TomTord/TordTom oneshots

Survivor

   Tom stared at the ceiling of his old apartment. The shitty wallpaper he never liked peeled sadly from the walls, the disgusting carpet was stained with blood and packed in dirt, and moldy food sagged with rot in the old fridge.

Tom lied on the floor, a pistol lazily held in his right hand while the other rested on his stomach. He breathed deeply, an odd sent that only brought the word death filled his mind.

His navy blue hoodie dropped over the armrest of the couch, his leather bag sat on the floor below it. His tattered grey shirt hung loosely on his torso and his faded black jeans stuck to his legs with crusted blood.

A constant drone made his ears ring. He sighed and closed his eyes, happy to rest even though his entire body remained tense and his heart just wouldn't shut up.

Footsteps. He eyes snapped open and he jerked himself behind the open door, gun aimed to the ceiling and his hands gripping it hard. He glanced at his bloody knuckles, they brought back bad memories.

He could taste the Smirnoff, he could feel the anger, he could even feel the constant feeling of knowing he was going to live till tomorrow. But he still felt the fear and the pang of guilt.

He forced himself to forget, and to keep his mind focused on the soldiers patrolling this area.

They marched past the door, not sparing a glance at Tom's stuff which lay out in the open.

Tom made a disappointed look at himself as he stared at his mistake.

"Y'know how we capture people? Where do you think they put them? I mean we have to have captured at least...I don't know... a lot of people. You have to wonder where Red Leader got the room to-" the soldiers voice died out. Tom scurried over to his stuff.

He threw on his sweatshirt and bag and bolted out the door. Tripping down the stairs and pushing the heavy metal door out into the open. He ran into an alley, sitting behind a dumpster and catching his breath before making his way behind each building. He shouldn't have gone back, of course there wouldn't be food, just soldiers. He found his makeshift shelter and hopped inside.

It was an empty dumpster that he filled with old blankets and pillows. A big flashlight stood in the corner that he had a good enough supply of batteries to keep it going for a couple months. He had scratched on the walls to keep time of the days, sometimes playing a game of tic-tac-toe with himself.

Tom had lost Edd and Matt two years ago. He doesn't know where they are or if they're are even alive and it's all his fault. He hadn't gotten over it. He just wanted them back.

He just hoped they hadn't been captured. He would rather them be dead then be forced to succumb to the Red Leaders rule.

He laughed at himself as he carved the words 'Red Stinker' into his shelter. He drew a dumb picture of Tord's face next to it.

He smiled and looked over to the drawing he did of Edd and Matt. It wasn't good but he liked it. They were just little stick figures smiling at him from the corner.

It was dumb but he talked to them sometimes. It made him feel a little bit better, like maybe he would find them. He pulled out his sketch pad and drew a smiley face before frowning and adding angry eyebrows. He tossed it into a corner and shuffled down to a laying position.

He sighed and decided to go to sleep despite his stomach gurgling with hunger.

He was working on sleeping during the day and going out at night so he would be able to hide better. He closed his eyes and hugged one of the pillows before falling unconscious.