Sunday, November 15, 2009


February 16th, 2006

To the Shootout!I run out of the coffe shop to go to the shootout, but then I realize that I have no way to get there, and I have no guns.I stand there looking stupid for a second, with the bright sun glaring on me and looking pissed off. OK, to the motel room, THEN the shootout!
I walk back to my shitty motel that I rented out last night and then grab the M16A4 and the Desert Eagle XIX .44. The building is twenty blocks away, so I can't walk there. I hot wire a truck and drive over to the address. When I get there, there are so many sirens going off that you can hardly hear the gunshots, and the squad cars are packed so close together you can't even walk through them without jumping over a hood or two. I ask an officer who doesn't look busy how many terrorists are in the building.
"Uh, we don't, uh, know for sure, but uh, I- er, uh, we- think that ders about fifteen a dem in dat deur building, ya." His neanderthal-type accent is really strong, and I resist slapping him across the face and yelling at him about grammar, and instead politely say 'thank you' and walk away. Now I face another problem: How am I gonna get in with all of the police there, especially when I'm wanted? Then, suddenly, an idea smacked me as hard as it could across the jaw. Time to jack a badge. I walk past an officer with a badge on his belt and slowly slide it off. I then clip it to my own belt and put on sunglasses. I waltz up to an important looking fellow.
"Hi, I'm the hostage negotiator with the FBI that you called." I flash him my badge and then walk around the back of the building. I hear him yelling something after me, something like this: SH*T! WE DIDN'T FU*KING CALL UP FOR A GOD DAMNED HOSTAGE NEGOTIATOR, THERE ARE NO FU*KING GOD DAMNED HOSTAGES! WHAT THE FU*K ARE YOU DOING, SOMEONE GET THAT FU*KER!!!" I spin around, crack off four or five shots with the Desert Eagle, miss every time, and then sprint into the back door of the building and lock it. I feel a small little amount of relief, only enough to turn around and see a 7 foot tall monster of a goon with gross yellow teeth grinning a big dirty grin and big bulging bug eyes staring at me. In all honesty, he reminds me of a T-Rex on crack. Shit.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I 'pop a cap in his ass' with the .357, but he just bulks up, swats at his shoulder as if he was stung by a bug, then lifts a big ol' .12 gauge, but I duck and grab it, trying to keep the barrel away from me. He's a lot stronger then I am, though, and throws me off it against a trash can, and I fall onto it with a nasty clatter as it tips over. He takes aim at me again, but, I lift my Desert Eagle and SHOOT THE SHOT GUN BARREL FROM 20ft AWAY!!! WITH A DESERT EAGLE!!! ONE HANDED!!!(The author would like to confess that I am yelling 'thug life biatch when I do this.) It's sufficiently busted up, so he throws it aside at leaps at me with bare hands. I roll to the side, though, pull up my weapon, and fire it until it clicks (three times). But then, get this, he gets back up and gets me with a left hook in the jaw. Shit, that fist could probably bust through a wall. I'm sent sprawling across the cold concrete floor with a ringing head. I stumble to my feet. I pull my M16A4 on him, only to find that it's not there, and it fell off of me when he hit me. He spits blood. I spit a tooth. He holds up his fists and becons with them. I sigh and wing at him with a right jab. He takes it, and doesn't even bother to duck. I jab three times with both hands until, on the sisth time, he grabs one of my arms and twists it. I keel over, then he pulls me up and gives me another one of those face-busting hooks. I duck, but then he bets me with an uppercut, then a right hook. I land next to the toppled over trash can. He cracks his neck, spits out more blood, then slowly staggers over to me. I roll over to get up, and then feel a hard pole on my back. I scooch over to see a four foot long, three inch thick, metal pipe. I lift it up, stand up, and then hide it behind me. He rushes at me to finish me off, but then I crack him in the jaw with the pipe. He spits aout a tooth. I do it again. He spits out another tooth. I whack him five more times as hards as I can, baseball style, two handed, and he spits out a bunch of teeth and blood at once, then falls over. I reload my Desert Eagle, grab my M16A1, then go upstairs. But before I do, I grab the bug guy's moon badge and put it in my pocket. It could be useful for later. But for now, it's time to go kick some Chinese cult ass.

Wednesday, October 14, 2009



February 14th, 2006
I decide to take a run for it, and its all like betchew betchew betchew, and there are bullets zinging around everywhere, kicking up dust and causing general chaos with the alarm blaring and the floodlights going back and forth, and me bouncing around like a kangaroo that just chugged five cans of Red Bull, going like whew whoop whoosh while I do, trying to find were my guns are... then having to go back into the prison compound, stealing a guard's gun and asking him where they are, and then, after all of that, he says that they're confiscated and aren't here. I ask him where they were, then he says the confiscation room at the local sheriff's office... I knock him down and sprint like hell to the prison gate, shoot the chain link in a little line and dive out the hole. I made it.
February 16th, 2006
It took a bunch of lies and me dressing up as a police officer to get my stuff back, but eventually, I did it. Now to find Mr. Secret-cult-guy. Well, I go and check out the San Diego Airport, but, unfortunately, no luck. Aahhh. what to do? How will I find them. I go to a coffee shop to think it out. Once I get there, I sit down on the way to big leather couch with a Fredochino (The manager's special version of a "Frapachino") and start to think. I get distracted by the TV and start watching it. It's all pretty dull, except the stuff about the troops in Iraq. Then the CNN lady starts talking about a shootout. I ask the guy behind the counter to turn the volume up. "A group of men have taken hold in an abandoned office building in a shootout with the police. They have been identified as the known and powerfulcult Wu´di´ Lύjῡn, Mandarin for Invincible Army. They are involved in criminal activities across the globe. We don't yet know why they're in San Diego, but more to come as the story comes." Dammit. I didn't even get to finish my Fredochino. Ah, well. Off we go!

Saturday, October 3, 2009


I've realized that this is the second prison breakout this blog has had so far... oh well. AnYwAy... whoa, that was cool. Anyway...

February 14th, 2006
I sit in my jail cell, just waiting. It's pretty bright, since we're so close to the city, and the noises of it gently whisper off in the distance. The air is humid down here, thicker then I'm used to... it's hard to breath. Birds have stopped chirping a while ago, so otherwise, it's dead quiet. But still, I lay on my cot, waiting. Because at 12:18, I'm breaking out. For some weird reason, I'm in a low security section of a prison, so It shouldn't be too hard, but still, I've gotta be careful. I take the ketchup packets I snuck out of the mess hall today and squeeze the thick liquid into my hair and a little onto the side of my head I look at myself in the mirror, mush the ketchup around a little bit, flip my cot sideways and get under it, then I scream for the guard. He comes and curses a little bit and then unlocks my cell. 'shit, what happened?' he asks me as he lifts the cot up and pulls me to my feet. Luckily he leaves the cell door open. I flip him, pin him onto the ground with my knee, and with one hand I cover his mouth and with the other I push his nerve as hard as I can against his neck, and after about three minutes I've cut off his blood stream. He's unconscious. I've always liked that trick. Anyway, I take the keys out of the door, lock him in, and then run. I'm not unlocking the other cells for three reasons. For one, they don't really like me. For two, that would take a lot of time and the guard would find out. And three, They've all done really bad crimes. I wouldn't want a hundred family abusers, murders, and arsonists running around the city. So I run, whisper quiet past the cells and into the prison yard. Then I hear sirens. The floodlights beam on and across the prison yard. The night guard must have seen the one I knocked out. The floodlight catches me. Only one thing I can do know. GERONIMOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!

Friday, October 2, 2009


I'm not taking MY sneakers off... NEAH! Anyway, let's get back to the story...

January 29th, 2006
And now in the blink of an eye, I'm back in Kuwait... I'm running through that village like a madman, not having any control over my body, just doing things by instinct... kind of the opposite of battle fatigue, bloodlust, not thinking, trying to think, doing things I didn't know I could or would do... kicking down doors, blasting up anything that moved, even killing a few civilians... shit. Then I see Teddy take one in the side, and another in the chest... oh god, not Ted... not another dead friend... I see the Iraqi that shot him and I run up to him and crack him over the head with the butt of my rifle... I see the blood dripping down his forehead and only feel satisfaction... I drop my rifle and punch him in the face with my bare hands... again and again... and I don't stop... like I said, no control over my body... just whacking him and whacking him as hard as I can... he feebly tries to defend himself by holding up his hands in front of his face, but i just grab him by the shirt, pull him up and keep hitting him... his jacket is soaked with blood, and so is my fist, but I just keep hitting him... he tries to get away, but i go after him and slam him down onto the ground... as soon as I know it the other men from my platoon are there, at least five of them holding me back, five more running over to help that poor guy, and I just keep pulling at them and trying to break free, screaming, yelling, my eyes wild and bloodshot, struggling to break free, fighting my unit, hoping on my adrenaline rushing through me to give me strength to break loose and beat on him again... holy crap, what am I doing? Then, CRACK! I feel pain, except not really, and I come crashing to the ground... and then, right when I go unconscious in my weird coma world, I come conscious in the real world...
"Hell, this guy is a tough one!" I hear my doctor yell. He looks at me. "You've got some heart there, buddy. One second, your perfectly fine, and then your vitals flatline, just like that, then your heart starts beating like crazy! It keeps doing that over and over again!" he's young, I'm guessing about mid-twenties, and seems really excited. I try to get off the bed, but a screaming pain inside my chest tells me not to... I open my shirt, only to find my entire body wrapped in gauss. What happened? I look at my right fist. The knuckles are still gnarled and misshapen... that was one hell of a day. The heart monitor goes back to normal again, and one by one the doctors leave. Each one asks me a few questions about my health and crap like that, and then, eventually, they all leave... and the room is empty... including me... It feels like I'm not quite there, it feels like I'm somewhere else, whether its in the Middle East or my apartment in Toronto... I'm defiantly not in this hospital bed.
February 7th, 2006
I've been recovering in the hospital for a while, and the doctor says I'm 'all stitched up and better', so three officers eve so kindly escorted me to the nearest police station. Questioning time.
"And so, let me ask you, why are you doing this in the first place?" asks one of the cops. I dunno, I reply, but I know thats not true. It's just something about leaving a dead man's wishes untended seems immoral, even if you didn't even know the person. It's just... wrong. "So you have no motives at all?" the second cop asks. Nope, I say, and before I can say slinky I'm in a jail cell, and before I can say slink I'm thinking up an escape plan.

Tuesday, September 29, 2009

Its been a while

It's been a while, but I'm back... BIT****!!! Anyway, let's continue with Mr. Blank, shall we?

?????, 1990

I slowly ease back into consciousness. Where the hell am I? I ask myself. I don't really know, but wherever I am, it sure is... sandy?
"Come on, Corporal, get up!" It's Sergeant Rico, yelling at me... heck, am I back in the Middle East? I roll over, only to find my gun, lying there in the sand. I hear a voice to the left of me.
"Stop worryin', he'll be fine," It's Bloom! I am back in the Middle East after all. The Sergeant offers me a hand, and I take it. He pulls me back to my feet, and I'm in that state where, you're not quite stable, but aren't dizzy either, when everything is just shaking back and forth. I brush the sand off of me and pick up my weapon. What happened?, I ask the Sergeant.
"You got hit by shrapnel from an enemy grenade. Come on, you gotta help us take this village," He says, and the next thing I know, my entire platoon is there, surrounding the Iraqis in the village... now all of a sudden, we're running through the coarse, yellow, sand... wait... that's funny... the sand isn't coarse at all... I cant even feel it... anyway, we're running... and now, quick as lighting, we're clearing out the village... not many opposers here, only civilians..., then, BAM! An Iraqi nails Johnny in the head through an open window, and the whole place comes alive with fire. I keep shooting until I run out of ammo, and then I reload my M16A4, come to think of it, it's the same one I had in Toronto... TORONTO!!! I yell, and spring up in the hospital bed, making my doctors jump. Wait a sec... hospital bed... doctors... I look around, only to see my X-ray... with two broken ribs and a cracked skull... I feel my warm, gooey blood trickling down the side of my head like a slow moving worm, crawling towards an apple. I start to feel light headed and everything is blurring again, so I take my chance and I ask the doctor what day it is. January 29th.

Saturday, April 11, 2009

The next powst

AAAAAAHHHH!!! Whew. I'm glad I got that out of my system.

January, 16th, 2006
My mustang comes to a screeching halt as I see the old farm. I sprint through the tall grass to the giant red barn with the peeling paint and swing open the doors, revealing my plane. I drag all of my things in and start up the engine. The propeller starts to whir, around and around, making me feel a slight bit of nausea every time I look at it. I fly out. It's gonna be a long way to Tipperary. Er, San Francisco.
     January 17th, 2006
I'm finally there, and I land in an airport. And, well, guess who I saw getting off his plane? I follow the man with the button. And keep following him. Until he gets into a black town car with tainted windows. Crap. 
I jump into a cab and tell him to follow the town car, but then he says, "@#%& you," so I kick him out and drive it myself. People sure are nice in San Francisco. I drive after the town car, but the people inside must have noticed, because they keep trying to lose me. They sere in and out of traffic, gradually getting faster. Well, who doesn't like a good car chase, eh?
I'm not quite sure how fast this thing can go, but I drive it none the less. Then the guy in the passenger seat pulls out a 22 mm Beretta. Then I pull out the Desert Eagle. It took me a long time to get used to the kick back from it one handed, and even now it hurts like crazy. But I keep on firing. After a clip I'm pushing 120, the fastest this taxi will go. But it looks like the town car can't go much faster either. Then the guy with the beretta runs out of ammo and pulls out a semi-automatic something or other, so I pull out my MAC-10 and blow him away. then the guys in the back seat roll down their windows and start shooting with their semi-autos, and I keep blasting away at 'em. Then they throw smoke bombs at me and I lose all of my vision. Well, &#$% it. I pull out a coke bomb and throw it in the cloud of smoke then put the taxi in reverse. I hear the explosion, and then I seem to be going backwards much faster then I should be. Then I realize that the taxis sideways and The windshield is shattered. I feel dizzy, and everything is red and fading. I touch my forehead and show my hand to myself, covered in blood. Everything is almost faded. I can't decide who I want to find me first, the dudes in the town car or the cops. Then, My hand flops onto my chest and everything goes black.

Tuesday, March 24, 2009

Second post of new story

That clementine is still on the roof of Brian's trailer...yes. Yes it is. Well, I could go out there and get it, but I'm too lazy. There's a little bit of clementine juice there, and it's all dried up, making the roof have a little white spatter all over it. I really have no clue what to write about... oh wait! The story, right...

January, 16, 2006

Before I go on my journey, I have to go back to my apartment in Toronto to pick up a few things. I stick to the small, country roads, covered in snow, so no one will ask for a ride and delay my long journey back. After driving for eight hours, I'm back at my apartment in Toronto. I jingle my keys, becuase I like the sound, and then go inside and lock the door. I keep turning the keys until I hear the soft click. I check the traps I set around my house. No one got in.
First I stride over to my bedroom, my shoes making no noise on the soft carpet. I look around at my room: a mattress, plopped on the floor, a dresser being used as a desk. Nothing important. I lift up the mattress, findind that farmiliar cut in the carpet. I lift it up and grab my life's savings: $50,000. Then I open up my closet. My big closet. The one without clothes in it. The one full of  guns.
I take an M-16, and two MAC-10s, then I get my desert eagle, along with a SPAS 12 and my Draganuv sniper rifle. I run around trying to find ammunition for all of them. I make a couple of coca-cola bombs since I don't have any grenades, and then get my gun permit. I feel like an action here from a movie. I stop in front of a mirror and hold my guns up and then imagine myself with a cigar. Defiantly an action hero.
I pack all of my regular person stuff and then I walk to the garage to get my Mustang GT. I wouldn't want anyone coming into my taxi and see guns everywhere. So, I walk the short distance there, contemplating how old the black, hard pieces of gum on the sidewalk are. I get inside my Mustang and head off to the nearest airport. Once I get there, I realize a problem. The airport security. And they would get pretty +@&%#^* mad if I walked in there and tried to get on a plane laden with guns, two of them illegal. I decide to go and get my bush-plane, 120 miles away in the country.
Just as I'm leaving the airport, I notice a guy. A guy with a button with a crescent moon with a sword through it. I get out of my car and follow him. He walks inside the airport and checks the giant TV with the flight times, then goes to gate G-12. It's a flight to San Francisco. I run to my blue mustang and drive way past the speed limit. I watch the speedometer on my car go up. 90, 100, 105, 120, 150... I drive and swerve through the small country roads covered in snow-I'm good with cars, too- and drive to the farm where my bush plane is.

Sunday, March 22, 2009

the 411 on the next story

There are gonna be some changes in the next story. First of all, it will be in first person. I've never written this way before, so I won't be best at it. Second of all, there will be a difference of font. The purple font I'm using right now will be narration. The black courier new will be what is written in the story. So, with that it mind, let's get started.

January 16, 2006
Still driving. I've been driving for hours. Whoa! Damn minivans. I've been drivin' for hours, and probably will be for a few more. But still, it ain't so bad. I kinda like this guy. He's kinda sketchy looking, wearing that black fedora and trench-coat. He's also got a briefcase with him, and he's got a gun, so I ain't messin' with him. But he's still good company, unlike most, who treat you like moose hair. I drive fast, and then suddenly he tells me to stop. My taxi comes screeching to a halt in front of a tiny log cabin, like it was an ad for maple syrup. We're in the middle of nowhere. Woods surround us, and there's snow everywhere. He leans up against the back of my seat and hands me a roll of $100 bills. 
"It's a little extra for what your about to go through." he says. He pulls a .22 magnum out of his trench-coat along with three clips. "You might want this." he says as he hands it to me. The etched, black, no-slip grip on the handle feels cold on my sweaty hands. "Stay here with the keys in the ignition. If you here a gunshot, start up the car and I'll be here shortly. Once I get in, drive like a maniac. But if you here two gunshots,go in the cabin with guns blazing. Have you ever handled a gun before?" he asks.
"Hellz ya! I used to be a marine!" I reply. I knew everything about every gun there was.
"Good. You know the plan." he says, and walks into the cabin with briefcase in hand. I wait. I wait longer. You know how when you think it's been an hour, but then you look at your watch and its only been fifteen minutes? That's what kept happening. The heater rattles on and on. I have the radio on really low. It plays "Radar Love". Then the shot rings out, echoing through the forest. It sounded sort of like a car exuast going off. I start the car. BANG! The car exuast really does go off. No, wait- that's a gunshot. I take the .22 out and kick the door down on the cabin, and go in guns blazing. I take cover behind a overtopped steel table. I see the guy I was giving a ride to with a gunshot in him. I run as fast as I can and pull him over behind the table. HE's fading fast. Blood that looks so fake I would put it on my hotdog gushes out of the wound. He hands me he briefcase and says,
"Things didn't go according to plan... Get this to 
Yazoko Kirabiti in Tokyo...(a gasp) and whatever you do, don't
let it get into the hands of them..." He looked over the 
table, and then, he fell back with a thump. I twirled out the 
.22 and shot all five of the guys in black suits. As I said 
before, I was good with guns. I walked over the hot cabin and
crouched down next to one of the dead guys. He had a badge 
with a crescent moon and an sword through it. They were all 
wearing them. WEll, at least I would have something to do for
the next little while.

next storie?

Next Storie? Well, maybe not. First I have to wrap some things up from the last story.

     EPILOGUE: twenty years later...
Brent's Diary, January 4th, 1965
     I have passed boot-camp along with Will, and am currently being shipped off to North Vietnam. We are in the 32nd unit of the Marine Corps. We are both looking forward to our first encounter with the enemy. Dad would be proud that I followed in his footsteps. I am still troubled by his death sometimes, late at night, as is William. We comfort each other all the time, and we hope that if we die in battle, we'll also die together, as our fathers did. I never forget how he died: He saved his entire platoon by distracting the entire oncoming force with nothing but the five shells in his magnum handgun, taking quite a few Germans with him. Will's dad also died in the Battle of the Bulge, by stealing a german biplane and crashing it into a unit of panthers, saving his entire platoon also.
I'm afraid it's almost time to go. I can feel the jungle heat, and it calls me. I hope I live to tell the tale to mum.

Epilogue is over now. Well, now, a new story, eh? What should it be about? Hmmm... a zombie apocalypse? Nah. ooh, I have an Idea! Yay, introduction to story!

The clock beeped.  Tim turned over. 2:30 am. it said in big red numbers. Hew couldn't sleep. He never could on nights like this. It was hot and humid outside, with a gray fog dimming the streetlights. There wasn't a sound at all. The moon was either a new moon or blocked by dark clouds. Then, he saw the lights. Cutting through the fog were red and blue lights, flashing rhythmically. There still wasn't a sound in the thick air.  It pulled up two his house, and the two police officers walked out. He heard the slam of doors, then footsteps. There was a knock on the door. Tim rolled out of bed and walked downstairs. He opened the door.
"Are you Tim Rills?" The taller police officer asked.
"Yes." Tim said. The fatter police officer pulled out a huge packet of papers.
"Your uncle Ray Blank has just died," he said. He must have seen the confused look on Tim's face. "Never heard of him? Well, he was a taxi driver in Canada. But here's the thing: He was found with five bullets in him in Hong Kong. This was found in his back pocket." he says, and hands Tim the packet of papers. Tim looked at it and read the title.

"The Life and Death of Ray Blank."

Friday, February 27, 2009


SWEDEN!! oh, sorry. SO, the last post.Um... WEll... UH... Something really weird happened to a friend of mine... he couldn't type in english... it was really weird... when it stopped, he found out it was some language called Kannada. Never heard of it. Not maple leaf Canada, Kannada. It looked middle eastern. Anyway, the story... right...
John Ficher had met with the British Colonel, and gave him the 411 on what was happening and what had happened. He understood. They had come with Germans and Japanese on their tails, so it wasn't long before they were joined with the other Germans and were planning another attack.
However, the British had come with five jeeps, ten pieces of artillery, a Tank, And something the Americans had never seen before: a British Destroyer, to combat the battleship and landing crafts and U-Boats the Germans had come with. It was a slim chance, but they prayed it would do something. Even when Ficher had another officer with him, he still felt overwhelmed. For the first time ever, he had so many troops that he didn't know what to do with them. Each post was heavily reinforced, and new posts where added, and he still had a jeep, two pieces of artillery, and fifteen men leftover. He reinforced the new posts with more men and waited. He didn't have to wait for long.
Gunshots were heard on the northern side of the island. It was the tip of the island,  where there was a giant mud-pit that used to be a bunker. The Germans had done well. They chose a good place to attack. The forces were weak there, and they couldn't retreat quickly because the jeeps would have mud in the tires, slowing them down. 
"Let's get reinforcements over their, STAT!" John screamed over the walkie talkie. No answer. Soon, gunshots were heard everywhere. The Germans were attacking everywhere where there were troops. John knew that he and Colonel McRayn were extremely outnumbered. 
"McRayn, you still there?"
"I read ya, mate. We got Krauts all over here. We're outnumbered, four to one. What about you?"
" Me and my boys haven't seen any action yet. We just gotta keep waitin'."
And wait he did. An hour passed of no action. he heard screams over his walkie talkie. There were gunshots everywhere. He just couldn't stand it anymore. He was about to scream, when he heard a crackly voice over the walkie talkie.
" We (static) backup n(static) the mid southwest of(static)-nd! WE NEED BACKUP NOW!" (static) and the transmission ended. John saw this as an escape to get into battle. 
" I'm gonna take a jeep around and take one man from each post, go give those guys some reinforcements! Smith, you're in charge. Stay here! don't leave this post!!!" they all saluted. John hopped into a jeep, and twisted the keys.
"Yippee kay yay mutha f**ka!"he whispered to himself and pushed on the gas. (Bruce Willice wasn't the first!!)
And he drove. He drove across dunes, making jumps, swerving through tank 
traps, picking up men. Soon he had four others. They drove all around, helping 
other posts, saving lives. Unfortunately, many of the battles they fought were
not victorious.
Finally, they got to the southwest side. But a tree was blocking the way.
John noticed a hill.
"No man, don't do it, Lieutenant." a G.I. said.
"It's the only way," said John. He then pushed on the gas. VROOM!! The
jeep sped forward, and they were airborne. They started to lift up out of their
seats. The men in the jeep were looking at each other in terror. John just
smiled and yelled "WAAAAAHHHOOOOOOOOOO!!!!" waving his helmet in the air.
"On three, bail." John said.
"What?!?" the G.I.s said in unison.
"Do you want to be on this jeep when it explodes?" they all shook their
"Then BAIL! One... Two..."
Rolph Wolfenstien was fighting, when he noticed a shadow growing larger 
above him. He looked up.
"Oh s**t." he said. Let's leave the rest of what happened to him up to the
imagination of our readers.
John landed and rolled, landing right behind a pile of sand bags. But not 
before he took out a few Germans with his handgun. His men scrambled for 
cover; their landings not quite as smooth as his. Unfortunately, he and soon
to retreat, alone. He hopped into a jeep and couldn't find the keys.
"S**t!" he yelled. He then realized he knew how to hot-wire a car. He
stuck his knife in and drove off, driving with one hand and operating the 60 cal.
blindly with the other. While he drove, he heard that the rest of the men had
retreated to the north western side of the island. He drove for his life. He 
swerved in between trees, jumped over hills, but this was no time for fun. It was
time for survival, and getting to the destination. It was time to do his job.
He got there, but not before the jeep had burst into flames. He sprinted
across half of the island. Soon he saw a half hearted barricade, with forty or so
men behind it. It consisted of flipped jeeps, rearranged sandbags, and quickly 
dug foxholes. He ducked in cover and sprinted behind. McRayn was there, a
beretta in his hand.
"Good to see you alive!" Frank McRayn said.
"Likewise. I hope we'll stay this way."
" Not bloody likely, by the looks of it. We're almost out of ammunition, 
and we're losin' men, fast. there's medical kits and ammunition in that 
truck over there, but as you can see, it's fifty yards away and on fire, mate."
"Well, I guess I'll have to go."
"Don't even think about it."
"Sorry, but, bye!" and John sped off. But he regretted it as soon as he took
five steps.
He was running for his life. All of the fire from sixty guns were focused on
him. He threw out his magnum and shot at them, and ran as fast as he could.
(Which he would never know was twenty-four miles an hour.)
He made it, and dived behind the flaming wreck. He jumped inside, 
grabbed the ammunition cases and medical kits, and signaled to Frank. He
held three fingers. Two. One.
"Everyone cover Ficher!" Frank yelled to his men. They did. John just 
barely made it. When he was behind the barricade, a medic inspected him. He
had been hit with three bullets, and had five one degree burns and a two 
degree burn on the back of his right hand. He felt no pain as the medic dressed
the wounds and pulled out the bullets. He was just happy to be alive.
"We've got to give up the island." Frank said. 
"NO." John said.He had sworn he would never give up the island to the 
enemy. He swore to never give up. There was only twenty out of eighty of
them left.
"I'm not going to leave. I'll give you the chance to escape. There are three
rafts. The rafts are only for five, anyway. It'd be to cramped to operate. Just go.
I can't leave.I swore to never give this island up. And I never will. A captain goes 
down with his ship. This is my ship. If this island is goin' down in flames, I'm 
burnin' with it." The men saluted him.
"See you in a few years, mate."
"I certainly hope not. Bye McRayn." And the remaining men left. John 
loaded his gun. The Germans started shooting at the rafts. John pulled the pin
out of his last grenade and said, "HEY! YOU DAMN KRAUTS!! HAVE A PRESENT!!!"
and he lobbed it over the barricade. He knew it was a successful throw from the 
screams and explosions, and the thud of bodies hitting the ground.
jumped out from behind the barricade, guns blazing.

THE END (or is it?)

Saturday, February 7, 2009


HURRAZ!!!I managed to make it happy!! So let's continue! 

Brent was happy. He had found his army man, and he fought and
 won many battles. He was running home for dinner one day when his mother 
told him that there was another family moving very close by. He was delighted, 
and he decided to do some reconnaissance. He put on some of his camouflage 
colored clothing and sprinted through the forest. He found a partially built house, and there
 were no people there since it was late at night. He didn't have a flashlight, since that would ruin his night vision. He could see very well now, and he spotted many things. But nothing was important. Signs, hammers, wood, screws, and nails were all that was there. So he wandered back home and went to sleep.
He had waited four months now, and the family had just moved in yesterday. His father was back fighting in Europe, but Brent and his mother went over to the house to say hello and welcome. They knocked on the door, and a nine year boy answered it.
"Mum, the neighbors are 'ere!" the boy said, with a cockney accent. a tall woman glided to the door.
"Well, hello! My name's Elizabeth. You must be the the O'Conners. Nice to meet you. I'm afraid Ronald is fighting in the war, but me and my son would love to meet you." said the tall woman.
"Yes, I'm Mary," replied Brent's mom, "and this is my son, Brent. His father is also fighting in the war."
"Hello, I'm Brent," said Brent as he held out his hand to the other boy. The boy shook it, enthusiastically.
"Pleasure to meet you. I'm Will." said the boy.
"Well, don't just stand there, come on in!" Elizabeth beckoned. 
They shuffled inside, and Will took Brent upstairs. His room was covered
with propaganda posters from WW2 and WW1.
"Do you like army men?" Will asked.
"Definitely. I have an island where I play with them."
"Cool. I loike 'em too. My dads in the Green Berets," he said.
"Really? That's pretty cool. My dads with Delta Force."
"Amazing. So, you wont to go play wit' some army men?"
"Of course! Just follow me to Brent Island where mine are!" Brent and Will ran 
downstairs and were soon at Brent Island. They made each other familiar with
each other's men, since Brent had never seen British army men from Britain 
before and Will had never seen American army men from America before, 
but after that was done they set up a battle and prepared to fight both of 
their Germans, Japanese, and Italians combined. It was a massive 
battle of Eighty men versus one hundred. Neither had ever seen such 
a sight. Both were exited out of their minds.

Saturday, January 31, 2009

Well, duh!

Well, duh!!! You think I would just leave you hanging there after such a depressing ending of the post? NO WAY! I'm just as worried as you! I don't know what's going to happen, I just make it up as I go along! Well, let's continue...

Lieutenant John Ficher knew he was in trouble. With a broken leg, he knew he couldn't last long out here. Then, he felt a breeze. It was small at first, but then got stronger. He knew how he was going to get back to Brent Island.

 * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 
( I hart ***!!!!)

Lieutenant Jake O'Conner had been blessed with a major responsibility. He now had to control the entire platoon. He then found out about the german platoon attacking the island. Even though he was a great soldier, him and his men were caught unawares and unprepared. Eventually, O'Conner had 12 men left and one jeep, and were barley sticking it out; they were shooting through the barracks windows and were using the cots as cover. Things looked grim. Then, something unbelievable happened. John Ficher stumbled through a secret entrance, and collapsed on a cot. His leg was half off.
Jake O'Conner walked up to him and said, "Lieutenant, what are your orders?" John wasted no time. He laid out a complicated strategy, but it would work. Soon, they had conquered the enemy. As the Germans were being driven off to the POW camp, Jake said, "It's good to have you back, Lieutenant."

Nextest story post

WELL, after 2 posts without the story, it's finally back. Yay! So, let's get started...

Brent was sad :(. He had just lost his favorite army man. But it was getting late, and he couldn't look for him now, it was too dark. So he talked to his men and told them the bad news, and then appointed Sergeant O'Conner as the temporary lieutenant. Then he went home for the night and went to sleep.
He woke up at around six, as the sun was just rising. He ran out and went to Brent island, and then jogged down the river. He searched and searched, but his beloved army man was nowhere to be found. He ran down the stream, past the little waterfall, and all the way to the end of the lake when he finally gave up. He slowly jogged back up to Brent Island, built a small memorial plaque, and then held a remembrance ceremony with his men, then made Sergeant O'Conner permanent lieutenant. There was nothing more for him to do. He slowly walked home, had dinner, and went to sleep.

Thursday, January 1, 2009

Holiday Special

Today we're going to have a holiday special!! YAY! So, here's how it will go...

A long time ago, in a Mouse-Hole far,far, away...

Twas the night before Christmas,
And all through the house,
Not a creature was stirring,
Except for a mouse.

Quietly pondering,
Sat the mouse Fred, 
Without visions of sugarplums dancing through his head.

For he could not sleep,
He knew it was true,
Because he wanted to see the big fat man
All dressed in red, not blue
Come down the chimney and deliver the presents,
It was all part of his plan.

For in secret, Fred the mouse
Was going to kidnap Santa
And make him miss every house.

He knew that a hefty ransom would be paid
And lots of money 
Would be made
For the people couldn't live
Without their precious Kris Kringle
And never again would they hear a jingle.

He did so, and got shot in the chest
But still he managed to take out quite a few of his police guests
And finally got to have a good rest.

The moral of the story: Don't try to kidnap Santa. 

Merry Christmas!