"Gramps always said if you want to shoot a deer, aim for its head." 'Johnny... That ain't no deer.' "Pfft—same difference." BANG
Down south in the coalition, we're about the only American thing here, well us and our guns that is. My brother and I are 21st century hunters. We hunt monsters for a living. I used to have three older brothers but one died not too long ago and my eldest has been dead since forever, way back to when I was a kid.
Now Johnny is the only brother I have left. And I'm scared I'm going to lose him. "Mitch, stop being such a coward! It doesn't suit ya you know?" He says as he grabs my hand and pulls me up. 'Johnny why don't we call it a-'
"Look out!" THUD
H-he pushed me... "God damn mud monster came back from the dead"
'Johnny you're-' "Don't be such a crybaby it's just a scratch"
How can he say that when his entire shirt is blood soaked?
He's pushing back against the mud monster with all he's got. But he's not going to last long, after all he doesn't even have a proper shield. He's defending himself with his shotgun!
BANG! He fires another shot. But the monster avoids it by splitting itself in two, straight down it's center. "I don't think I can handle this so easily" he says between breaths. No, no, no, this can't happening! It's as if my worst fears are coming to life. I've never seen Johnny struggle this much in a fight.
"This ain't no ordinary mud monster, Mitch. Run! You have to run Mitch, and don't look back. Rem and I will try our best to hold this thing back" God—he's still calling it that stupid name even now. I'm talking about his shotgun, the one he named "Rem".
'It's such a stupid name' I shout as I run as far I can. I don't see it, but I'm sure he smiled at my comment. It doesn't take long before I collapse of exhaustion. I fall on a field of flowers.
'I wonder if Johnny is...' No! I shouldn't think such thoughts. I just have to focus on what I can do now. I've never been any good at fighting so there's nothing I could've done for him. I'm sure he'll be alright, after all, out of all my brothers Johnny was always the wildest.
Maybe I can call for help? I wonder through the abandoned land I find myself in. But it's all empty fields, except for bright yellow flowers nothing else seems to be here.
'Damnit! I can't lose Johnny. H-he's all I have left.' Before long, the Sun sets and I'm forced to call a quits.
"MITCH—YOU FAILED ME YOU BASTARD!"
'W-what?'
"Don't "WHAT?" me!"
'I-I don't understand-' "Yeah right, like when do you ever!?
—SMACK!—
Blegh! I vomit my stomach's contents as I'm gut punched by Johnny. 'Why are you doing this?' "Because you fucking left me to die?"
A million. No, a billion and one thoughts race through my head as he says this. 'But you told me to!' No, that's weak. That was a terrible line. I already regret saying it, I regret it more than anything else in the world. But before I can apologize, WHAM!
He smacks me across the face. I stagger, fall back, and spit some blood. He throws a slew of punches my way, but I don't even bother to defend myself. Why? Well, because I deserve it. I left him to die, so it's only fair that I- My thoughts are cut short by the sound of me choking on my own blood.
—PUKE—
The sky looks blue, almost a little too blue for this time of day. But before I can question it more, I see him, his opposing stature contrasts against the very sky itself. I'm like an ant in comparison.
My back: laid against the floor because it lacked the strength to keep my upright. He hovers above me getting ready to release one final blow.
'I'm sorry' I whisper as his fist reaches an inch from my face. He pauses, clearly shaken. And as he opens his mouth the sky starts moving quickly, as in two times speed on a recording kind of quickly. Clouds start moving across the sky and the sun and the moon switch places in the sky multiple times.
DROOP
DRIP
DRIP
Oh God.
His skin melts off his face and droops all over mine, revealing nothing but the muscle and bone underneath. His hands follow suit as the flesh falls on my mouth.—GAG—
I close my eyes in horror and... Once they're open, it's morning. The Sun shines like normal, and air has the sweet smell of pollen. I rub my eyes in disbelief of the fact I fell asleep and they're sore. The type of sore that makes me believe I cried myself to sleep, and kept crying till morning.
'I'm almost nineteen, I can't let something like a bad dream shake me this much. The boys wouldn't think it's cool' I quietly say myself. Speaking of the boys reminds me of my Johnny. I wonder if he's alright. He has to be right? There's no way he'd not be.
My hands start to shake. Even I don't believe it. That much blood loss is enough to kill a person. 'Johnny.' I say out loud, only to be met with a response from a distant voice saying "You rolled yourself into a ball? Will you ever stop being such a crybaby?"
'Johnny!' I exclaim as I run towards him. Eventually he enters view, even if only as a silhouette in a field of yellow. But as I get closer, and more and more of him comes into view, something about him seems strange.
'You—you're not Johnny are you?'
"Hahaha what gave it away?" Says the imposter, as it starts to shed it's fake skin to reveal a hard woody interior.
'You're not carrying Rem.'
"What? The shotgun?"
'The real Johnny would never abandon that thing.'
"You figured me out from just that?" It says as it reveals it's true form as a sentient tree with rough bark and spikey branches shooting out of it's "head" and "arms"
'Your white T-shirt isn't missing any buttons, Johnny lost one button in the fight against the mud monster'
"..."
"Impressive."
"But this is where you die, human!" It lunges at me and reaches arms length in a single bound.
—CRACK— It's head partly separates from it's torso revealing sharp teeth like spikes hidden within it's neck. The spikes pop out, interconnecting from the bottom of it's chin to the top of it's neck, weaving together a cursed smile.
Before it can bite off my skull—BANG— A shot fires from my revolver, tearing a hole straight through it's mouth. "Why you, what have you done!?" It says with a newly acquired lisp.
ROAR! Suddenly five thorny vines shoot from it's mouth-neck but I nail every single one them with a flurry of .50 cals from my Smith and Wesson.
It recoils, shutting it's neck-mouth shut by clutching it's woody face with its bulky furniture-esque claw like hands.
"Ouwch you filthy hooman" It slurs and draws it's words as it says this, understandably so, as I probably blew off it's equivalent of a tongue.
Green slime, maybe sap, maybe saliva, maybe both, fall from it's mouth as it gives a wretched smile. It gradually lets go of it's face then says "That's the problem with you humans, you're inferior, so you make up for your short comings with tools"
"Even an insect enjoys It's time in the sun. Well, you've had your fun! But unfortunately you're out of bullets" A sinister orange glows ignites it's eyes as it says this. —BANG—
BANG!
Two holes appear where it's black instead of white eyes bearing blue pupils used to be. "B-but, you're only supposed to have six in there" it's says as it's voice trembles.
'Well that's why we don't trust trees to do our accounting; they just can't count!' It take it's hands from it's eyes and swings them wildly in my direction. But I easily dodge the onslaught before I kick over the tree creature.
"W-w-wait please, let's talk about this"
'The time for discussion ended the moment you masqueraded as one of my brothers, Jackass!" It clumsily gets up, clawing and propelling it off the ground with it's massive hands. I slowly reload my pistol's chamber at it runs away.
"You know, I'm a terrible shot. I couldn't even hit a glorified blob of mud from a few meters out yesterday. But as Iuck would have it I don't think I can miss from this close" I take aim with the freshly loaded S & W.
BANG!
—CLICK—
BANG!
—CLICK—
BANG!
—CLICK—
BANG!
—CLICK—
BANG!
—CLICK—
BANG!
—CLICK—
BANG!
—>CLICK<—
BANG!
I cock the hammer back manually after each shot, making sure the last shot is the slowest. I'd say it managed to get 10-15 feet away. That thing sure was fast, when it was alive, that was.
The tree monster laid in a puddle of it's own green blood.
'It wasn't wrong actually, a revolver normally holds six bullets, all except mine of course. Mine holds 8.'