Post by James on Jan 14, 2009 23:11:36 GMT -5
OOC: ;D
Hmm, well this is Dmitri's death; I still gotta brainstorm one for Barry, although I have a pretty good idea as to how he will react to his death.
My sole gripe about this one is that it didn't really centralize around Dmitri as much as I wanted to, though then again he hardly does a lot of thinking or talking in here. >_> Anyway hope you enjoy, I've been trying for awhile to get back to my old novella style posting that took less than a day to do, so I may sound a bit rusty. ^.^; C&C appreciated.
It was dusk. A plane glided overhead, its subtle roars from hundreds of feet above quietly droning over the city. Woken up from a good nap from what they assumed was a van driving by, two dogs, both Boston terriers, immediately perked up and charged to plant their faces against the metal fence and started barking obnoxiously at nothing. When a van finally did pass by they stopped their barking to eye it menacingly until it drove out of sight, and began barking again till the owner opened the back door seconds later with a squirt bottle in hand.
“Gah, go back to sleep you little turds,” he groaned while firing a couple spurts of water at the dogs’ faces, causing them to jump away from the fence and quiet down. The owner looked around outside as if expecting something big or unusual to have appeared in his yard which caused the dogs to start barking, but seeing nothing other than his dried lawn and a bowl of dead petunias on a lonely tempered-glass table he went back inside, dejectedly closing the door behind him. The two terriers followed their master energetically, squeezing through a doggy door that was just big enough for them to get through. Everything was quiet again until another vehicle passed by in which the two terriers tackled the front glass window and bellowed muffled howls from inside.
Just a few blocks away from this house were a group of young people, most likely transfer college students from outside the country judging from their appearances. One of them looked like he was on the beach, or about to make a trip there – he wore nothing but a pair of sandals, khaki shorts and some ugly camouflage boxers underneath. Another was a younger female, probably the man’s girlfriend by the way she had dreamily draped herself over the man’s right arm; a third was a taller male in more reasonable clothing: a green jacket over a gray shirt, dark blue jeans and black Nike shoes. All three of them were debating on what movie they should watch, which eventually boiled down between either Necronomicon or Kung Fu Panda. Since they had already watched Necronomicon six times straight, each with different friends, they settled on Kung Fu Panda, which the girl had been “dying” to see since it was released.
However, not in any rush to go back to the dorms, the man in the khaki shorts and ugly boxers suddenly took out a Zune that he had purchased on eBay for $75 last week and ran through a list of songs that had come with it. One caught the trio’s ears – “Do the Whirlwind” by Architecture in Helsinki. Apparently the little MP3 player had a couple albums’ worth of their songs. The students danced to the tune, although quite horribly – the taller male was simply flailing his body everywhere as if he were having a gigantic seizure. Finding his show amusing the other man and his girlfriend stopped to watch him make a fool of himself.
“Hey, he’s going into the street,” laughed the young man who wore nothing but a pair of khaki shorts and ugly gray camouflage boxers underneath, pointing at the tall blonde male who was unwittingly flailing his way toward the empty street about a minute later. “Not a lot of traffic but it’ll be hilarious if he gets hit by a car.”
“Believe me, it’s safe to see, At least be confused about right and wrong,” sang the Zune.
“But Bobby, wouldn’t the iPod break from the car crash or from falling on the ground?” the girl asked dumbly, eyeing Bobby curiously, her head childishly tilted in an attempt to be cute.
“Plan to settle down, Over the moon under the sun,”
“It’s a Zune,” Bobby responded, resisting the urge to smack her head up straight again. “And it won’t break, not after what I paid for it. I’ll catch it if it slips out of his hand.”
“Do the whirlwind and shotgun the seat that beats that beats,”
The girl just responded by moving her lips so that they appeared to by saying “Oh,” and turned to watch the other male again as if he were a circus animal.
“Hanging on to the one you love, to keep keepin’, sleepin’, dreamin’ on.”
The song went into an instrumental phase. Not long after it did a large dump truck was rumbling quickly down the street toward the tall blonde man, but even though the driver could probably see him, the vehicle didn’t slow down the slightest. Bobby and his girlfriend saw it coming too. They didn’t say anything at first, but as the truck kept speeding toward the other male, threatening to drive right over him, they began to grow worried.
“‘Ey, Dmitri! Get out of the street!”
Dmitri didn’t hear them shouting; the music and his own immersion into the song were drowning them out.
Impact minus 10 seconds…
“Dmitri, get out of the street you freakin’ retard! You’re gonna get hit!” Bobby hollered, now waving his arms madly. The girl imitated his actions and started jumping wildly while waving her arms every which way. This time Dmitri caught notice of them and looked at them as they now pointed to his left. But rather than look in that direction, he pretended he thought that they were loving his performance, and pointing to the left meant his should swerve to the left to amuse them even further. And he did.
“Folks given up under the quivers and lines,” the Zune started to sing again.
Impact minus 5 seconds…
“Shit, he’s gonna get run over,” Bobby cursed, stomping his foot on the pavement.
“Should we get him?” the girl asked dumbly again.
“Hell no, I don’t want to get hit too!”
“You do the whirlwind,”
Impact minus 3 seconds…
“DMITRI!!”
Dmitri heard a low yet loud humming now, and he slowed himself down and looked in the direction he was hearing it from. He found the source, much more quickly and closer than he expected it to be. Within moments he found his face merely a couple meters away from a giant dump truck.
At that moment, millions of words in the multitude of languages he could speak started to flood Dmitri’s mind, but two of them rang clearly to make a common phrase used when someone was officially fucked: Oh, shit.
“Don’t abandon—”
BAM!
“Get a handle of yourself, son…” the Zune whined one last verse before going into the song’s outro. It shot out from Dmitri’s hand into the air as his body appeared to get eaten from the feet up by the dump truck as it steamrolled over him and crushed most of his bones, and he finally disappeared under the truck. It didn’t lower its speed even though it drove over and crushed a fairly large man such as Dmitri, and when his body was finally uncovered all that remained of the poor bastard was a bloody pulp and some flattened clothes and text books. Bobby and the girl never saw the gore despite it, mostly because they were too fixated on trying to catch the freefalling MP3 player that had by some wild luck managed to get really, really high into the air.
When it finally began to fall, Bobby extended his arm to try and catch the Zune. It bounced off a couple of his fingers, and he jabbed out his other open hand and caught the device. It started to replay the song.
“Jesus, that was too close,” he huffed, as if he had just sprinted as fast as he could for the Olympics 400m dash. He held the MP3 player proudly in front of his girlfriend’s face. “See? I said I’d catch it and looky here!”
Providing even more evidence, he tinkered around with the Zune for a few seconds and held the screen in front of the girl again. “And it still works!”
“She said you’d given up, Your folks told me you should be left alone,” the Zune caroled.
“That’s…great, but,” the girl exclaimed, trying to imitate her boyfriend’s exhaustion, “what about Dmitri? He just got crushed!”
“On a mountain top, knocking the airplanes down with stones...”
“Oh…” said Bobby in disappointment, miffed that his achievement of saving a device he only had to purchase on eBay for $75 wasn’t really amazing. He paused the song and turned to try and look at where a bloody mess on the street should have been.
Nothing was there.
“Dmitri?”
No response. The couple looked at the speeding dump truck that had hit their friend.
The truck thundered off through a residential street, which as it passed evoked the wrath of two Boston terriers that went off like a couple fire alarms.
“Maybe he’s riding under the truck’s belly to get to the dorms faster,” Bobby finally concluded. “He’s weird like that.”
Hmm, well this is Dmitri's death; I still gotta brainstorm one for Barry, although I have a pretty good idea as to how he will react to his death.
My sole gripe about this one is that it didn't really centralize around Dmitri as much as I wanted to, though then again he hardly does a lot of thinking or talking in here. >_> Anyway hope you enjoy, I've been trying for awhile to get back to my old novella style posting that took less than a day to do, so I may sound a bit rusty. ^.^; C&C appreciated.* * * * * *
It was dusk. A plane glided overhead, its subtle roars from hundreds of feet above quietly droning over the city. Woken up from a good nap from what they assumed was a van driving by, two dogs, both Boston terriers, immediately perked up and charged to plant their faces against the metal fence and started barking obnoxiously at nothing. When a van finally did pass by they stopped their barking to eye it menacingly until it drove out of sight, and began barking again till the owner opened the back door seconds later with a squirt bottle in hand.
“Gah, go back to sleep you little turds,” he groaned while firing a couple spurts of water at the dogs’ faces, causing them to jump away from the fence and quiet down. The owner looked around outside as if expecting something big or unusual to have appeared in his yard which caused the dogs to start barking, but seeing nothing other than his dried lawn and a bowl of dead petunias on a lonely tempered-glass table he went back inside, dejectedly closing the door behind him. The two terriers followed their master energetically, squeezing through a doggy door that was just big enough for them to get through. Everything was quiet again until another vehicle passed by in which the two terriers tackled the front glass window and bellowed muffled howls from inside.
Just a few blocks away from this house were a group of young people, most likely transfer college students from outside the country judging from their appearances. One of them looked like he was on the beach, or about to make a trip there – he wore nothing but a pair of sandals, khaki shorts and some ugly camouflage boxers underneath. Another was a younger female, probably the man’s girlfriend by the way she had dreamily draped herself over the man’s right arm; a third was a taller male in more reasonable clothing: a green jacket over a gray shirt, dark blue jeans and black Nike shoes. All three of them were debating on what movie they should watch, which eventually boiled down between either Necronomicon or Kung Fu Panda. Since they had already watched Necronomicon six times straight, each with different friends, they settled on Kung Fu Panda, which the girl had been “dying” to see since it was released.
However, not in any rush to go back to the dorms, the man in the khaki shorts and ugly boxers suddenly took out a Zune that he had purchased on eBay for $75 last week and ran through a list of songs that had come with it. One caught the trio’s ears – “Do the Whirlwind” by Architecture in Helsinki. Apparently the little MP3 player had a couple albums’ worth of their songs. The students danced to the tune, although quite horribly – the taller male was simply flailing his body everywhere as if he were having a gigantic seizure. Finding his show amusing the other man and his girlfriend stopped to watch him make a fool of himself.
“Hey, he’s going into the street,” laughed the young man who wore nothing but a pair of khaki shorts and ugly gray camouflage boxers underneath, pointing at the tall blonde male who was unwittingly flailing his way toward the empty street about a minute later. “Not a lot of traffic but it’ll be hilarious if he gets hit by a car.”
“Believe me, it’s safe to see, At least be confused about right and wrong,” sang the Zune.
“But Bobby, wouldn’t the iPod break from the car crash or from falling on the ground?” the girl asked dumbly, eyeing Bobby curiously, her head childishly tilted in an attempt to be cute.
“Plan to settle down, Over the moon under the sun,”
“It’s a Zune,” Bobby responded, resisting the urge to smack her head up straight again. “And it won’t break, not after what I paid for it. I’ll catch it if it slips out of his hand.”
“Do the whirlwind and shotgun the seat that beats that beats,”
The girl just responded by moving her lips so that they appeared to by saying “Oh,” and turned to watch the other male again as if he were a circus animal.
“Hanging on to the one you love, to keep keepin’, sleepin’, dreamin’ on.”
The song went into an instrumental phase. Not long after it did a large dump truck was rumbling quickly down the street toward the tall blonde man, but even though the driver could probably see him, the vehicle didn’t slow down the slightest. Bobby and his girlfriend saw it coming too. They didn’t say anything at first, but as the truck kept speeding toward the other male, threatening to drive right over him, they began to grow worried.
“‘Ey, Dmitri! Get out of the street!”
Dmitri didn’t hear them shouting; the music and his own immersion into the song were drowning them out.
Impact minus 10 seconds…
“Dmitri, get out of the street you freakin’ retard! You’re gonna get hit!” Bobby hollered, now waving his arms madly. The girl imitated his actions and started jumping wildly while waving her arms every which way. This time Dmitri caught notice of them and looked at them as they now pointed to his left. But rather than look in that direction, he pretended he thought that they were loving his performance, and pointing to the left meant his should swerve to the left to amuse them even further. And he did.
“Folks given up under the quivers and lines,” the Zune started to sing again.
Impact minus 5 seconds…
“Shit, he’s gonna get run over,” Bobby cursed, stomping his foot on the pavement.
“Should we get him?” the girl asked dumbly again.
“Hell no, I don’t want to get hit too!”
“You do the whirlwind,”
Impact minus 3 seconds…
“DMITRI!!”
Dmitri heard a low yet loud humming now, and he slowed himself down and looked in the direction he was hearing it from. He found the source, much more quickly and closer than he expected it to be. Within moments he found his face merely a couple meters away from a giant dump truck.
At that moment, millions of words in the multitude of languages he could speak started to flood Dmitri’s mind, but two of them rang clearly to make a common phrase used when someone was officially fucked: Oh, shit.
“Don’t abandon—”
BAM!
“Get a handle of yourself, son…” the Zune whined one last verse before going into the song’s outro. It shot out from Dmitri’s hand into the air as his body appeared to get eaten from the feet up by the dump truck as it steamrolled over him and crushed most of his bones, and he finally disappeared under the truck. It didn’t lower its speed even though it drove over and crushed a fairly large man such as Dmitri, and when his body was finally uncovered all that remained of the poor bastard was a bloody pulp and some flattened clothes and text books. Bobby and the girl never saw the gore despite it, mostly because they were too fixated on trying to catch the freefalling MP3 player that had by some wild luck managed to get really, really high into the air.
When it finally began to fall, Bobby extended his arm to try and catch the Zune. It bounced off a couple of his fingers, and he jabbed out his other open hand and caught the device. It started to replay the song.
“Jesus, that was too close,” he huffed, as if he had just sprinted as fast as he could for the Olympics 400m dash. He held the MP3 player proudly in front of his girlfriend’s face. “See? I said I’d catch it and looky here!”
Providing even more evidence, he tinkered around with the Zune for a few seconds and held the screen in front of the girl again. “And it still works!”
“She said you’d given up, Your folks told me you should be left alone,” the Zune caroled.
“That’s…great, but,” the girl exclaimed, trying to imitate her boyfriend’s exhaustion, “what about Dmitri? He just got crushed!”
“On a mountain top, knocking the airplanes down with stones...”
“Oh…” said Bobby in disappointment, miffed that his achievement of saving a device he only had to purchase on eBay for $75 wasn’t really amazing. He paused the song and turned to try and look at where a bloody mess on the street should have been.
Nothing was there.
“Dmitri?”
No response. The couple looked at the speeding dump truck that had hit their friend.
The truck thundered off through a residential street, which as it passed evoked the wrath of two Boston terriers that went off like a couple fire alarms.
“Maybe he’s riding under the truck’s belly to get to the dorms faster,” Bobby finally concluded. “He’s weird like that.”
