Guardians of the Crest

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Booksie Classic

What happens? You'll see...

Chapter 2 (v.1) - He's beheind me, isn't he??

Submitted: September 28, 2008

Reads: 86

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Submitted: September 28, 2008

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A cozy couch upon a bedraggled thin rug, the flames of the hearth soft, sucking the oxygen sparingly, fingers streaking across the thick rolls of oaken wood that cuddled against the smoldering coals…Emptiness was quite foreboding; all creature and object stationary in the portrait of the room, even the German Shepard, its muzzle thrust back over spittle glazed fangs was hushed in sleep-the macabre of it all was humorous. The dog's ears, plastered northward of its narrow, sharp skull, pricked forth a fraction of a second and then suddenly dipped.
Dreams were meant to be a joyous event; a slight escape from the monstrosity of the world, discontentment and seething anger was all the shallow pit of a crater the earth had become-even the canine was able to comprehend and realize the oblique veer of the present day events. Crime was brimming in its glory, gangs resolute to the crusades they performed, petty thieves challenged themselves to go farther in the schemes, and after all, this was better than cable television, was it not? A bloody war on your front walk!
Thumping obstructed the placid, lackadaisical bounding race after that little sneaky hare- fluffy were his coy, tiny paws that scampered about. That wee baby bunny had just been eluding capture of the sportive hound, his only intention to romp with the new friend, though the thrill of the chase was hindered. At a standstill with the bunny's gentle nose-extremely vehement at the moment- trembling curiously, the mutt's pelt, a smooth ocean of fine, velvet fibers of charcoal and earth tones, bristled. Its claws grasped the supple mud underneath, tail at attention as a cautionary premeditation pulled its frothing lips back, muscles clenched and released in it's hindquarters. Every defense was initiated; no more could be done against this invisible enemy. The do-
Smmmassh!
The dog awoke from its slumber as the door was assaulted by a heavy object, impaling and splintering the thin, delicately carved wooden, breaking loose from it's brass hinges and destroyed into two halves as figures sped into the dwelling. Tehehe…That familiar laughter rang in the air like a siren, this time there was no room for failure and 'twas this plan too simple for error. All it was is effortless as seizing the opportunity; as soon as a certain someone came home…Relaxed and maybe eased into a calm sleep…or rather was distracted for just enough time to stake out the house and plan an offensive…
A thick river of steam was trapped in the bathroom as a man stepped onto the towel that was laid upon the smooth linoleum tiles, to prevent slippage. After dusting off the beads of water that adamantly refused to latch off his soft, subtle skin, he preceded to the basin underneath the full length mirror, shimmering as overbearing lights glared down from the shafts, illuminating the room with a tender effervescence. Running a comb through his shortly snipped golden mane, slathering his underarms with the newest and hottest deodorant on the market, - his choice was currently a malodorous bar of Axe- and then finally wrapped a silken robe around his muscular, deep olive tanned frame. He even was feministic enough to dab his thin, narrow hook of a nose with a little powder, maybe pat a generous amount of rose rogue on his arching, cheek bones. He wouldn't be paying the slightest bit of attention to anything but himself, or for that matter, his reflection, that stupid self-conceited male, so a door chopped in half would only slightly prick his ear to an extent, which would be a bare minimal.
He grunted, out of spite, that his 'special time' was hindered, nothing boiled his blood more than his private time being halted, it was probably that stupid dog, always doing something…
"What the hell? Chief what are you doing??"
Exasperation coated his tongue with a heavy drawl, his husky tones lashing and whipping out in impatience. His response was only a another round of smashing; something light had had propelled about the bathroom door and there was a hassling inkling that it was new vase of high antiquity he'd just recently bought from a pawn shop in the stomach of the city, one of his 'buddies' had 'pulled some strings' to get the pottery for a ridiculously low value.
"Dear lord, what the damn are you doing??"
Heh. Was this man so thick-headed? A dog couldn't chuck a vase at a door…
The bathroom door was launched open, the man's face contorted in fervent anger, his nostrils flared to an impossible size as he witnessed a massacre; all the pictures of himself, sparkling in his godliness, were destroyed by a coating of spray paint; vases and knickknacks, of all sizes, littered the ground like trash in a dump, silvers of faces torn from their bodies, flower pots snapped in half like twigs. Chief also seemed to be missing…
Charily, did the man step through the graveyard, avoiding anything that could harm his freshly buffed toes, and made his way to his remains of a front door, weaving past that as well, to stop on his porch. Tugging the robe ever closer, his searched over the premises with wary eyes, glancing back once on the occasion that something felt ever so wrong, that someone was just waiting to assault him brutally like his door…
As he turned back on his heel, he braced himself, closing his eyes, and whisked around, this was always where the bad guy shot the good guy between the eyes. He exhaled as he peeked past his lashes, seeing that nothing was there, except a great deal of empty space. He heard his loyal pup woofing softly in the kitchen- that little devil, in a time like this, wanted his supper-. He laughed a hearty chortle, his voice twittering shakily as another shiver of anxiousness past over.
"Chief, I'ma comin', buddy…"
He bent down to brush away the rubble from the scene, just to make a path to the kitchen, when an incredible pain exploded into the pit of his stomach. He wrenched to his knees, spasms twisting his intestines whilst he could do nothing about it, his eyes sliding out of focus. Pressing his hands firmly to his abdomen, something wet licked at his fingers. He shook his head back and forth, a strained scream ripping out of his throat before another shot sped to the air, and it veered off into a pathetic wail of an animalistic being before he slumped to the floor, a third eye added between his waxed eyebrows.
A figure stepped out of the shadows, a disastrous maw of bloody mouth protruded out of a pitch black balaclava that was fit snuggly over his cranium. A handkerchief caressed the muzzle of the pistol grasped lightly in his other hand. After the gun was sufficiently cleaned, he pocketed the cloth and smirked, his mouth jagged with stubs of tooth oblique and slanted in disfigured positions, that dog was smart; it knew when an enemy was near, unlike his oaf of an owner.
The attacker whistled a dull, stiff tune as he motioned to the body, where he pillaged the goods out of the pockets of his robe and pulled out a badge of some sort.
"Thank you, Bruce…Former head of police of New York City.Hehe…I can see it now, the headlines…NYPD blue shot down…"
His jaw was slack but after finally saying his lecture of victory, it wrenched apart with a metallic sound following, a tepid growl bellow out, shaking the house as a hurricane does. The noise did not match the movement of his mouth…It need not matter.
No one could see…
No could would care…Hehe..


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