-Barrel of my Gun-

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-Barrel of my Gun-

Post  RabidSponge on Mon May 17, 2010 11:08 pm

Society as Scott knew it had crashed. All around him were the signs of the Infection, and those who had succumbed to its wrath. In a matter of days, the young Australian’s world had literally collapsed around him. There were still people, those who aimlessly roamed the streets, seeking refuge, and those that had taken him under his wing. They were too kind; why were they taking in a broken soul like him?

Scott could see what was going on. God was punishing mankind, destroying the minds they had worked so hard to create, and rotting their structures that stretched to the sickly, pale sky. The world was dying, perishing under the power of the plague that seeped from America’s underworld, mingling with the life of the other nations.

The team was seeking refuge inside a dingy safe-house, one that had been ravaged by many people, and possibly Infected, before them. Damien was curled into a tight ball in the corner of the room, looking like a hoodie-wearing, rabid puppy of sorts. Faith was spread out on the floor by the desk, her breath coming out in soft gasps. Christopher was propped up against the wall, his head drooping down as he mumbled sentences to his lost brother. John was snoozing softly in a chair, his jacket acting as a blanket that shielded his face. The blonde Magician, who was supposed to be on watch, had fallen asleep with his face pressed against the metal door of the safe-room, slowly sliding down to the floor. It was a shame,too. Samuel had tried so hard to convince the others that he could stay up to watch. So much for that idea.

Scott was the only one left awake.

With a shaky hand, the black-haired teenager lifted the gun to his eyes, rolling the sleek, black metal over in his hands. It was smooth; cool. Relaxing to touch. He didn’t deserve to die by the hands of such a graceful weapon. But nothing else adorned the safe room, other than the pistol clutched in his clammy hand, and the guns that belonged to the other members of the team. It seemed as though the only bullet noble enough to take his life from him was that from the handgun he held.
Scott was trembling violently as he placed the barrel of the gun inside his mouth, angling the killer upwards. If he aimed right, the young Australian could take his life in one shot, ending it all with a single bullet to the brain.

It was terrifying, but exhilarating. Literally holding one’s own life in your hands, able to decide the fate that awaited them by the simple pull of the trigger.
Adrenaline. His heart was pounding rapidly against his chest. This was it. This was the end. Scott was going to give himself a one-way ticket out of the hell hole his home had become. It wasn’t fair that he was the only one who had survived, anyway. He deserved to be lying in his home, dying with his family instead of braving the horrors of the Sydney streets.
The teenager’s finger slipped around the gun’s trigger, a saddened smile cracking upon his lips…

A hand swooped down and knocked the gun from the young boy’s hands, leaving Scott’s mouth hanging open in shock. The offender grasped the collar of his shirt, and he was pulled roughly to his feet, forced to look into the worn, angry eyes of the military man glaring at him. “What do you think you’re you doing?!” He hissed, his lips curling into a snarl.


Scott opened and closed his mouth, searching desperately for the words that were buzzing inside of his head. However, the only sound that came out was a harsh sob, and tears as the black-haired Australian cried into John’s shoulder. All the military dog could really do was wrap his arms around the distressed teenager, mumbling that everyone was going to be alright; that he was going to be okay.

Scott just couldn’t cope.


"Can we pretend that aeroplanes in the night are shooting stars?"
"I could really use a wish right now."


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