Wednesday, January 26, 2011

Unfinished and unnamed story

On the Cliffside, a man of dignity squatted. However this was more a ledge sticking off a mountainside, nevertheless, the folk of America still claimed it as a Cliffside. The only way to the ledge was a damp, dreary, and ill-lighted cave. He was cornered, if he were to jump, he'd have fallen to his death. Then came the problem. Vile flesh-eating creatures lurking in the pits of Hell crawled out of their resting places to bring an end to humanity. These creatures swarmed through the cave, but the man, known as Painkiller, was prepared for the attack. The previous night he had set up a Gatling gun, and mountains of ammunition, for he knew about the zombies since they have been going on since 1913 to his current day (Jan. 16, 1917).
Seth "Painkiller" Agron was a well-known sharpshooter, although his accuracy was almost superhuman, he was most famous for his extremely high tolerance of pain. Nobody, not even Seth himself knew how this tolerance came to be.
Painkiller manned the Gatling gun, and brought seven zombies to rest instantly by aiming for the head. Blood sprayed out of their open necks and stained the snow with a bright, shiny red. About fifty-seven more crawled up. Seth was up to the challenge until one pulled a revolver out of its holster and aimed it at him."What the hell?" He asked himself. This was the first time he'd seen, or even heard of something like this.
He was screwed for sure. The only thing he could do was jump off the ledge. As he fell, he slammed rocks with his feet and hands to slow his fall. Death was within grasp. Naturally with the speed he was falling a human would cry out in pain as they grabbed a rock and forget what they are trying to do, but his high-pain tolerance saved his life. The zombies at the ledge started jumping down along with Seth. Seth watched as they splattered against the ground turning the world another color.

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