HOME | DD

Description
WARNINGS: contains blood and violence, some gore, angelic fantasy

Title: Dream Journal Entry 1: Winged Escape

* * *

I barely made it over the spiked castle wall.  I right leg spurting blood from the bullet wound.  I wings ached—burned—from weariness.  Eyes fighting to stifle any tears that would blind me.

Even though I was over 150 yards from the ground, the grass seemed much closer—much, much closer.

Bang!

The next bullet barely grazed my shoulder—missing my artery by centimeters. I pumped my wings harder—faster.  This time, I couldn't stop the small painful tear that come down.  For a delirious moment, everything brightened—temporarily blinding me. And my hearing deafened—only a loud ringing remained.

When my surroundings came into focus it was like passing from the here to the next life. My life's memories coming into focus—and all the events I forgot was reawakened.

But that was just that—a moment.

I hastily remembered where I was and what I was doing. I gave myself a mental slap.  With fierce determination and stubbornness, I flew as fast and as far as I could—I wings popping and burning.

I spotted small towns, but in I delirium I didn't stop. Reasoning that they were too close to where I was being pursued.

I finally spotted a small forest and decided to make a landing there.

I slowed my decent as much as I could, but I still landed with a loud thunk! Dirt flying, dried grass and dead leaves breaking beneath me. I took a few minutes to collect myself. Before I could stop myself, I began laughing—a hysterical, maniacal laughter.

When I stopped I collected I surroundings—slowly and surely.

I was in an unknown forest in the middle of who-knows-where. The sun was beginning to set—the sky a pale orange.  The sun was at high noon when I escaped.  So I was flying about 4 to 5 hours—maybe even 6.  The air was cool from the impending winter—that's right it was fall.  I noticed the turning leaves on the trees.  My calf wasn't bleeding—bullet still lodged. I was clinically exhausted.  And the sun was setting.

Great.  Predators come out at night—the real scary ones.  And by the looks of my calf; I best look for shelter above ground.  No sense in having a missing body part when I woke up.  And speaking of my bleeding calf; I best remove the bullet sooner than later.  Having a high-rate healing process had it perks, but an automatic, biological removal of lodged bullets was beyond me.

List of things to do: get up, find shelter (and fast), remove bullet, and sleep (as much as possible). I'll figure the rest once I wake up.

Getting up was easier than I thought—kudos to my determination and stubbornness. Moving was harder though, thanks to that bullet. However I managed to find a thick, fallen tree branch that I used as a temporary crutch.  That made it easier.

There I was, hopping along on three feet and dragging I wings along—too tired to pull them back inside and lift them up. Every step I took I felt the bullet and some of its shards rub against my calf bone and scar into my calf muscles.

I headed in the direction I was flying towards—I unusual sense of intuitive navigation temporarily slowed. The further away from that place the better.

The ends of twilight began to fade when I finally found a suitable tree. It was tall enough to be out of reach of predators and from the wondering eye on the ground. And the branches were thick enough and had enough leaves, to cover me from any pending helicopters. I sent a silent prayer that there were no bees/insects/wasps or another critter up there. There was one small problem—the perch that I was going to sleep on was way up, and the only way to get to it was to fly.

"Great, jus' my luck. C'mon wings, jus' a lil' further." I told myself.

It took me longer than what I would have liked to reach that perch. But I made it. My wings made an angry throb when I sat down, but I ignored it—too happy to be in some sort of safety—even a small one. And I small prayer was answered—I was by myself on that perch.

It was dark when I heart began to rest—but I had one more thing to do on I small list.

"Now, tha' tough part."

I sat myself up and took a small look at the entry wound. My eyes slowly started to drift into NV. It wasn't as good as some nocturnal animals, but it was enough for me to see in the dark and I'll take what I was given.

I could already tell the blood flow stopped, probably a long time ago, and the blood was dry—pulling the skin and cracking. The jean material didn't help at all in terms of movement. I also observed that the wound was smaller than it should be. In a few more hours, the wound will be fully healed.

Deciding to forgo any attempts of finding a hospital to properly remove it or even a pair of pliers. I mentally prepared myself for the exponential pain of removing the bullet and as many shards as I could.

I ripped my shirt horizontally, just below I breasts. Half the shirt would be for bandaging my wound;I set that aside. The other half I balled and stuffed it into I mouth.

I crossed my injured leg and used my left leg and right arm as a brace. My right pointer finger and I thumb—as gently as I could—widened the wound slightly. The pain hurt.

The kind of pain that women in labor would know. Or a soldier who knew the pains of getting shot at.

I gave myself a mental slap. With iron grit—I determined to do this quickly, no 'and's, 'if's, or 'but's about it. I reasoned that the sooner I got this over with, the sooner I can go to sleep.

I hated that I hadn't evolved control metal yet.

Description
WARNINGS: contains blood and violence, some gore, angelic fantasy

Title: Dream Journal Entry 1: Winged Escape

* * *

I barely made it over the spiked castle wall.  I right leg spurting blood from the bullet wound.  I wings ached—burned—from weariness.  Eyes fighting to stifle any tears that would blind me.

Even though I was over 150 yards from the ground, the grass seemed much closer—much, much closer.

Bang!

The next bullet barely grazed my shoulder—missing my artery by centimeters. I pumped my wings harder—faster.  This time, I couldn't stop the small painful tear that come down.  For a delirious moment, everything brightened—temporarily blinding me. And my hearing deafened—only a loud ringing remained.

When my surroundings came into focus it was like passing from the here to the next life. My life's memories coming into focus—and all the events I forgot was reawakened.

But that was just that—a moment.

I hastily remembered where I was and what I was doing. I gave myself a mental slap.  With fierce determination and stubbornness, I flew as fast and as far as I could—I wings popping and burning.

I spotted small towns, but in I delirium I didn't stop. Reasoning that they were too close to where I was being pursued.

I finally spotted a small forest and decided to make a landing there.

I slowed my decent as much as I could, but I still landed with a loud thunk! Dirt flying, dried grass and dead leaves breaking beneath me. I took a few minutes to collect myself. Before I could stop myself, I began laughing—a hysterical, maniacal laughter.

When I stopped I collected I surroundings—slowly and surely.

I was in an unknown forest in the middle of who-knows-where. The sun was beginning to set—the sky a pale orange.  The sun was at high noon when I escaped.  So I was flying about 4 to 5 hours—maybe even 6.  The air was cool from the impending winter—that's right it was fall.  I noticed the turning leaves on the trees.  My calf wasn't bleeding—bullet still lodged. I was clinically exhausted.  And the sun was setting.

Great.  Predators come out at night—the real scary ones.  And by the looks of my calf; I best look for shelter above ground.  No sense in having a missing body part when I woke up.  And speaking of my bleeding calf; I best remove the bullet sooner than later.  Having a high-rate healing process had it perks, but an automatic, biological removal of lodged bullets was beyond me.

List of things to do: get up, find shelter (and fast), remove bullet, and sleep (as much as possible). I'll figure the rest once I wake up.

Getting up was easier than I thought—kudos to my determination and stubbornness. Moving was harder though, thanks to that bullet. However I managed to find a thick, fallen tree branch that I used as a temporary crutch.  That made it easier.

There I was, hopping along on three feet and dragging I wings along—too tired to pull them back inside and lift them up. Every step I took I felt the bullet and some of its shards rub against my calf bone and scar into my calf muscles.

I headed in the direction I was flying towards—I unusual sense of intuitive navigation temporarily slowed. The further away from that place the better.

The ends of twilight began to fade when I finally found a suitable tree. It was tall enough to be out of reach of predators and from the wondering eye on the ground. And the branches were thick enough and had enough leaves, to cover me from any pending helicopters. I sent a silent prayer that there were no bees/insects/wasps or another critter up there. There was one small problem—the perch that I was going to sleep on was way up, and the only way to get to it was to fly.

"Great, jus' my luck. C'mon wings, jus' a lil' further." I told myself.

It took me longer than what I would have liked to reach that perch. But I made it. My wings made an angry throb when I sat down, but I ignored it—too happy to be in some sort of safety—even a small one. And I small prayer was answered—I was by myself on that perch.

It was dark when I heart began to rest—but I had one more thing to do on I small list.

"Now, tha' tough part."

I sat myself up and took a small look at the entry wound. My eyes slowly started to drift into NV. It wasn't as good as some nocturnal animals, but it was enough for me to see in the dark and I'll take what I was given.

I could already tell the blood flow stopped, probably a long time ago, and the blood was dry—pulling the skin and cracking. The jean material didn't help at all in terms of movement. I also observed that the wound was smaller than it should be. In a few more hours, the wound will be fully healed.

Deciding to forgo any attempts of finding a hospital to properly remove it or even a pair of pliers. I mentally prepared myself for the exponential pain of removing the bullet and as many shards as I could.

I ripped my shirt horizontally, just below I breasts. Half the shirt would be for bandaging my wound;I set that aside. The other half I balled and stuffed it into I mouth.

I crossed my injured leg and used my left leg and right arm as a brace. My right pointer finger and I thumb—as gently as I could—widened the wound slightly. The pain hurt.

The kind of pain that women in labor would know. Or a soldier who knew the pains of getting shot at.

I gave myself a mental slap. With iron grit—I determined to do this quickly, no 'and's, 'if's, or 'but's about it. I reasoned that the sooner I got this over with, the sooner I can go to sleep.

I hated that I hadn't evolved control metal yet.