Alright, this is an update of that one story im writing. I understand it might be a little hard to understand what's goin on sometimes. I figure that's 'cause I know what the places look like (like my house and neighborhood ect.) and you do not (a haha!), so I kinda explain it to myself, so to say. So, like, I know what im saying, but since you don't, like, try to get inside my head. Then you'll get it. And then it'll be awesome, I promise. And sorry it takes me so long to do this. I am ridiculously lazy. Yeah! Can you believe it?! So, if you wanna read more of this crap sooner, like, just comment or E-mail me and say so. I won't take offense to it, I promise. Okay, off you go.
Adam stepped up the two steps covered with a worn, dark green carpet leading up to the door, also green- freshly painted, maybe a few months ago. He looked behind his shoulder, then reached the doorknob, and quietly turned it open. He pushed the fairly heavy door aside, which slid smoothly, and poked his head into the kitchen. There was nothing there, just papers on the counter along with the milk, which was probably warm, and the fruit basket. The lights were also already on, which didn't surprise Adam, since that was the way they were when him and Dan made their exit.
He walked into the kitchen, and wiped his feet on the rug, out of habit. He glanced down the stairs to his right, seeing the lights off, and then into the living room, adjoining the kitchen. Nothing was out of place, except for the footprints marked in the carpet tracing all over the place, lightly marked with spots of blood, old and dried. Nevertheless, he thought, it was infected blood.
Adam passed through the kitchen and into the living room, and stopped by the couch, facing the TV and fireplace, separating the dinning room from the living room. He rested on the arm of one of the couches, and pulled out the small shotgun, and cracked the chamber and loaded another shell into it. He resealed it and laid it on the couch's old cushions, and took off Alex's dad's jacket. He slung it on the couch's back, and picked up the four-ten. He then turned towards his parent's bedroom, and walked slowly towards it. The door still closed, he opened it and stepped in, not expecting anything to be out of place.
And nothing was. The window was still opened, a cold night breeze sifting though the pale green curtains, but not a sound except for the string attached to the curtain gently tapping against the wall, bouncing slightly in the wind. He shut off the lights and stepped out, closing the door behind him. Then he realized the back of the door was covered in a few chunks of dried, diseased skin, and dented, with dull cracks running through the middle of it. He shuddered and walked back down into the living room, through the kitchen and looked down the stairs, leading down into the furnished basement.
He glanced to his right and slipped the light switch on, lighting up the dark stairway. He then gripped his gun, and stepped down, slowly, and carefully. Once he reached the bottom, he reached towards the door, leading into the basement living room, and turned the knob. It gave way reluctantly, revealing the piano against the wall, and to his right, the hallway connecting his room, his brother's, the bathroom, and his dad's work room. All the doors were shut, and the lights were out, casting an eerie shadow against the wall from the nightlight in the hallway. He glanced behind his shoulder, into the pitch black living room. Nothing caught his attention, so he walked down the hallway into his room.
He opened the door quietly and stepped it. Everything was like it was last time he was there, the snowboard and guitar against his wardrobe, the bed made, and his traveling bag sitting by the chair, still filled with paintball equipment he had yet to take out and clean. The closet was closed, also, which seemed right. After a moment's thought, he left the room and headed down to Alex's room. After a few steps down the annoyingly creepy corridor, he stopped, frozen by the sight of thick blood seeping though the bathroom door, which was opened just a crack.
'Not worth it,' he thought, as he backed down the, back to the stairs. 'I don't want to see what's behind that door. Never.' As he passed his room's door, again, he heard a moan coming from his bothers room, and turned around, quickly. He drew his gun and slammed down the hammer with his palm, scraping the skin roughly. It stung for s moment, but it slipped through Adam's mind as he concentrated on the noise. There was a scrape at the bathroom door, then it slammed shut, being as it swung backwards to shut, under a blunt, ignorant force.
As Adam stepped forward, a heavy, cold weight slammed down onto his shoulders, and he felt a chilled hand reach for his throat. It pulled him down, but he struggled with it and stayed afoot. With a gasp, he ripped his right shoulder free, and slammed the butt of the small shotgun around his ribs, smashing into, something. A deep, hungry moan drove through Adam's ears, into his brain, making him jump just a little. The one cold hand tightened on his collar, and pulled him back, till he felt a hot, sticky breath on his neck. Instantly he swung to his left, almost knocking into the close wall, and faced the shadow, hidden in the dark, just several inches from his face.
He jumped back and pulled up his gun, the tip of the barrel several inches from the death driven monster. He pulled the trigger, and for a split second, the phrase 'squeeze, don't pull' bolted through his mind. Almost as instantly as it came, it disappeared, just as the thick cluster of bee bee's crashed into the things side, jerking it around, and knocking it off it's feet, forcing it to slide into the wall on Adam's left. The sick splatter of fluids and flesh played loud against the hard wall and soft carpet. As it slid down onto an ornament bucket, Adam bolted to his left, up the stairs, and into the kitchen. Then past the counter, and into the dining room, where he ripped open the sliding door, and lunged into the cold, dark night. He slammed the door close again, and spun around, and ran to the edge of the deck, facing the steps down onto the ground.
He searched into the back yards, and found four figures standing in the middle of the basketball court, small in the distance. Adam could feel their uncertain gaze fixated on him, as he jumped down from the deck and ran out to meet them.
Okay, now im stuck. I wanna branch out into some political crap, but I... don't... know how.... But it's ganna be awesome! And incase you care, I plan to submit a lot of tiny stories over some time, because in first hour, in school, I got and hour and a half to sit on a computer. The work is easy, so I get a ton of time to mess around. I decided to spend some of that time typing up little stories to post on this site, so I'll crank out a lot soon. Like that 'Drunken Nirvana' one I just released. Don't get stereotypical, the name doesn't refer to either alcohol or the band. It just means that Leon is Blissfully half retarded towards the end of the story. It's worth a quick glance over, I think. So check it out, and then you can insult it. It's fun! A haha!