The hour is late, the infected lie at our very walls, scavenging, clawing at the stone that seperates us from certain death. The children are tucked in tight, and the able bodied men patrol our walls with weapons, engineered from steel, made to pierce flesh. I fear that tonight the infected will break through, just like I fear it every other night. All the coaches, rickety and dangerous they may be, have been filled to the brim and carted off to Delta, taking as many people as they can. I wish I was amongst those people, I wish I was being carted off to safety. I wish I was in the Backstabbing Flagon, enjoying a pint of Jånäs's best, but no. Here I am, taking potshots at a never-ending horde, who we must fend until sunrise, for that is when our reinforcements arrive. The infected are ramming our gate now, using each other as rudimentary rams, smashing as one into the large wooden defence. I can hear the snap of wood as the crunch of impact occurs, again, and again, and again. The gate is weakening, that much is evident. We should have strengthened it, all those many years ago when it was first commisioned by Delta, bolstered it with steel hot from the forges, buckled it and made it whistle. But we didn't, and now we are paying for it. All the men are retreating down below, hoping to meet the horde head-on. I do not wish to do that, but I have no choice. The night is still dark, and they have almost pryed our frail gate open wide. I clean my weapon ... My ... ''Gun'', and hold it to my shoulder, if I am to die, I wish to die with pride, with honour ... With dignity. Three ... Two ... One ....! They come bursting in through the gate, gnawed hands and starved faces, hungry for blood, hungry for food, for even the cursed demons must feed to survive. I pull the makeshift trigger, and feel the vibration as the bullet ejects. A child falls down dead, a bloody wreck of a hole left in the center of his forehead. I feel sick, but I'm a fighter. A hero. Like George Washington, or Superman! I must be strong, I pull the trigger again, watching as the bullet penetrates the kneecap of a fat bald man, with evil wary eyes and long fingernails. He stumbles but continues on his way. I wish I wasn't here, I wish I was somewhere else. The Undead are shambling on, right past us, our only viable option is retreat. And so we do. Back we go, further, and further, taking potshots and throwing all we can at the mockery of undeath. I hear the cry of children as they are devoured in their beds, the scream before they die, the breath before the plunge. But we must wait until morning, we must wait ... But we can't, they outnumber us too many! Goodbye Mother, goodbye Father, I tried my best, I really di-

I smell resident evil and fallout molted together

good story, lots of descriptive words

I read it. Was intense. I was high.

Read it again. Still pretty cool.


MAKE A BOOK.

I'm going to write a roleplay book, pen and paper version, for this. I know a lot about the way they are structured, all the class differences, combat system, etc. I'm just making some short stories to include in it, and so I can flesh out the idea much much more.

Thank you for the critism.

make it hand-written style, that would be sick

Quote from pandemedic

make it hand-written style, that would be sick

Yes, because writing with a pen on my laptop screen would be a really good idea.

no, what i meant was that somehow u could make the pages some sort of a yellow color, and the writing could be like comic sans, or somehow use some kind of strange Font. ideas.