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»jeremiah kennedy [/fancypost]
I'm screwed. Jeremiah thought as he stared death in the face, its hollow cheeks and dead eyes watching his every move as it approached quickly. 'It' was a zombie, well not exactly, there may be a soul trapped inside its degrading bones, but he didn't have time for that mental debate at the moment. Jeremiah turned on his heels racing up the creaking stairs, he knew he should of dealt with the spawn but there were around ten to twenty more located yards behind. They just f*ucking appeared, out of absolutely no where. You just had to loot one last house Jeremiah thought to himself as he scrambled around desperately. His feet automatically shuffled towards the first open door he saw upstairs, and he darted towards the room. Death was still on his tail, the boy sprinted inside swerving his body around and slamming the door in its face.
Once inside he glanced around, finally allowing himself to take a breath. Hands on hips and bent over he observed the faded pastel blue walls and dusty toy trains, a frown appearing on his face. This room resembled his childhood room, all boys went through the car and train phase. Jeremiahs memories were cut short as loud bangs began to echo through the house and the sound of groaning became louder. The boys demeanor shifted completely as he stiffened, he made his way over to a bed side table and pushed it with ease towards the door. The creatures would certainly be able to gain access to the room, seeing that they, themselves, were as strong, if not stronger than him. He looked at his work unsatisfied, the only other item he could move was a shelving unit but the noise of dozens of toys falling from it would draw even more attention to his current location.
Jeremiahs gaze was diverted immediately when he heard the sound of furniture scraping, the bed side table had been moved and the door was cracked open. Jeremiah saw deaths eyes and its hands grasping at air. He mumbled various profanities, as he turned towards the small window of the room. He took in a large breath of the stale air. His fingers desperately gripped the window, and he tried with all his might to tug it open. His heart-rate quickened, beads of sweat running down his face. Every look back the door was opened wider, the bed side table moved further until it was open completely. Open completely unlike the window in which he had been struggling with, it had seemed shut over the years and his effort proved pointless. Jeremiah took one last attempt at escaping by throwing his upper body at the window, not even a mere crack appeared. And with that he turned on his heels, smirked and openly accepted his fate. Whats the point of fighting the inevitable?
Two bullets left, and a three inch switchblade. One twenty year old, and twenty zombies. They were pouring in and all he could do was just scream because after all it was human instinct. At least he was going out with bang.
note: a little rushed but not entirely bad :-)
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