Hello ladies and gents! It seems I'm not dead after all. This little diddy down here is a short story I scribbled down in the middle of the night some time ago. It's just a oneshot, and a short one at that. Nothing to really impress you.
Anyway, this story just kind of jumps right to what seems to be the conclusion of a giant battle or something, so I'll sum it up so it makes sense:
Rayman has been ambushed by a large platoon of Hoodlums; having been lead into a trap by somebody (who that is is up to you) who he thought was a friend. He beat them off of course, but not after getting seriously wounded.
Kay, on with the crap.
Abandoned. Betrayed. Left to die. The thoughts stung almost as the bullet hole in his side. He pauses, loud and uneasy gasps radiating from the quivering frame. The hand clutching the wound squeezes tighter as another dagger of agony buries itself deep into his side. A strained cry escapes his lips. He hunkers down, trying to ignore the icy wind tearing at his battered face.
It was a trap...
His mind whispers, faltering for a moment as he almost collapses. Eyes again close tightly and lips part in a silent scream of pain. Another huge wave of ice-coated wind blasts him from behind; it is all he can do to keep from falling over. With a stubborn push, he puts one frozen foot forward, almost crying out. He swallows hard. Slowly, with each painful step, the battered boy limps on, hands stained red from holding the wounds. Another shock of agony goes through him, this time from the back of his head; Were the second bullet had almost gone through. Again he halts abruptly, frozen in place by the pain and the frigid air. Both his side and head are pulsing now, both bleeding without cease.
He tries to take another step, but the movement is too much. As soon as his foot inches forward, a savage jolt of jagged pain collides with the back of his skull. A loud and traumatized scream rips out of his mouth, along with a river of blood. He twists sharply to the right, then topples forward sputtering blood. He lands on his hands, palms quickly sinking three inches into the snow bank. Agony rips open his side and sends blood shooting into his lungs. He coughs savagely, spraying more blood across the virgin snow.
A couple more chokes, a cough and then he halts suddenly; breathing heavily through bloodied lips. He lay frozen again, muscles constantly straining to keep him from falling face-first into icy hell . He is so low to the ground already, that the tip of his nose grazes the surface of the newly fallen sheet of snow each time he exhales. Again his eyes clench shut.
No..it..can't...end here...
He pushed up weakly, dragging himself forward through the snow with his hands. He stops when the dizziness overtakes him. He heaves, gasping desperately between bouts of pain. The world is slowly getting fuzzier and black shades the edges of his vision. After a few more desperate gulps of air, his strength finally gives way. Rayman collapses into the sea of white. For long moments he lay still, numb from the pain, the cold. Soft snowflakes fall from the blackening sky, a few alighting atop his nose.
A dream...It's all a dream...The snow is beautiful...
Is this the end?
"No..."
He whispered, then louder.
"No, no... NO!"
He screamed, hands clawing at the bloodied ice.
"IT WON'T TAKE ME! NEVER!"
Hands flying; clawing, groping at the snow, dragging the mauled body forward and sinking deeper. He beat at the white beast, taking fistfuls of snow in an attempt the escape the white devils grip, staining the once pure snow with smudged and bloody hand-prints. Amidst the screaming and thrashing, the struggling, a silence cuts in. Finally his screaming voice dies away. Shortly afterwards so did his writhing and he lay still. Breath slows, eyes glaze over, and the world flickers to a bright shade of white. Soon his thoughts cease as well as feeling, pulse slacking as the invading cold strikes true. Coldness seeps into his quivering body, gripping it in the cold iron mask of death. And then, if he had been able to think, to feel, he would have felt his own heart stop.
Nothing now, just a corpse in the snow. Fresh blood still leaking from open wounds, innocent snow reddened by the stain of spilt blood. Alone, in a white wasteland. Betrayed by loved ones; cold and lifeless.
Abandoned.
...but not forgotten.
A sparkle, a shimmer of light in the distance. A shadowed figure appears out of the blizzard, one arm up to shield herself from the winds, and another clutching a flickering lantern. She calls out a name, cries louder then screams it, desperate to find the one she seeks. Finally her searching eyes flitter across his resting place, noticing the peculiar lump in the snow. She rushes forward, cry of joy from her recognition transforming into a scream of horror as she sees the body half buried in white. She falls on her knees, ignoring the bloody smears sprinkled all around like dirty smudges. Quivering hands turn over the cold body. They touch him slowly, feeling for warmth, for life. She calls out his name desperately, but there is no answer. Hands are still moving about him, still somehow hopeful even as tears gather behind her eyes. His wounds are fatal, his lost blood cannot be replenished.
The cold winter devil has sealed his fate.
But wait!
Just as her hope dies away; just as the dam of emotion is about to break, he moves. A bloody hand twitches. A moan, the lifeless body stirs slightly. Two blue eyes stare up at her, blink, then a crooked smile plays at his lips. He has done it again. Denied death of its meal. Soon the eyes roll back and the stubborn smirk disappears as he slips into the arms of unconsciousness. She releases a sigh, her breath comes easier. Slowly the hands slide under him; the arms wrapped about him, pulling his cold body close to her chest. Soft whispers float into his ears, telling him that he will survive, live on. And though he can no longer hear her sweet voice, he knows that he is safe.
Not abandoned after all.