Cloth Hearts
- Reads 357
- Votes 22
- Parts 8
Ongoing26m
Last published Sat, Feb 22, 2014
In a post- apocalyptic steampunk age, human have evolved into something much more helpful. To some. There are those who would consider our new adaptions to be a bit inconvenient, depending on their own preferences. The new age of humans has been born with nothing ever existing before. We all have something strange on our chest, of all different sizes and patterns. Cloth hearts. They are somehow sewn into our skin by nature, sort of in the way that an orange is pre- sliced. They are unrecoverable, and blend together with our skin. They're basically connected to our, should I say "real" hearts. These hearts aren't all useless though, they direct us to the love of our lives.
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Sweat trailed down her back as she ran with all her might. Blood slowly flowed out the long cut in her thigh. Loud snarls could be heard from behind her as the inhuman beings chased her with unimaginable speed. She couldn't scream, she was afraid and no one could help her. All she could do was cry. She bared the pain shooting through her limbs. Thick darkness surrounded her under the moonless sky and she found herself tumbling down a hill. She felt a snap and hit her head as she rolled to a stop at the bottom of the hill. Everywhere hurt. She tried moving but couldn't bare it. She cried more and groaned as her life flashed before her eyes. Then, everywhere was suddenly quiet. She breathed hard in fear. Just when she started getting a little hope, something sharply dug its fingers into her hand and a loud deafening shriek was heard, followed by an ear piercing scream...Complete
Right now, I'm squatting in a pile of human waste, desperately trying to get a signal on my phone. My friends are watching me reluctantly, their faces stained with blood and what I only hope is dirt. The light from my phone is illuminating their faces, casting light on the looks of horror that I have come to know all too well. My best friend is cradling her left arm, bandaged with a torn piece of cloth in hopes of stopping the blood flow. My sister can barely walk, and I think her hand is broken. She looks on the verge of tears. As we calm down, catching our breaths, I give up looking at my phone. I slowly turn to them, my own face crusted with blood. I look at each of them, one by one. "Ok, who got bitten?"
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