Short Stories (and random memes) by Jackal

Cursed Rain (🤍🗯❌)

(Trigger warning: Cussing, Violence and/or other mature content)

The rain always seemed tranquil. The way it creates a small beat when it hits. How it always makes you sleepy and want to snuggle up and read a book.

That was what I felt whenever it rained, but now it's just infuriating.

Waking up in a broken, madden bed wasn't the best of ideas as my back hurt from it's unevenness. Luckily I didn't fall through it during the night. Once I've woken up fully, I put on the rebreather I was given when I was back at the lab in my youth. I decided to sleep in my clothing and boots, incase of a raider tried taking something.

Sometime later, I stuffed whatever I had into my backpack. Canned food, bottled water, a singlehanded gun, bullets.

"Why is being on the run in a semi-apocalyptic world so damn difficult?" I sighed under my breath.

Zipping close the backpack, I hoisted it over my shoulder and ruffled my dark hair to fix it. Starting to head way to the door to the outside, I saw a patrol vehicle doing it's rounds, but slowing to a near stop at the house. As of instinct, I whipped around the wall to hide. I sighed in relief as the engine roared up and faded into the distance. I went out from hiding and decided to go the back way instead.

Once in the back I hopped the fence and began the journey to a farther place.

I tried to avoid roads to the best of my possibilities. Seeing that vehicle earlier wasn't the best sign. I don't want to end back there of all places.

It started to become afternoon, a time where they'll stop patrolling this area and I'd be safe. That was what I thought, before I felt water droplets from the sky.

"Shit. Everything's gotta be outa my luck doesn't it?" I hissed as it started to pour down. The reason they would've stopped patrolling was because the temperature would get to high for the average person. Now that it's raining, the temperature will drop and they'll be able to continue their search.

Running into a house was a bad idea, as they'd think I'd try to find shelter. A bad idea, but being a bit desperate as the rain started to feel like hail hitting my head and shoulders, I ran to one of the houses in the desolate neighborhood.

When I went in, I saw that furniture was thrashed around and fragile peices were smashed onto the floor. Only two things came to mind, raiders, or them. I swallowed a lump in my throat before checking out the kitchen for any supplies, though I had much doubt I'd find anything.

A little later, in an upstairs bedroom, I got a small book from out of my backpack, plus a pen. I put a tally on a page with many other tallies on it. Seventy-two tallies were now on the page. Seventy-two days I've been running. I sighed as I put the book and the pen back into the bag.

I was to in depth with thoughts before I realized that the rooms upstairs weren't messed with. None of the furniture was tossed around, nothing was broken, everything wasn't touched. A sinking feeling came to my gut and my mind screamed at me, 'Get the fuck out of there!'

I snatched my bag while swinging it over my shoulder, but it was to late. Outside the window there was a truck from the lab pulling up the house just now. I shook the feeling and ran downstairs, nearly falling in the process, and slammed myself against the backyard door to open it. I heard the patrolmen shout something but my heartbeat was to loud in my ears to hear what they actually said.

I hopped fences, took sharp corners, looped them a couple times just to shake them off, but nothing worked. The rain and my backpack was slowing me down, I was running out of stamina. My mind began to go frantic, trying to think of a solution to get away. That's when I thought of the gun in the bag, but it would slow me enough to be caught. It was worth the risk though. I threw my backpack off while opening it to grab the pistol. Once it was in my hands the pursuers backed off a bit. Not taking any chances I fired at one of them. It only hit their arm, but it'll render it useless. All looked at me with snarled faces, like I was their prey, which I was. One wrong move and I'm done for, I'll head back there. I pointed my gun at the injured one again and ended their suffering. Looking back at the two uninjured, I saw one went missing. Instinct told me to whip around, but it was to slow. The one missing came from behind, snatched the gun from my hands, and tossed it to the ground, all while pinning me down.

I will say I was slightly impressed by their skill, but I was still in frantic mode to escape their grasp. The other one came over to us and uncapped a syringe with blue liquid inside it. I knew immediately what it was and started squirming again. The one pinning me grabbed hold of my hair and grounded my head into the mud.

The other took the syringe and injected it into my bloodstream in my neck. Everything became blurry and purple. I felt light and weak. I tried to look to the two but it was no use. The tranq was to potent for me to fight off.

All I could mutter were a few words.

"Damn you.. Cursed rain.."

(Word count: 970 words)

(Not the best short story I've done, but it works! :D)