Cody's arrival
Posted: Mon Aug 20, 2018 7:45 pm
This is the last time I'll be writing you, if apologies mean nothing, neither do these photographs hanging on my wall..
Cody sat, head down, against a tree in a wooded opening in what seemed to be a large forest. He was listening to one of his favorite bands, a local band out of Michigan called THE WEAKEND. He got up and opened his eyes, his sight darting around, never fixing on anything for more than a few seconds. His left hand silently drummed against his well muscled thigh, and he chomped on a peace of gum loudly. He was thinking about his little predicament. He had been stuck in a game of survival, a game where he would have to kill people. That didn't necessarily bother him, what really was irksome was the fact that their was only one person he wanted to kill, and he wasn't here. He closed his eyes and imagined it. Sydney Crosby, alone in a locker room after a game. Untying his skates, he would not notice the pair of eyes peering out at him from a nearby locker, or when the locker opened slowly. He would not notice Cody creeping up behind him, and he would not notice the flicker of the knife against his skate blade. He WOULD however, notice the large red gash, and the blood that would accompany it in large volumes, exiting his throat. Sydney Crosby, hockey phenom, dead at the ripe age of 17 Cody smiled, noticing the growth in his pants. It was his one dream. It would end all confusion, Cody would then be the best. Cody sighed. It was not to be for a while though, first he had to get out of this shit.
He reached for the pack, and shuffled through it until he found his weapon. He pulled out a large, curved wooden boomerang, adorned heavily with Aborigonee designs. Cody almost laughed.
A boomerang was most certianly bush league.
Cody sat, head down, against a tree in a wooded opening in what seemed to be a large forest. He was listening to one of his favorite bands, a local band out of Michigan called THE WEAKEND. He got up and opened his eyes, his sight darting around, never fixing on anything for more than a few seconds. His left hand silently drummed against his well muscled thigh, and he chomped on a peace of gum loudly. He was thinking about his little predicament. He had been stuck in a game of survival, a game where he would have to kill people. That didn't necessarily bother him, what really was irksome was the fact that their was only one person he wanted to kill, and he wasn't here. He closed his eyes and imagined it. Sydney Crosby, alone in a locker room after a game. Untying his skates, he would not notice the pair of eyes peering out at him from a nearby locker, or when the locker opened slowly. He would not notice Cody creeping up behind him, and he would not notice the flicker of the knife against his skate blade. He WOULD however, notice the large red gash, and the blood that would accompany it in large volumes, exiting his throat. Sydney Crosby, hockey phenom, dead at the ripe age of 17 Cody smiled, noticing the growth in his pants. It was his one dream. It would end all confusion, Cody would then be the best. Cody sighed. It was not to be for a while though, first he had to get out of this shit.
He reached for the pack, and shuffled through it until he found his weapon. He pulled out a large, curved wooden boomerang, adorned heavily with Aborigonee designs. Cody almost laughed.
A boomerang was most certianly bush league.