Part of my Story.
April 13, 2007 11:10pm CST
This is a second part of the story i have already posted a clip of. You can find it in my discussions if you want to know what led up to this. To everyone who has read the first part, Max has now crawled into the abandonded farmhouse...Now feel free to critique me, I'm a bad typist and bad with grammar lol. but i take any criticism, big or small; detailed or...not lol. Thanks! Max woke with a start. His body trembled. He told himself it was the cold, but he knew that his body was weakening from the loss of blood. He looked around, confused at where he was. Then he remembered crawling in here and…He looked down. The box of matches lay on the floor by his fallen hand. He picked it up, hand’s still shaking. He pulled a match out, wincing from the pain. He tried again to light the match. To his dismay a flame appeared on the first stroke. He pivoted his body a little and pressed the match against the banister. It didn’t spread; instead it ate up the match and bit his finger. He dropped the match and brought his thumb to his mouth. He cursed under his breath. He tore another match out and lit it like a pro. This time he tossed the match a few feet away. It lay on the ground and quickly burned out, not even scarring the wood. Max shook his head. The matches won’t light on the wood…why won’t the matches light on the wood?! He scratched his head and froze with his hand resting in his hair. He closed a fist around his hair and pulled. His whole body ached as he fought with it to release his hair. A sudden jerk brought his hand away from his head, he yelled in pain. He brought his clutched fist to his face. A lock of his hair sprouted from between his fingers. He rubbed the hair off his hand onto the floor next to him, molding into a small pile next to the stairs. He got on his hands and knees and moved himself away from the stairs. He tore another match from the packet and turned. He sat on his legs and lit another match. He put the match under his sacrificed hair and watched as it blew a spark on the tangle of DNA. It spread and soon the pile of hair was in flames. Max leaned forward and blew on it gently, pushing the flames towards the stairs. Now with fuel, the fire grasped onto a sliver of wood and multiplied itself. The first step was soon engulfed in flames that crawled up the stairs and railing. Max turned and began crawling out of the burning house. He tried to leave the house in record time. He was almost to the door when he began to feel dizzy. His head pounded and the butterflies in his stomach came to life. He fell forward, planting his face against the wood. He reached his arm forward, trying to pull himself farther. He could see the steps on the porch, he could smell the snow outside. But he could not reach it. The fire climbed up the stairs and attacked the walls. The smell of burning wood filled Max’s nose, the smoke filled his lungs. He lifted himself with his arms, coughing. His leg’s refused to move. Max dragged himself about a foot, then dropped again. He rolled over on his back. The fire filled the second story and now made it’s way towards him. Max just lay there, watching the killer closing in for a final attack. Max felt pressure under his arms and his chest was lifted a few inches off the ground. He began gliding across the floor. He rolled his head back. A trooper he had seen at the station before, but never really talked to, was pulling him out of the fire. When the cop felt they were at a safe enough distance he stopped. Two more familiar faces surrounded Max as one went to his side and the other took his feet. The three of them lifted him up and walked away from the burning house. As they lowered him, his back was met by cushion. Another man placed an oxygen mask over Max’s mouth and covered his legs with a thin blanket. The paramedic unbuttoned Max’s shirt. He snatched a bottle from a kit in the back of the ambulance, poured its contents onto a sterile bandage and gently taped it over the gunshot wound in Max’s stomach. He repeated the procedure for the second wound. With each breath, Max felt like he was being shot all over again.