Trial 2 - Part 7: Home Is Where The Axe Is

I wandered through the snow storm, axe in hand, desperately searching for prey so this game can end; or at least, this round. The sky was a black wall; the ice was cracked and treacherous, but this was the only game. A life or death hunt for a living meat. This was the only one that mattered, or so I thought. My thoughts were interrupted as I came across a small clearing in the snow. There were two men, a younger and a middle-aged, standing in front of a wooden shack. They were armed, of course; a bow and a rifle, most likely, though I could see that their firearms were not fully loaded.

The shack was surrounded by a chain link fence; this was a prison. I saw a small barred window. A man was bound and unconscious, a gag tied around his mouth. To the far left, another man was on the ground with a knife in his neck. His throat was slit; he did not move. They were my prey, and they were already dead. The younger man came toward me, with his rifle raised. He gave me a look of contempt. "Come on, motherfucker," he growled.

"I'm ready for this. I'm fucking ready for you." He was a tall man, nearly six-foot-four. His eyes gleamed as he raised his rifle. He swung it around with the same ease as he raised his arm. "Come on, you fucking pussy," he shouted as he swung the rifle around once more. He fired; I could feel the heat of the muzzle-blast in my face as it hit me square in the chest.

I fell to my knees, with a searing pain in my chest. The blood spread out like a red mist, mixing with the snow on the ground. I could feel my heart was missing, and yet, I could feel its beat in my throat. I lifted my axe with both my hands; it was now my only weapon. The young man came to my side; he grabbed me and pulled me behind him.

"You fucking bitch!" he snarled, "You fucking pussy! You can't fucking take a hit! I'm gonna chop your fucking head off. You want that?" He laughed. He swung his rifle around once more, and fired. I had to close my eyes as the searing pain in my chest came, but I never let go of my axe. I was no use to him dead; he could do what he wanted with my body. He fired again, and again; I could feel my skin being burned away. The skin fell off my body like a sheet of wet paper; I had no choice but to take another hit.

The young man laughed, "You can't fucking take it, can you? You fucking piece of shit." I could feel my life flowing out like blood - But soon they would the one's dead. He kept firing, and firing, and firing. Each time the pain would go through my body, but I would not let go of my axe. He shot me once more, and this time the searing pain was excruciating. I would do anything to stop it, anything. This time it was so bad I couldn't even scream. I could feel the blood pouring out of my mouth; I tried to scream with it, to let the world know what was happening to me.

My eyes turned into the eyes of the young man; he smiled at me and said, "You want to die, you want to fucking kill yourself? What fucking good is that? You can't take a hit, can you? A cunt like you can't take a fucking hit." He grinned, and looked at me with such contempt. I will not die like this... Sheer determination was getting me through.

"Here," he said, "This is the only thing you can take." I could feel the warmth of the barrel, as he held it close to my face. "I'm gonna chop off your face, I'm gonna chop off your fucking head."

I could feel his finger on the trigger. "Here, here," he said, "You want to do something to me, right? You want to fucking kill me? I'm dying here, ain't I? So here's the perfect chance. You fuck with me, motherfucker, you fuck with me, right? You fuck with me I'll kill you. Come on, motherfucker," he said, "Chop me a fucking head off."

He fired, and his smile widened. He did it again. "You'll make a nice little decoration." He was in such a rush to kill me that he only gave me one chance. He aimed for my heart, which is right by my neck, the artery that runs into my carotid. The old man was still standing, though his rifle was down.

The young man was laughing, as he swung his rifle around. He fired once, and I felt the searing pain in my chest, the blood spurted out of my mouth. But I would not let go of my axe. He fired twice more, and I fell to my knees, my body was wracked with the searing pain that would not go away. "Motherfucker!" he yelled, "Just fucking die already!" His rifle kept firing, and again, and again. He kept shooting, until I finally was still. I still felt the searing pain, and I could feel the blood dripping from my mouth, but there was no more pain. There was nothing. "Fuck it," he muttered.

I slowly came closer to the younger man, my axe over my shoulder. He was watching me with such contempt. I could see the veins on his forehead; it made him look like a madman. "You want a piece of me, motherfucker? I'm not giving you a piece of this piece of shit," he snarled, "He's mine." I swung the axe with all my might, but I was still in pain; I felt as if someone were punching me in my chest. I swung it, but all I did was to hurt myself more. He fired at me, and this time I was blinded by the pain. But I still fought. I swung with all my might. But the searing pain felt worse than ever. I felt like my heart was being torn out of my chest, that I was being burned alive. My blood spilled like a red mist. The man fired at me, and I felt the impact of the bullet in my right shoulder.

I could feel my arms being numb; I tried to scream, but all that came out was a wheezing sound. The pain was unbearable. "Fucking hell, you motherfucker," he yelled. He was so close to me that I could feel his breath on my face. He swung the axe once more, but I was so weak. I was barely holding on. "Come on, motherfucker," he said. He aimed for my throat; he shot me in the neck, and I fell to the ground.

This pain, this pain was unbearable. The bullet in my neck was causing such pain that I could no longer hold on. The pain became too much; I could feel it coming in waves. The searing pain was so bad that I could no longer feel anything. It felt like I was going to pass out, but I knew that it was just a matter of time. My eyes became foggy, a dark cloud formed within my brain, and I could not hear anything. I was in some sort of coma. I could feel the pain, but I was no longer with it. I slowly slipped into unconsciousness. I felt as if someone were pushing me into it.

My eyes were closed, I could no longer hear the sound of the bullets, I could no longer hear anything. All that was left was the pain. A pain that never ended, a pain that never stopped. The pain of a man shot by a man, a man shot by a man. A man shot by a man, a man shot by a man. The pain of a man shot by a man, a man shot by a man. A man shot by a man, a man shot by a man.

Then I snapped back to life - The fog gone and my hands stained with blood; I saw before me something quite familiar. The two men who were domineering over me dead, a crimson river of blood spouted out of their necks and chests. My face covered with blood. And then I remember - All the blood, all the pain, and my hands are stained with blood. Why? I didn't care for their deaths, they deserved it; but why don't I remember doing it? Why now, out of the two trials that I've had, am I only now blanking out? Is this some perk I wasn't made aware of, or something else? - I don't know, but that's not important right now.

A black fog wraps around my legs.