Max und Jens Projekts
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A life in the Troubles (English)

A life in the Troubles by Jens

Jack stepped out into the street. The damaged front door of his apartment groaned as if bearing the weight of the entire world as he closed it behind him, stepping over the threshold. He wrapped his coat tightly around him as the biting cold wind tossed his hair and penetrated his clothes with icy tendrils. Looking left and right, Jack continued along the dark empty street.

The pavement was cracked and broken like black veins running across the charred ground. Everywhere were scorch marks and about thirty feet ahead of him, Jack could make out a large crater, about ten feet in diameter, blown into the black asphalt. As Jack neared the destruction, he saw a small fire burn in the heart of the crater, struggling to stay alight in the damp air.

Overhead thunder rolled through the dark, ominous clouds like a thousand trampling hooves of giant beasts. A bolt of lightning cut the sky, a white scar across the clouds, startling Jack and leaving an imprint in his vision. The ear-splitting thunder chased the light away, preceding the following rain by mere seconds.

Jack was level with the crater by now. The scarce warmth of the flames did almost nothing to help ease Jack’s discomfort before it was mercilessly extinguished by the ever increasing rain. Jack pulled his hood over his already wet hair, and proceeded into the next street.

As he carefully turned the corner, he laid eyes upon the next scene of devastation. Five cars were scattered across the street, upturned, smashed, burning or otherwise damaged and destroyed. The street was torn open by many previous explosions and bullet shells littered the floor. The four grisliest objects lay on the ground fifteen feet from where Jack stood.

Four bodies lay splayed there, bullet holes displayed on there chests and heads, debris and blood surrounded them. Jack stared at them for a moment, then walked up to the nearest body and picked up the man’s gun and ammunition. He also noted that the man belonged to a terrorist group by the look of his clothes. Many terrorist groups fought in the streets of the city.

Jack kept walking, keeping to the shadows and trying not to make any noise. Anywhere an armed person could be waiting for an unlucky by passer they could rob. His finger on the trigger of the gun he advanced to the next car. His heart hammering against his chest, he checked under, behind and in it for possible killers. Continuing with this procedure, Jack traversed the street after what seemed like an hour and strode down another road.

The fog was thick here, hanging in the air as if waiting for something to happen…holding its breath…. There were figures moving in the mist. He could make out a group of men. Jack stood stock still, not daring to move. Maybe, if he didn’t move, they wouldn’t see him?

He had no time for another thought, for another speculation of how he could die in seconds if the men detected him.

An explosion a few feet away ripped him off his feet, throwing him into an open doorway. Pain surged up his right leg. He touched it and felt a warm, sticky liquid on his fingers. He couldn’t panic; he wouldn’t. He had had similar injuries before. Trying hard to ignore the searing pain, Jack reached inside his coat and produced rolls of bandages. Hands trembling, he wrapped the soft fabric around his calf.

He stood up, leaning mainly on his left leg. Then he looked around the corner of the doorway to see what had occurred till now.

He didn’t have time to take in much, however, as a machine gun roared and thirty bullets struck the cold stone inches from Jack’s head.

Panting, he made up his mind. Jack stepped out of his hiding spot and turned his gun in the direction of the men he had seen. One of them saw Jack and trained his weapon on him. Jack aimed…then three shots rang out… and three bodies dropped to the hard cracked earth with a bullet residing in their skulls. Jack was not among them. Shocked at his reflex and marksmanship, heart battering his ribcage, the survivor ran to the end of the road to take his mind of the grim scene now behind him.

Five minutes later he reached his destination: the grocery store. The whole rainy way Jack looked up and down the streets, left and right at every doorway or crossroads as if he was paranoid. But this precaution was necessary lest somebody take him by surprise and kill him. He encountered no one. The silence was absolute, heavy with death and past violence, threatening to drown him. The oppressive scenery was as dark as ever.

On arrival, he quickly retrieved food from the wreckage of the store, put it in his pockets and made his way back home. He hadn’t gone far when he heard footsteps…behind him. Not looking back he bolted, running at top speed, zigzagging across the uneven road.

Panic and fear made him oblivious to the pain in his wounded leg. The blood pounded in his ears. Bullets whizzed past him, missing him by inches. He was still alive when he was nearly at the next crossroads. This knowledge drove him to run faster; he wanted to make it. Adrenaline fuelled his sprint.

But then men appeared in front him, blocking the street. They were probably an enemy terrorist group of the one behind him, but they were still hostile to him, too.

Suddenly, Jack felt empty. Desperation filled his mind. Hope left him. He heard the wind like the last breath of a dying man, the gun shots around him like snapping bones, the thunder like a furious, raging animal, his heart beat like a war drum… What happy metaphors, thought Jack, grimacing. A man in front of Jack raised a missile launcher. A missile is grinning at my face… not good.

With all his might he jumped into a nearby doorway, into the house, just as the missile shot past him, exploding in a deafening boom! Then Jack ran up the stairs onto the roof, and, feeling the pain in his leg and in the rest of his body again, tried to look for a safe way home.

Diese Angaben sind wie immer ohne gewähr aber mit Pistole!!


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