WRITERS BLOCK

Woops

Okay, so this has nothing to do with the previous story, I'm taking a break for a bit,.... because.... I wanted too...? So here's a short I came up with. Unedited, don't get all grammar Nazi on me...

They were almost out. Just when they were losing hope of survival, things took a turn. Within minutes more enemies dropped to the ground, dead, murdered. But they were going to escape. It was so dark, neither one of them could see five feet in front of them in the dank tunnels, miles underground. The tale of how they both ended up here is to long to tell, but they are the only ones left, attempting only to save each other now.

The swords were clashing together, screeching metal against metal. They were outnumbered to begin with, but it seems like there are an endless supply of opponents, streaming in from every direction. But then, one of them saw a light at the end of a tunnel, quite literally.

"Ana! Ana!" He shouted while he pulled his bloody weapon from someone's gut. "Go! I'll hold them off!"

The girl ran toward the only seeming exit while their foe continued to close in on them. He fought them off as much as he could, drawing nearer to the light, then with one last thrust, he turned around and ran.

They were supposed to make it out, supposed to live. They had plans, a house, kids, love. They had dreams, to travel, to live, to be...

Everything slowed when he saw her waiting for him. She didn't make it very far without a hostile pursuer. He watched as she sliced through his chest, killing him a second too late. Because as their enemy dropped, his own sword was ripped from her stomach with a sickening squelch. His vision blurred when she slowly sank to her knees, and he was at her side to catch her before she hit the ground.

"Matteo," She gasped.

He shot her one of his cocky smiles, all teeth, gleaming white, trying to hide his agonizing devastation. He pushed both hands into her stomach, down on the wound, praying that the bleeding would stop. It was everywhere, spilling through his fingers, pouring onto the dirt floor.

"Ana," He said, unbelieving, his eyes wide, darting back and forth. His entire body was shaking.

They were supposed to make it out. They were supposed to live.

"Ilyana, stay with me sweetheart." She smiled a bit at the nickname that she adored, but began to sob a second later at the pain. He pressed harder as heart wrenching cries escaped her mouth and hot tears spilled over her eyelids. "Ilyana, please."

She placed a blood stained hand on his cheek and kept it there as her sobs faded and her breathing stopped. Then it fell and hit the ground with a thud that echoed in his ears.

He waited an excruciating moment while the hope drained from his soul. They were closing in on him now, getting closer by the second. He couldn't imagine his life without her. So he took that pain, that grief, and let it out, pounding on the ground and clinging to her lifeless corpse. And he waited. Waited for their enemies to come and overtake him.

They were supposed to make it out.

They were supposed to live.