I jumped into the trench my peripheral vision seeing movement to my right I swung my M1897 shotgun and blasted before I hit the ground. I stumbled up against the side pumping my gun in preparation, in the semi light of the evening I could see the enemy raising their weapons to aim so I fired pumped fired and pumped until the way was cleared of anyone standing.
I quickly looked behind me as I'd be fucked if there was someone there but Old Knudsen's luck was holding out. I jammed a few shells into my shotgun and checked that my Webley revolver was loaded, I knew it was but it became like an OCD ritual for me.
I stepped over bodies some not fully dead yet and remembered, "They are not people they are the enemy" I save my compassion for my own men. One was a little too lively still so I angled my fighting knife up into their skull, I didn't want any working trigger fingers at my back.
I heard a voice sounding over the din of battle "I can help you over here" I started to run ready to blast anyone that got in my way and I slammed the generic hemorrhoid cream doon onto the conveyor belt. I looked into the cashier's face and only saw the emptiness of a wasted existence.
Once out of Wal-Mart I just walked until I was out of sight of the place. I got to a low wall and allowed my body to break doon, I sobbed and shook as I searched for my cigarettes my fingers clumsily opened the box , damn it was empty . Wal-Mart was the only place for miles, could I go back in there? if I did I'd lose my soul into the abyss for sure, I fingered my Webley a fleeting image of blood and brains splattering over the wall behind me flashed through my mind.
"No!" I said out aloud with tears streaming doon my face, "The crows will no be feeding off Old Knudsen today" I applied some cream to my itching anus and set my jaw in determination.
I *bummed a fag* off some fella at the bus stop and went home, the Mini Mart would be less dangerous but my OCD would compel me to buy beer too that would be the price of my strategy .
*Not in a ghey way*
