/lit/ - Literature

>>21697991
He was no longer moved by courage, but only by the weak force of his own legs. He could not afford to give in to his fear, but the sense of terror that hung over him like a suffocating shroud made every step a struggle, every pace a heartbeat jump.

The door. He finally reached it. From the many that he passed through, this one has no intrinsic merit, no difference large enough to be noticeable, not destroyed enough nor well maintained. But this is the one. A single blink is enough for his distorted mind to see beyond the realm of what is, to what could be. and beyond that door, many things could be.

Blood spray out of bodies, hot lead traversed cloth, his rifle danced through the targets in the most sinister moves. Slow is fast, fast is slow - stop, look, listen, smell. He then opens his eyes, from what seemed to be a fever dream, a dream of what was yet to happen.

In a comical try to imitate his mind, he swings his rifle as he did so lively moments ago - Mistimed, misdirected, misguided. his rifle tangles among the threads of his own psyche. The reality of space, weight and skill crashes his momentary beliefs. Embarrassed, he tries to make up his mistake with an even larger one, as he foolishly bashes the door with his shoulder.

The integrity of the door is low enough to make even the weakest strike force it open, but his smile is quickly wiped out of his face as he sights the first silhouette. Completely exposed, he tries to shoot it as fast as possible, but rushing it only makes him miss the first shoot. Trying to compensate for it in the heat of action, he shoots it five more times, only stopping due the movement of the second in another room.