struck, or something, it was too fast to see. The second man was lying supine on the ground and she was standing over him with a bloody knife, all in a few seconds. She stooped and cut his throat, ignoring his desperate whimpers of fear.

As the man went limp, and his last breath left him, the dogs came snarling around the corner. The dogs were hungry. They were angry, and they wanted to kill something slowly then dismember it and eat its face off while it screamed for mercy. The dogs were Hungry.

Saoirse looked into the Alpha's eyes calmly, though behind her eyes fear roiled like a boiling ocean. I am not afraid. I am not afraid. I am not afraid... the words repeated in her head, over and over and over. In vain she wished the fear away, she was afraid and no words would convince her otherwise, for such is the way with fear. It grabs hold of your mind with roots like steal and decides for its self when to release you. Her arm raised the knife in a silent challenge to the dogs. The Alpha leapt. A second later, after a flurry of motion, the alpha lay dead and she stumbled against the wall. On her free arm (the left) there was a laceration stretching from her shoulder to her elbow.

She began to run again, kicking aside the hound in her path, and sprinting toward a low wall. She vaulted the wall, landed, rolled, stood, and resumed her sprint. She knew where she was going: three blocks away there was a nondescript door in a nondescript building. In that door, she hoped, there was safety. The building was deserted, and had served as her den for about a week now. If she could get there alive, before the dogs caught her, she would live. She could hole up there for about a week if necessary. That is, she could do this if she lived long enough to get there, which seemed doubtful. The three remaining hounds were over the wall and returning to the chase.

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A note:
The name "Saoirse means freedom in Irish Gaelic.
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D. Black
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Interesting...reminds me of the beginning of V For Vendetta and the video game Mirror's Edge.

I look forward to reading more
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girl anachronism
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.wow.

I love it. The story pulls you in from the moment you ready the first paragraph. I was actually kinda bummed that t stopped there. I was really hoping you had more posted. I can't wait for the next installment. The name Saoirse is beautiful too. I am a very visual person and when I read that name it is just pretty to look at, the way the letters are next to each other and everything. The little note at the end about the meaning of the name was nice too otherwise, me being the name person that I am, I would have gone and looked it up myself.

^_^
KEEP GOING... GO GO GO!!
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** Death's servant
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Here's the next bit. The name Faraji means consolation.

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A gunshot shattered the night-time air. Faraji looked calmly down the barrel of his 44. caliber rifle and pulled the trigger twice more. Gore sprayed outward from the heads of the three living Blood-hounds making a macabre mural on the bricks behind them. Farjai's eyes were the color of oak in the darkest hour of midnight. His face was a deep leathery brown, almost black, and vibrantly glowing in the light from the street lamps. He lowered the gun, letting it fall, hanging on its strap, and walked resolutely forward toward Saoirse...

Just a few seconds before: Saoirse was slowing, she stumbled. The exhaustion was closing in, and her vision was closing in. All she could think was that she would die. Face down in the street she lay, fear gripping at the last waking shreds of her mind. As consciousness' last vestments left her shrouded mind, three gunshots rang out into the night.

Faraji stooped over the prone body, and lifted her, muttering something to himself. Behind him, a women and two other men, all dressed in black. The women wore a leather coat which nearly brushed the ground. Of the two men one wore a tuxedo jacket and silk fedora. The other wore a hooded sweater and leather gloves. All three carried sub automatic weapons of varying size and design.

After twenty minutes or so of walking they reached a door in a back-alley which Faraji knocked on three times then slid a key card into. The door opened, and the three followers, who had kept in the shadows of the streets, almost like shadows in themselves, entered the building behind Faraji.

Inside, they were greeted by a small group of armed people who seemed to act as guards. Faraji spoke in soft tones to one. "....Found her out in the east quarter..."

After a some discussion they decided on something apparently, because the guard nodded and Faraji carried her through some hallways and to something that resembled a makeshift infirmary. He deposited her on one of the beds and spoke to a man who looked more or less like a doctor. the doctor nodded and began to do whatever it is doctors do to try to help people who are not doctors. Faraji walked out and retired to his quarters elsewhere in the facility.
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D. Black
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Idea:
Dystopian future society, or totalitarian current society. The government is obviously after Saoirse, so she finally decides to leave. Faraji leads an underground resistance group.

Did I win?
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** Death's servant
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I was leaning a little more toward anarchy. But good thoughts.
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