War of the World Chapter 2 | Teen Ink

War of the World Chapter 2

June 17, 2012
By AlexEvansTM SILVER, Lansing, Michigan
AlexEvansTM SILVER, Lansing, Michigan
7 articles 0 photos 11 comments

Favorite Quote:
Pessimism comes from our passion, optimism comes from our will.

Chapter Two: Dream Crusher
Matt crouched at the top of a large sand dune, so high up it reduced the bumpy desert to a bland tan wasteland, the pyramids the size of old matchbox cars. From here, he could see everything around him. Is this how we look when God stares down at us? Matt thought this through until he came to a conclusion, no, it didn’t, because to him, there was no God.
The moonlight shown down on Matt’s black hair, the sky was pitch black and the only source of light was the pale full moon that cast an eerie pale light that seemed dead and cold.

Static crackled and popped in his left ear until Snake’s voice blared through the small earpiece he was wearing. The voice came out so loudly, Matt physically winced and doubted that he’d ever be able to un-hear it.

“You in place?”


“Then c***, lock, and get ready to blow some heads off.” Snake talked so fast it didn’t give Matt a chance to respond before he cut the connection and the static faded away. Matt plucked off the earpiece, set it gently on the sand, and then stomped on it with his leather iron-toed boots, until he heard a snap, and piece was broken.

Can’t risk a trace, thought Matt, who then started aiming his sniper down towards the pyramids, and saw the white blob in front of them. Matt slowed his breathing, to the point when there was barely any air in his lungs, waiting for all h*** to break loose.

And then it did.

The tiny figure that was Snake ran across the seemingly flat landscape, until he ran up a hill every so often, getting slightly larger, and then getting smaller again as he descended the slope.

The area around Snake lit up with small, repetitive flashes as bullets loosed themselves from the clip, only to once again lodge themselves into the bodies of their targets.

The barrel of Matt’s gun shook back and forth, up and down like it had a mind of its own. Even with the hindering movements, Matt managed to keep his aim in the group of enemies, but could not bring himself to pull the trigger.
I can’t do it, thought Matt. He slumped his head, and began focusing on the sand on which he sat.
“Drop the gun,” commanded a soft voice from behind. Matt straightened his back as he felt a cold, sharp knife pressed against his spine. Blood trickled and snaked down Matt’s back like warm red tendrils.
“Who are you?” Matt was able to keep his voice calm, but he was shaking with fear, his body was covered with sweat and his face was pale with fear. His black hair was on end, pointing upwards and outwards in all directions.
“I said drop the gun, dumba**.”
Without hesitation, Matt dropped the gun into the sand. A hand from behind him reached for the gun, and then with the hand, the gun disappeared into the shadows behind him.
Matt slouched again when the knife could not be felt. He heard clinking behind himself. He’s removing the bullets, thought Matt, who had little care for that, he was simply relieved that the knife having been removed from against his bloody back.
Minutes passed, but to Matt, they seemed like hours, hours that would never end. Matt’s months of training took over as he blanked the situation. Ideas formed in his head, but all of them were too risky.
Disarm the assailant? No, thought Matt, as he dismissed the idea, he had no clue what his attacker looked like, and if he tried to disarm him the way he was taught, his attacker would know he was a solider, if he didn’t already. However, the assailant could be friendly, and that he was mistaken for the enemy.
Dozens of solutions formed in his head, and each was dismissed. After what seemed like an eternity, Matt began to believe that he was going insane.
There was a voice in the back of his head, a voice that was blurry, distorted and not his own. “Ge…oup… o…I…dra…ou…oup,” was all Matt could make out amongst his rampant thoughts. “Get…up…o… I… drag…yo… up.” The voice was getting clearer, Matt forced himself to focus and finally solved the mental enigma.
“Get up, or I’ll drag you up.”
Matt heard the message echo in his head. He felt a dull thud in the back of his head and he doubled over, his vision a blurry blob and his ears ringing unbearably. His hands immediately flew to the source of the pain and cupped themselves around it. Without even having to look or even think about it, he knew he was bleeding profusely.
Matt craned his neck around and saw his assailant: a young man, no older than twenty, his entire body covered by a tan skintight suit, but to Matt, all he saw was the man’s upper body, his legs completely invisible against the sandy landscape. He was holding Matt’s gun, the barrel was covered with blood, bullets littered the sand around his feet. Matt saw a faint movement underneath a suit, his mouth was moving.
Great, I’m not insane, thought Matt as his vision turned black.

The author's comments:
Same thing... yet again.

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