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Chuck Shurley: that beardy dude with the laptop. (capriciousgod) wrote in wariscoming,

As the flashlight disappeared into the blackness all around, Chuck lunged at it, which was probably what sealed his fate. Moving like that, it was stupid - there was a reason he wasn’t on patrols, why he kept to the inside of the camp and his ability to use guns was limited to target practice with fixed targets, and he wasn’t even any good at that. He got the flashlight, though, straightening victoriously, and then there was a gunshot.

For a second, he was confused. He didn’t shoot - he hadn’t even had his finger on the trigger, he’d only barely gotten his hand around it before he got sidetracked by the fallen flashlight - so where had that...

...and then the pain kicked in, it felt like something had slammed into his abdomen and from there lit him on fire except he didn’t think he was on fire because he didn’t see anything bright or firey, and who was that making that weird, pained keening sound, anyway?

Oh. That was probably him. Same as the wobbly “Oh God oh God oh God,” he was hearing now, right? That sounded like his voice. And this - the ground, the angle of the faint faint starlight, the hardness of his gun under him and the flashlight in his hand - this was all familiar. This was his vision. He was dying.