Sort of a back-story to something I've been working on...

[FrostedxB]

Started up a story a long time ago, and the back story to the main character is nearly finished. I'll post them here, but up to this point, they've been scattered around as either private notes/ word documents and facebook messages.


Each one is a thought in the characters mind or an emotion -

An entire arsenal at my disposal, I shall reak havoc upon those who stand before me. A hail storm of 7.62x19mm rounds will pour around my enemies and with weapon in hand and objective in mind, the day will be mine. They will never forget my name, nor my face, nor the black hole of a shotgun barrel. I shall emerge victorious.


And as my enemies fall to the storm of death, they shall beg for their lives. But I am merciless. No regrets. No remorse. No mercy. No survivors. Every muscle in my body grows stronger with each obstacle I pass. Every vision and memory I have is replaced. My world grows darker. Yet I press onward into the darkness, for one day, the dark will lift.

I am deep into the darkness and see no end. But I have no fear. A trusty 12 gauge with a bayonet attached and I feel like a god. The air is getting heavy and it is hard to breathe but I will not quit. I am immortal. Nothing will stop me.

This darkness....I know it too well. But it still knows me better. If one stays too long, it will corrupt them. A battle must be waged if the dark should ever lift.

I poke and prod my rifle into the darkness and feel nothing. But I hear it. Its everywhere. Its the voice, the screams and growls. The cries of the dying and laughter of the killers. I pull the charging handle. One round in the chamber, 30 more in my mag. I am ready for it. I pull down my gas mask and the artificially purified air rushes into my lungs. It is nice to breathe again. Onward I march to the frontlines.

One bullet erupts from the chamber, its empty cartridge ejects from the side. Then another, and another. My finger is holding the trigger down and the rounds come out as fast as they can. The muzzle flash illuminates what is in the darkness. It terrifies me. It shocks me. Why? Because it is me...





Thoughts and criticisms are always welcome.

 

[Solaris]

It's hard to criticise this as there's no real narrative to it just a series of disjointed paragraphs and sentences that perhaps could be cool if in the right context, or lame if in the wrong one.

I'd be interested to see them actually put into something with some structure.

 

[FrostedxB]

Theres (obviously) a lot more to come, and these paragraphs will make sense. Like I stated, these are all thoughts and emotions, there was no real easy way to put them together.

Plot in the spoiler, if you want to know a bit about that -

Spoiler

The story centers around a 26 year old ex-combat specialist. Out of the service for under two years and having lived through and fought numerous battles, he suffers from a re-occuring depression along with post-traumatic stress. He often thinks back to the things he has done, both the good and the bad, throughout the entirety of his life. He served for the U.S. Army Airborne, fighting against the U.S.S.R. in the year 2043.

I don't want to give too much away, most of that is explained in the story.

 

[FrostedxB]

Needs a bit of editing/ detail adding, but so far.

*EDIT: How do I change the format, once posted all the paragraphs went missing?

Part 1 -

Gearing up-

"SIR! PFC John NMI Miller reporting for pre-patrol equipment, sir!" I shouted toward the armory master as I came to attention.
"Listen up you baby faced ****head, you will return all equipment as you have recieved it. I will chew your ass out if there is so much as a scratch on your weapon or a tear in your bag. If it breaks, you fix it before you return it. Got it?"
"Sir, yes sir!"
"Good, now, if they didn't tell you what you need to know in the boy scout camps, I'll tell you right ****ing now. You do not take prisoners. You do not get shot. The sooner you combat green boys kick some frozen Red ass, the sooner we get the hell outta here." The Armory Master picked up a small submachine gun and a few add-ons. "Sub-machine gun, 9mm MP5. Silencer, rifle laser and front grip. I assume your retard ass knows how to assemble this shit?"
"Yes sir!"
"Your not as much of a dumb **** as you look. You get four, understand FOUR, magazines. Don't ask for more, all I will give you is a boot in your ass. Backpack, canteen, nightvision goggles. You have everything else, now get the **** outta my armory." He looked down the row of soldiers behind me."Which one of you blue boys is next?"



I went back to my cot and laid down my equipment. This was a three hour patrol around the a five block perimeter of the base. My best friend and support gunner, Private Stencen Molen, walked up next to me, with a scoped M16 slung over his shoulder.
"Well I got long range support this time 'round." His voice is calm, for the moment, but both of us have erupted in fear on our first two patrols. Nothing has ever happened and we don't anticipate it now.
"It wont matter, we are Marines. Nobody would dare **** with us." I reply with a trembling voice. My mind believes that, but my soul doesn't. Every mission could be death. Our little iron fence is what keeps us safe, but once outside, we are alone.
"Oorah?" Molens voice trembles slightly as well.
"Yea, oorah."

The CO walks into the barrack. He's a tall, very muscular black man. His eyes are black and his voice full of hate. Not a hint of kindness in his heart. Some say the Russians captured him, tore out his heart and replaced with a metal drum that beats day in and day out. But his speech today is different.
"Listen up soldiers, today is different. I know most of you are green, new little shits, but today might be the day you become men. Word is the Russians have finally pushed their frozen asses into our nice little village. If the intel is right, our patrol is gunna be in for quite the shitstorm. Fortunetly for us, we are Marines! We don't die, we kill and we kill good. Killing is our job and we are trained better then these America hating ****s. You men are the finest or the fine, the best of the best. But Parris Island was boy scouts compared to what we may face. Get your gear in order and get to the front gates in five. Semper Fi, my friends." The CO did an about face and marched off. Molen glanced at me, I grabbed my gun and put on my helmet. The both of us walked off to the gates, the other six soldiers behind us.