Ryan Dunn (holyloki) wrote,
Ryan Dunn

A fiction

Not an abnormal night/early morning...fishermen on the pier, the city dangling beyond our reach, close and far, we had learned to escape it. It was only calm for a moment, and even once that had passed, outside our minds it continued.

We couldn't believe our eyes. Sitting silent, fear engulfing distances further than any heart travels in a lifetime- our eyes were stapled open and our perceptions had had their doors ripped off their hinges. Waiting, there it was, just waiting.

The ship, dark and mysteriously inactive, sat willingly observed in Puget Sound, blocking our view of the city. While we didn't know what it really was at the time, its presence was undeniable, any lacking in effect- fraudulent and nonexistent. It was only so long before we discovered that far off in the distance, as we sit stunned, the ship was calling in an attack. Strategically placed to buttress an attack from the south, the ship later prevented any real evacuation into the Sound.

These war creatures were thus able to destroy with impunity. They quickly lumbered into the center of the city, grand and devilish, monstrous and swift, these were no machines, and yet they were stronger than anything man has ever dreamed of. If the pyramids were built better than Rome, these things were that which did it. Buildings were riped in half, homes flattened, bodies spurting from cracks and pressure centers, minds being ripped to pieces, lives disappearing in less than the blink of an eye...heck, most of those people didn't have time to wipe the sleep from their eyes, let alone blink. It was over fairly quickly.

We turned on the radio as I expected to watch them travel to our side of the Sound, destroy us as the others had been, and then heard how these things had stopped and destroyed every major city on the west coast with no time to stop them, leaving everything but downtowns in fair order, leaving downtowns burning and razed. And we were of the few who witnessed and survived. But it wasn't enough, I was angry and determined after having seen what we had been so ill-fated to see, and vengeance would be mine. Something inside me broke open, and not only did I feel this need, but I felt the means come flooding in as well, as I watched her go through a similar change.

The fear of necessity slowly creeped in, and as we prepared our minds for war we looked out over the water, developing plans, stalking our prey. It was our city, just as it was the city of those who had just perished. There was no rationale, no pride, no bitter truth which these things carried with them, and in this impunity we found our strength. Each one of these massive hulks would come down, each one would feel our wrath, our intolerance, our stealth and resolve.

So we crossed the water, entered the city which had been so brutally desecrated and followed them. I drew my blade from behind my seat, the only tool I had to offer to the foul slaughterers, my father's switchblade, not even sharpened, but a tool for their destruction, a tool and a weapon, a tool, a tool. This would be no Westside Story knife fight. There were no stories to be told, just resolution to find. There would be no glorious battles, only necessary ones. And should we die or fail, well, this is our memorandum to the rest: DO not sit, or they will always come to take what is yours.
Tags: new years injury, photo fiction

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