In_Darkness_Dwells - Sex Stories

In_Darkness_Dwells

... sky with dirt and smoke. The sun overhead was just a white silhouette, struggling to shine through the haze of war, and the landscape had been bleached with fire and stained with blood. Men fell to the ground, ripped to shreds by bullets, shockwaves, and shrapnel. Sam didn’t know where he was running, if he was heading towards the enemy lines or already behind it, because wherever he went or whichever direction he faced, there were foes before him and allies dying around him.

He shot at men with his rifle, feeling his teeth rattle with each recoil, and kept moving. Then, when he was out of ammo, he’d switch to his pistol, and when his pistol was empty, he’d switch to his bayonet, and then when his arm got tired, he’d switch back to his rifle, finding it full of bullets and ready to go, same with his pistol, and the cycle would just repeat over and over again.

He didn’t know how long he had been fighting or how many people had been killed. Looking behind him, there was always a hill, crater, or barbed wire fence that he didn’t remember crossing, and his boots left no footprints in the soil. There were times when he felt bullets tear through him, or an enemy would get lucky and stick their bayonet between his ribs. He’d gag in pain, feeling death circling him for a few moments, but adrenaline would push him to keep fighting, and he’d soon forget about it upon receiving the next wound. The only constant thing was his thirst. He didn’t have a canteen on him, and the only ...

... fluid that wet his throat was his blood.

Up ahead was a machine gun encampment, spitting rounds. Sam and his fellow soldiers charged as they had been trained, and as always, he could see the men getting mowed down. Each bullet was like a monstrous hand digging its claws into the men’s bodies and tearing out a chunk of flesh. Now close enough, Sam pulled out his pistol and killed three men, then jumped on top of the fourth, forcing him to the ground. Sam stabbed the man wildly with his bayonet, sending blood splattering every time he pulled out.

A grenade exploded nearby, knocking Sam on his side and coaxing him to move on. He got back to his feet and kept running, kept shooting, kept killing. Then, finally, he saw the edge of the battlefield, where greenery replaced the upturned soil, and there was even a road. He ran towards that road, and as soon as he stepped on it, all fell silent. No more guns were firing, no shells were dropping, and the screams of pain had ceased. He looked back at the battlefield, seeing nothing but a field of corpses, endless thousands of corpses, laying side-by-side or piled into mountains. The only break in the quiet was the cawing of carrion birds feeding on the dead.

The silence failed to slow Sam’s racing heart. If anything, it told him he had to run even faster. He followed his instincts and the road, soon feeling a sense of nostalgia. This was the road to his house. He kept running, still carrying all his weapons and gear, and finally ...