Disclaimer: I do not own the Twilight series
Note: Please take notice that this story was inspired by the Twilight series, therefore I do not intend to use any characters or fictitious locations from that world in my story unless otherwise noted. So please, do not complain to me about "No Bella!" "Where is everybody?!" "ZOMG!" I respect you will comment on my story for literary reasons, criticisms, or compliments. I do promise though, it involves vampires ;)
Sweet Kiss Breeze
A lazy, relaxing seat in a warm chair on a sunny afternoon, delivering sweets kisses in the gentle breeze. A foray of light petals dancing in the windy churnings as the boiling sun unleashes its gleaming illumination on the humane world. The touch of soft, luscious lips caressed against my cheek, a delicate hand stroking mine. The sincere memories of old, now burdened by deceit. The joyous summers of my former self, relishing themselves in my conscious, what happy times to be forgotten and nostalgically lavished. A quaint, coarse voice, raspy as dust, thunders in my direction. "Private, look sharp! Duck in cover!" Explosion. The humming of battering guns echo across the trenches, as I stumble about. My scratched hands slowly feel around my face. The tingling sensation of blood flows down on my fingers. I freeze, playing around in its muddled, boyish nature, and then run my hand farther up, to feel a cold piece of scrap meta lodged in my forehead. At this point I realize its presence, and its surging pain electrifies my body. I felt the stinging indulgence pulsate through me. I had always been subject to such harassment. My wounds felt no pain nor remorse, until I discovered them, and felt them, and then, consciously, I knew of their location, and my brain bloodily screamed for redemption. My eyes scanned my surroundings. I had fallen down on the muddy ground, and groped my hands amongst the tight walls to lift myself up. I heard the machine guns splatter their guts viscously over my head. I looked to my left, and saw my Captain lying dead, without a head. Blood puddles blanketed his bed, and miscellaneous organs scattered about the grave. I looked to my right. Another soldier of mine, Perry was his name, yelled with such cordial rage as he splintered his gun. He stood upon a wooden stool, and exposed his head as he shot away at the foggy horizon. The clouds altered themselves darker, shadowy envy enveloping the sky. Thunder bellowed and lightning swallowed, as rain laid its force over the lands. My hands reunited with the comfortable piece of metal in my head, and I brutally swaggered it out. Blood ran down my face, and blinded my right eye. "Ah, damnit, fuckin' eye," I shouted aloud. I could not hear myself though, for loud explosions sang more true than my cries of agony. I attempted to wipe the blood from my eye, but my dirt stained hands only irritated my eyes to the fullest extent of displeasure. I looked to my right again. Perry roared with unpleasant satisfaction as he gunned down smoke, unable to pinpoint the location of enemies. Then a fountain of blood shot from his head, as a bullet streaked right into his helmet. He immediately fell to the ground, his hands covering the hole. Tears streamed down his brown cheeks, as he continued shrieking. "Ya damn panzies, ya all, fuck you! Fuck you to hell, damn ya, damn ya all, ahh," He then trembled uncontrollably, as he reached into his pocket, shaking irrevocably. He pulled out a small wooden cross, and held it to his blue lips. Rain drops fused with his blood, creating a mixture of radically differenced liquids that sluggishly skipped down his body. He whispered a few words, and fell over dead. I had stood motionless the entire time, absolved of belief at this atrocity. In such short amount of time, my brothers, my friends, my comrades, were decapitated and killed like wild animals, only to leave their remains over a sinful wasteland. "What grave is this, brother?" I muttered as I ineptly strolled over to Perry. I knelt down, and gently closed his foreboding eyes, forever locked in rage and fear. Shots hissed over my head, as fire stormed the sky. I looked around me, and took his gun. Then something plopped right next to me. It was green, and oval shaped, like a canister. I froze, completely absorbed by fear, but luckily my freelancing hands chucked the grenade away, in any direction, away from me at least. I ducked, and covered my muffled hair breaded head. An explosion rang out, and I felt particles of debris strike my bones. I rose, and limped through the trench, my head aching sorely, my mind confused in its own injured thoughts and composition. I wandered down, and found a broken stool. I placed my foot carefully on a rocky ledge, and heaved myself upwards. The battlefield was hideous and ugly. Gray smoke ensued the place, with cracks of dirt and craters of death polluting the field. Long strings of barbed wire ran right down my face, and sudden, and frequent, blasts of light gleamed through the smoke in rapid succession. I lifted the gun, and shot randomly, totally bewildered by the chaotic plague. I heard cries of men as I shot, and then I saw one run at me. He was sturdy, and big. His muscles bulged with every burst of blood. He jeered wildly as he charged towards me with his hand pistol. He shot incredibly inaccurate shots as he rallied his strength to break through the wire fences. He became tangled, the spiked thorns digging into his flesh. I assembled the trigger, and fired several shots at him. Bloody wounds spat out blood, as he struggled to break free from the suffocating barbs and shoot at me with his pistol. A rough bullet struck my shoulder. At first, it tickled to me, and I wiped it off, merely assuming it was oblivious. I shot several more times. The man was now on his knees, his hands grasping the wire tightly and wrestling with it. Numerous bullet wounds decorated his body, in addition to ferocious, deep cuts that straggled along his veins. He yelped in undeniable pain, and his inevitable death wrapped around him. He finally fell, his blood stricken face staring right at me, numb from the grave. I then felt a strange and queer sense of endangerment, as my eyes peered alarmingly at my wound. The pain struck. It stung immensely, leaving my nerves in a stone phase, as my status lowered. I could barely bring myself to move, only gritting my teeth in madness. I ran away then. I spat out a bloodied mix of saliva and ran through the trench. I tripped various occasions on displaced corpses, and trying to catch myself up from the bloody pulps. One time a grenade at fallen heavenly in front of me, and I ducked into one of the lavatories to escape its destructive wrath. I choked on large chunks of feces and filthy water as I stood up, wiping my blazing eyes. I stepped out. The fumes did not bother me. These trenches had become such an accustom able home to me, the fumes of waste and blood were all but familiar friends. But this violence was new, at least, this warfare. My jaws hung open, as blood poured out inch by inch, treading along at an indomitable pace. I left my gun in the watery puddle of waste, and ran farther down. I saw in the distance a one handed private flinging his last grenade blindly onto the battlefield. I limped towards him happily, a smile almost edged on my face, only to see his last stand thrown back at him with amazing consequences. I dashed across his unrecognizable body, and then tripped on another man's corpse. My face met his, as my tongue fell out, and licked the blood on his neck. It was dry and crusted, but even with its stale taste, my expectations were aroused. I pulled myself up, and examined his body attentively. And then I knelt down, doing something I vowed I would never commit again. I rolled out my fangs, and sunk them deep into his moldy flesh, and drank the little blood that was left. A refreshing uproar erupted in my heart, and I fluttered up; recuperated. I swabbed the blood from my lips with my torn sleeve. Then a stirring memory swirled up inside me, as the image of her lifeless body presented itself in my mind. And I knelt down again, mystified by her reflection. I caressed her forehead in my mind, but in reality, the physical world of my conscious, I caressed his body. And I leaned over, the paralleling images colliding, and kissed his forehead respectfully. And the nostalgic impression of past twirled in my head like a violent cyclone. I remember the day so fondly. The sun hid from the world behind clouds, and rambunctious winds abruptly peeved the humans, and myself.