The Sri Lankan Winter

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Action and Adventure  |  House: Booksie Classic

(AllyDee's Challenge, hope everyone enjoys it.)

It's about to get extremely cold on the tropical island of Sri Lanka. A plumbing companies secret, a P-40 captians nightmare, and a native's determination are all about to mix in the most bizarre human disaster of the 20th century.

Many have died and the rest have lost nearly 50% of thier brain cells, causing hysteria, shock, and insanity throughout what was a peaceful nation. This is the story of the Island, a story that will depict in grave detail what we all fear the most deep inside. A fear we know not much of and a type of horror that is engraved in all of us but can only be brought out through it's temptations. The fear of ourselves.

Join Jet Marshall in an adventure to a ruined world, a place where hell on earth truley exists.

Chapter 1 (v.1) - The Sri Lankan Winter

Submitted: February 22, 2009

Reads: 206

Comments: 1

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Submitted: February 22, 2009



The Sri Lankan Winter


A Letter to the Founder, October 6th, 1953

2:48 P.M.

Keller's Utility and Plumbing Co.

4627 Snowhill Dr. San Angelo Texas 76901

October 6, 1953

Dear Keller's Inc. Founder Mr. Marc Newman,

I bring you a urgent message from south western India concerning your resent business activities. According to my observations while inspecting your installation at Point Calimere, I've came to the conclusion to aware the Sri Lankan government of your underground actions and all of their illegal applications of which you've been keeping under deep classifications. My predictions show that they'll not completely shut down all of your operations, just the illegal subjects, as it is a mystery as to your intentions of these underground tunnels, it's on property you've failed to document or ask permission to operate on, causing me to have no other choice than to confess my knowledge. Inspection of the tunnels will go underway, and despite what they find, they will not shut down any of your factories, it's of this you won't have to worry.

I understand your disappointment in my future actions but it's something that needs to be released, especially if it has dangerous consequences. Do not send any of your cowboys after me, for killing me will not help you, I've already sent the memo to Sri Lanka. The service that was provided by the Institute of International Properties in the construction of these tunnels will also be charged, along with the KJK Nuclear Installations Inc., Montie Hendrix Yule Services, and the organized crime lords in south Africa, India, Sri Lanka, the United States, and Japan. I wish you all of the luck in the world, for the next few months are not going to be easy for you or any of the others.


Prof. Dwayne Knisley

What Seemed So Kind

7:04 A.M.

The tropical air smelled like a mixture of grapefruit and sea weed, It's sour scent poured over the island. The small house, or hut, sat on top of a hill over looking a small town. Palm trees jutted out of the ground surrounding the house and a small camp fire smoked from last night's flame. Inside this hut slept an aged man who goes by the name William Dietrich, a native to the island, he's lived here his whole life. The low ringing noise of his alarm echoed through the quiet house. A hand reached out from under the covers to brush his sleepy eye. The covers were pushed aside and his feet swung around to find their place in two wooden slippers. He clanked through the bedroom, his living room, and then he entered his kitchen. His breath shown as he realized he was cold, a kind of cold he had not felt once before. In complete disarray, he ran to his front door, his slippers clanking they awoken his small dog, who ran after him. He slung open the door and peered outside. A blistering wind blasted the old mans face, his gray hair violently waved, his cracked skin shivered, and his eyes grew large. He stared out over the small town as snow began to fall, deep grayish clouds surrounded the island. It was something he had never experienced before on this tropical island, but it was an arctic winter's touch that now breezed his face. A tear gently rolled down his cheek, falling over his wrinkles you could almost see the fear within it. As soon as it reached the edge of his chin, it froze.

The Morning of October 8th, 1953

9:42 A.M. - 10:59 A.M.

The jutting and screeching of the engine overpowered the sound of the propellers, slicing through the dense tropical air. Gray clouds splashed across the cockpit window like an endless sea of cotton. On the dash sat an ash tray, bouncing seemingly unnoticeably to the edge, the two cigarette buds and four toothpicks rebounded against it's glass walls. Sweat dripped onto the control handle, that was gripped by the white-knuckled fist, from the red-faced Jet Marshall. Veins bulged from his neck, tears not of fear, but of anticipation, watered his eyes. His greasy black hair splashed across his face with careless concentration. Gradually the plane grew altitude as he tried desperately to escape the grips of the storm, at any minute the plane could stall out, sending Jet and his metallic beauty P-40 into the depths of an horrifying, blue abyss.

Like a gore bat out of hells cave it shredded through the last bit of clouds, sunlight blasted the cockpit as the P-40 screeched, escaping it's heavenly grave. He quickly leveled it and then with an open jaw he gaped in awe at the sight of the alluring sunrise. The golden puffs of an unchanging ocean of clouds sat below him and the purple haze that was time and space itself shunned above him, dwarfing life itself. A smile slowly appeared upon his face and with extreme excitement he pounded his hands on the dash and then howled. Relieved he made it out of the windy clouds below. The ash tray fell on his lap, spilling the toothpicks. One landed on his knee and he popped it in his cracked lips quickly. He reached an arm over to the radio, noticing blood trickling from under his finger nail he realized the pressure changes were getting to him, but with a kind of groan expressing his careless cockiness he clicked it on. "Reporting to the Vixen Airfield, Point Calimere, do you read, this is Flying Tiger 6340, over."

A second of silence spread through the air until a response echoed against the glass cockpit as a deep voice replied. "Vixen Air Field, have we reached our destination 6340?".

"Approximately ten miles from landing zone, can I get permission to do so?" Jet brushed his hair from his face and then listened carefully as the deep voice rang out again. "Yes, you've been granted your permission 6340, safe landing, we'll be seeing you soo-" Static instantly overwhelmed the deep voice. In almost complete bewilderment he turned the station to eight. Nothing. He tried nine, then six in aggravation. "Shit..." Jet itched his chin with his thumb, anger shown in his eyes. A moment passed when a signal, not of the one before, but a different one, entered the cockpit. "Red house... Search Lights... Transylvanian Dragon, upon release, should keep... Safe air traffic from now until Halloween...Do we have an understanding?" The small voice seemed to be far away. Jet adjusted the controls and jackpot, the conversation was tapped onto.

Jet listened in with utmost curiosity. "Further more, we should have no more air flow, and if so, you know what to do, it's about to get cold fellas, it's about to get cold..." The small voice again, then a deeper one chimed in. "Meet at Red House, keep the search lights on at all times, we can't risk burnout, and remember to put the seat down Henry, Sherry's had about enough of your shit..." A quick voice jumped in and then out. "Yes Sir." The deep voice continued. "Keep the beach house on guard! I don't want to see another zippo lighter in that proximity, we all know this for god's sake." Jet decided to make an introduction, his face riddled with curiosity, he spoke. "Flying Tiger 6340, incoming airspace, requesting landing permission... Over" Static enveloped him for a few minutes and then a response from the small voice. "6340, you've entered restricted airspace, however, continue on route, we'll find a landing zone for you." Sri Lanka was not restricted airspace.Jet thought to himself. He knew this because he's flown this route more than a dozen times. "Restricted my ass, I'm landing in my routine airfield." Red began to fill his pores as anger seeped into visibility like blood flowing from an open wound. The one thing about him he despised most, his anger, was getting to him. They, however, responded. "If you don't turn back immediately, offensive action will be taken, do you under-" Jet clicked the radio off. "Bullshit.." He pulled the toothpick from his lip and snapped it in two.

He veered the plane at a downward alteration, entering the clouds once again, shadowing the inside of the cockpit.. His temperature gauge appeared to be broken, showing twenty four degrees, a sixty degree drop. The clouds, acting like a blanket of mystery finally opened up. A blue light filled the cockpit, but not from the sea. Snow splashed against the windshield, ice instantly formed on the corners and the island of Sri Lanka came into view, it's frozen tundra appearance ached the head and stomach of Jet, for never has he seen snow, and so much, on a tropical island. In almost horror he realized he must of took a wrong turn or something, sweat poured from his pores and fear entered his eyes. Where in the hell am I? Jet thought to himself. He could not answer it. He had no choice, he had to land, and so he declined in altitude, now seeing that the ocean was frozen over and that his temperature gauge read negative seven.

The plane soared through the blanket of snowy air, heading without certainty towards a frozen tundra of an island. Out of the blue and white alien world a new color was spotted. A color that instantly attracted the eye. Something orange was heading directly towards him, and fast. As it grew closer he realized it had wings, flapping wings, wings that had a much larger wingspan than his own. The orange object grew ever closer and then a sound pounded the drum of Jet's ear. A roar of a screech, that tore through the arctic air and rang chills up his neck. It's growl was horrifying and as it flew, he seen it had eyes. Teeth. Wings. A tail. His only perception of the monster was one from his childhood, a place in his memory he realized he hadn't ventured to in a long time. However, deep down, his mind picked out what he wanted to laugh at, but instead was blanketed in fear of. What flew before him looked like nothing he has ever seen with his own eyes, but instead of something he was told of; something he had only envisioned in his imagination. This creature was something Jet could only depict as a Dragon, of course he knew that was impossible and that it surely wasn't, but it looked identical to his childhood's perception. Blood seeped from under his finger nail, he headed directly for the creature in what could only be described as a game of chicken with horror itself.

He wiped the sweat from his forehead, only smearing the blood from his finger nail across his eye brows. With utmost determination he got closer and closer to the beast, it started to show some concern, as the propellers might of finally posed as a threat to the oncoming creature. Jet's angle was one that kept him heading towards the island, yet at the same time abled him for battle, though his Tiger P-40 hadn't seen any since the early 1940's, but his luck couldn't be that bad, it had to still be in fighting condition, his life depended on it now. The bird like creature flapped sideways and stretched across the blue sky behind it, another screech bellowed from it's jaws as it winded around. Jet's P-40 pressed on. The monster remained stationary mid-air. It was waiting for Jet. The closer he got the more horrifying this event became. The intelligence the creature expressed pressed fear into Jet's throat, causing him to choke. It's giant bat-like wings flapped effortlessly in the snowy, blistering wind. The first shells he shot out shot right past the wings, causing the creature to, in fear, drop from the sky. In surprise that he had scared it, Jet laughed obnoxiously. The next few ripped through the left wings. Blue sky shown through the gapping holes and blood dripped. Jet's fingernail was bleeding profusely and he clinched his fist in pain. He realized now that he was just going to hit the creature. He aimed right for it, and it seemed to understand. Cause it didn't move.

It lunged at his aircraft. Jet's eyes closed and then he felt the extreme shift of his plane, like it hit a wall. The engine blasted with a horrifying bellow of ruin as it came to a puttering stop. Blood splashed all across his cockpit; he was blinded. He felt the plane begin to tilt downwards as it began free falling. He desperately searched for the eject button and as soon as his bloody finger pressed it, his face was instantly blasted with a chill that made tears bleed from his eyes. Confused and in complete shock at what had just happened he looked around him. Through the thick snow he seen his P-40 falling next to him. All across the front blood was gushed, the propellers bent to a horrifying degree. In a panic he realized the creature must still be flying around. He glanced around and then spotted the orange skinned beast. It too was free falling and with a splash he could almost hear it, it careened into the ice below, not shattering it, but sending puddles of thick, warm flesh and blood across it's scape. It obviously struck the propellers of his aircraft. How lucky. Jet thought briefly as his legs smashed onto the ice. He was blanketed by his parachute. In complete exhaustion he debated to just stay there, as it shielded him from the wind. He pulled the red parachute off of him and then looked up, only to see his bloody P-40 headed right for him.

With a ungodly erge to get out of the way he quickly un strapped the vest and then dove to the right. Behind him water from the impact splashed him and then he felt the ice begin to rise from underneath of him. He turned around to see the plane mashed into the ice, his red parachute fluttered up, almost blinding with the blood. He was on a slab of ice that jutted up at a sixty degree angle, and rising. Then he realized it was beginning to crack all around him. He climbed the rest of the way up and then jumped off, rolling on the ice below he stumbled to his feet. It slowly sunk as Jet started to run towards the islands, fear pierced his thoughts and the freezing wind blistered his hands and face. Behind him the P-40 vanished under the ice, a light mist surrounded the area. Jet recognized the upcoming small island as the Emerald Isle. The place he used to love was now an arctic ruin, from where he was he wasn't even sure if anybody would be alive. He walked past the steaming pile of bat that was the beast he got attacked by. It was too hard to make out anything except it's face. The eyes had turned as gray and white as the clouds above. It's teeth were jagged and sharp, and it looked like a crocodile, with the exception of the wings. Jet continued to walk, the negative degree weather pounded him, he was just about fifty yards from the Isle now.

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