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The Line Between Reality And Imagination

Short story By: Emuhleenka

"The thought of trusting no one to increase your own chance of survival. The surprising lust for blood once one gets ahold of a weapon that makes them more powerful than their foes. Who is the real hero then? You? Or the weapon?"
This was actually from a dream that I had and it was awesome enough for me to transform it into a story. Do note that it gets strange really fast, but it was a lot of fun to write it down!

Submitted:Jul 4, 2012    Reads: 34    Comments: 2    Likes: 1   

The wind blew at the tall trees that withered away the remaining life that was slowly decaying away from it. As the leaves fell, I stood at what seems to be an old stadium with a rotted down track field where small life and vegetation were struggling to survive under the gray skies.
"You're going to be alright from there?" called out Natalinasha, the girl who decided to accompany me to the stadium. "I'll be going now."
I nodded, and heard footsteps dying away.
The wind still blew.
I looked around and saw what seems to be a stick laying on the ground. Curious, I walked over to examine. It was a Lebel Model 1886 rifle with a long needle-like bayonet. I smirked and picked it up, marveling at the polished surface and wondering why someone would leave a well conditioned rifle behind, minus the scratches and darkened stains. Ignoring the imperfections, I decided to test it out and aimed for one of the dying trees and pulled the trigger. Instead of a sound of explosion like how most old fashioned rifles would make, it was a soft, spear-like whoosh sound. I noticed that a 7-inch metallic spear of a bullet shot out, slicing through the tree cleanly. Surprised with what I've just observed, I inspected the rifle and saw that the magazine tube was blocked. I fired a couple shots, and a couple more. It seemed as if there was an infinite amount of spear-bullets in the weapon. I grinned with my treasure, processing the value and advantage I now have for survival.
I started to head out when I heard a noise coming from the exit tunnel. I stiffened and waited.
I thought I was the only one here? Maybe someone was lost.
An individual came out in black and white clothing, walking slowly towards me. He was tall, a stranger, with an odd look of menace on his face. I saw a knife in his hand as he edged onto my direction. Fear overcame me and automatically I aimed at the stranger and fired. The spear-bullet once again went cleanly through his head and he fell. I stood with my chest throbbing with fear, clutching the rifle.
I ran towards the exit when two shadows appeared. Two figures were dressed in a ninja-like fashion, carrying sharp ninja stars. I was too busy running to take notice of their strange appearance when one of the ninjas threw a star at me. I merely dodged the throw, and took the action as a threat and aimed for their chests. After a shot, one of the ninjas collapsed to the ground while the other went on to throw the ninja stars at me. His throw was miscalculated, for the star fell five feet behind me. Smiling at his failure, I fired another shot and the sound of a thud was all that was left. My head was racing. Ninjas, knives, stars, and me as their only target . . .
What was this place?
More ninjas came forward and a new figure came. This time it was what appeared to be a shredded up zombie with flesh visible through its thin clothes and blood trickling down its face. Overwhelmed with fear and desperation, I continued to fire and inched closer to the exit.
Or was it an exit?
The zombie fell like the rest of the newly made corpses and one ninja remained. He held a dagger and was only two yards away. Swiftly, the dagger left his hand and tore through my cheek, blood dribbled down onto my shirt. Stinging with pain, I sprinted towards my darkened enemy and stabbed him with the bayonet, twisting mercilessly. I pulled the knife attachment away from his chest and watched as the writhing slowly ceased. I wiped the blood on my face with my shirt and stood to catch my breath. I turned my head towards the exit.
That was either the path to free me from this malevolent place or the exit of the unimaginable to come end my existence.
There was a little girl now, walking towards me. I instantly recognized her as one of the daughters of my mom's friend. Memories invaded my head as I remembered all of the cruel deeds the child has done to me, so much hate in someone that seems so innocent. Yet looks can always be deceived . . . She continued to walk and gave me a crooked grin. Her eyes, full of menace, were locked onto mine, as if compelling me to remain where I was. I saw a knife held freely in her little hand. The grin was glued to her face. The godforsaken smile that was made to laugh at my pain, the smile that was served as mockery, always haunting me whenever a poor attempt was made. Bloodlust was becoming a crave inside me, and with rage I started to thrust the knife through her heart as soon as she raised her knife. The knife dropped and she fell. Even as death took her, the grin remained. I backed away.
A soft sound of a dog was behind me and I saw a little dachshund mix. It was Reggie, my aunt's dog. But, there were two of them. Perfectly identical copies, with the white tipped tail and floppy ears. I gaped with astonishment, and a moment of realization came. This was a place to test your survival. Enemies would come and continue to come to see how long you will stand, to see how long you will stay alive. I shot at Reggie and stabbed twice at the twin. The tunnel was thundering now, and I turned and ran on the track, trying to see if there was another passage to escape this forsaken place.
There wasn't any.
A roar bellowed behind me and I sprinted away. This time, it was cartoon characters. Characters from the show Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends and Courage the Cowardly Dog are now after me. I was too occupied to process with the new information of the current opponents.
The line between reality and imagination was gone, for imagination became reality.
Desperately, I ran into the tunnel, shooting at the shadowed figures as they clawed at me. What seemed like hours, I saw a metallic door and hope boosted up my running. I opened and slammed the door shut, locking the seven rusted locks attached to it and left a wall between me and my murderers.
I fell to my knees, still gripping the rifle in my hands. Blood dripped from my shredded arms and fell onto the rifle, staining the surface. I then understood that someone else had experienced the same fate, only they didn't make it . . .
Wincing with newfound pain on my back, I stood and placed the bloody rifle by the door. Whether this was a key to my survival or to start my doom, it has done its job.
The door continued to bulge and the roaring continued, vibrating the walls and yet the rifle remained still, unaffected. I turned and walked away, leaving the forbidden place and a trail of blood behind.


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