Jump to content
Server time: 2017-08-17, 11:50

Sign in to follow this  
Mercy

A Story of a Fallen Soldier: Motýl Kotov

Recommended Posts

Mercy    485

A Story of a Fallen Soldier: Motýl Kotov

Chapter I: A Home For Campers

Chapter II: The Butterfly Effect

Chapter III: Dark Secrets Should Remain Behind Closed Doors

450x300http://i.imgur.com/Tgg2Cmu.jpg[/img]

Chapter I: A Home For Campers

[mp3]http://img.dayzrp.com/mp3/upload/56e1e0705866f.mp3[/mp3]

Staring up at the broken dusty grandfather clock, my eyes rested. I remember the final ticks of the iron hands as they paused at quarter to eleven. Like a story coming to an end, a story that has gone on since before my time.  I sit here, looking up at them now. The clock older, more fragile. Rust beginning to take the broad iron hands. Just a relic of my past. Just one of the memories of a place I once called home. It used to be a safe place. A warm and comforting place.  A welcoming place. Now…  just a hotel for survivors.

It's a frigid night tonight, the bitter cold gripping at my fingers. This is nothing new, nothing that I am not used too. The nights are getting colder, harsher, more dangerous. But yet the surroundings of my past home are so peaceful. The windows used to be large and wide! Wide enough to catch the warmth of the sun rising. Now a slight howling can be heard as a chilling breeze blows past the broken windows. The floor now covered in the remnants of what glass has not been broken or stolen. I move slightly to the side into a more comfortable spot, the glass crackling beneath my feet,  I can hear the creaking of the wooden floorboards with every soft step I take. I remember the wooden floor of my past, always gleaming in the warm sunlight. Now the floors are just dull and damaged from rain and neglect. It's all gone now, there is nothing left of happier times.

I gather what strength I have. Not a lot, but enough to finally turn to look at my friend laying on the bed, taking his last breath. Just like the grandfather clock. Something grand that has survived many years of a harsh world. Now slowly meeting its end. I show no emotion. There is nothing that could phase me anymore. Just another person departing hell for what I hope is a better place. I rest my rifle beside me and lean against the wall. Not much longer now.

I know not the time it happened and neither does it matter. Even if there is nothing after death, he was now in a better place than the world I am still stuck in...I guess that means you win fucker. It’s nothing to celebrate I guess. I could just put the rifle to my head right now and pull the trigger and I would be at bliss just like him. But I haven’t. And that was the remaining question lurking at the back of my mind. There goes my final and only close friend in this shithole, and yet I show no remorse to his passing. I lean over his corpse gazing into his eyes one last time and say, “Rest Jurkemik. Rest my bratr…”  It's over now, there is nothing more to say. I sling my rifle over my shoulder and holster my gun on my back. My jacket shifting down, revealing a line of human teeth marks down my neck. I won’t get into that. Dark secrets should remain behind closed doors.

I pull my aviators out of the V-line of my jacket and put them on, positioning them comfortably onto my face. Taking another look at my friend I swiftly turn to the grandfather clock. I press the cold fingertips through my fingerless gloves onto the glass panel protecting the clock’s face. I pull the glass face open and watch as the rusted frame gives way. Before I can react the glass falls to the floor breaking into a million pieces, just like the heart I once use to have. The same heart that feels no more. quarter to eleven… An unknown time for his death. A time that I  shouldn’t be reminded of. A time I don’t want to be reminded of. I grab the rusted hands, snapping them off without a care or thought. My hands fall open, adding the broad rusted iron to the broken glass beneath my feet on the neglected wood floor.

300x250http://i.imgur.com/3QtgoCx.jpg[/img]

I turn around and walk to the corner of the room. I can feel the rusted iron beneath my boot as I shamble to a familiar brick in the wall. I pull the combat knife out of the sleeve of my boot and cram the cold steel into the edge of the brick; wiggling the knife around slightly just enough to free it from the wall. The brick falls into my hand and reveals my childhood swag. I reach into my adolescent stockpile of treasures. Still filled with happy memories I let them gently fall to the ground as I push useless childhood objects aside. I discard everything except for the wooden yoyo responsible for hours of childhood fun, and two silver coins now worth nothing to no one. I turn and make my way back to the corpse laying in the bed, I look down at the dried glazed eyes. Still freckled with the hazel specks in his green iris’. As I turned him onto his back the pungent, overpowering, rotting smell began to seep into the cold air, making its way to the broken windows… Not much time left... until he turns.

I raise my scarf to my face. Covering both my mouth and nose, the taste of bitter saliva forms from the sick scent. I took a moment, then before he froze into rigor mortis I closed his eyes with my thumb and index finger. Now warm from the palm of my hand I bent over to place the coins over his eyes. A cold tone escaped from my lips, “Remember I will always love you my bratr. Litovat… I can’t dig you a grave, I can’t give you a funeral… I just don’t have the energy. Food supplies are low my bratr… My energy was used on your last minutes… But I promise you this my bratr… You will not rise from your eternal sleep… Sbohem.”

And as the last howl of cold air rushes into the room, I make my way over the broken shards of glass, and the neglected wood floor. I move past the iron hands and the old grandfather clock. I show no emotion as I shamble pass my childhood memories and the hiding spot that was their home. I walk over to his bag and pull from it the machete that will serve one more purpose to him.  The emotions that did not exist are heavy now. Heavy in my heart and in my mind. The same emotions that I thought I had lost have manifested just in time to show me that I am still human. Just in time to prove that I still care. Just in time to show me that I am still weak...

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

To be continued...

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
Yoshi    54

Chills run down my spine at the suspense you left me with.

Please. Finish that bit and continue a new chapter.

Please.

(Also, that girl is hot)

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
Guest   
Guest

Aye ur back, good read btw

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
Mercy    485

-snippy-

I think your mind can wander to what happens ;)

How... interesting.

I like it, quite a bit ^.^

Looking forward to more.

Wow...damn that was well written. +1 for amazing story!

The new chapter will be out soon, as soon as I write Chapter 3 I'll publish Chapter 2

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
Mercy    485

Chapter II: The Butterfly Effect

[mp3]http://img.dayzrp.com/mp3/upload/56e1e2fd20505.mp3[/mp3]

Weeks... No more like months had passed by with me in my drunken state. The days had come and gone one after another. If not for the sunrises and sunsets it would feel more like just one unending day. Winter finally being over, I can finally go outside… If I wanted too. But the only reasons I have to leave my home is to search for a way to extend my drunken comas. I glare to the spare bed stained with the crimson blood that once was the life-force of my friend Jurkemik. I cannot leave my home, but I cannot relieve myself of the memories that swarm this place. Like a dark shadow impenetrable by the springs sunlight; now only curable by a constant haze of drink. What time I have available is consumed with repetitive tasks like cutting firewood, picking apples and scavenging through towns and countrysides. Always in my mind is the hope of finding another bottle of booze. So frequent is my lust for alcohol that the taste of water had almost been forgotten. If not for the few dozen canteens in my camp, I would forget that water even existed. Such is the direction I have chosen for my life. Making my way from house to house, it’s hard to believe that there is anything here other than makeshift camps. Sometimes in my drunken fit, I think to myself, ‘What a joke.’ It was a joke that this place was ever grander than what it is now… 

Lucky for me I guess, no foreigners or visitors have found their way to my house. My natural instincts for caution left a long time ago, probably the same time when my sanity left. I leave my fires burning bright at night when I would normally keep them small and discreet. When moving from house to house normally it would be advised to do so quietly and inconspicuously. Two talents that were overtaken by the constant drunkenness. The evidence is there to support the fact that I'm teetering on the brink of insanity. Yet when I wake up from my liquor induced slumbers, I am reminded that losing one's sanity in the world I now live in is a lot harder than it used to be.The definition of insanity has changed now… Doing the same fucking things over and over and over again is all that keeps me sane now. What is my current life? The constant chopping of wood, collecting the food and searching for beer. The meager chores that keep my mind from spinning out of control from boredom; if not from the entertainment I get from my wooden yoyo, I probably would’ve started talking to the bugs a long time ago. Which reminds me… Where is Dr. Flick? That little fucker keeps wandering off.

hold my knife in my hand whilst staring at the wooden yoyo in the other. I tried to think of something beautiful I could carve into the side; staring down at the yoyo I see my name, Motýl Kotov written on the rim. It’s been twenty years since I wrote that, the blue marker faded into the wood but still my name is legible. Motýl, the czech word for butterfly! My mother named me Motýl because it represents life that she gave me.  It was many years later that I finally learned that the butterfly represents life and the symbol of a moth represents death. As I sit here with more time on my hands than I know what to do with, I thought to myself, ‘I’m not doing such a great job at idolizing my name.’ And why did I think that? With the death of my last close friend, I find it more difficult to want to survive than before. Now that I think of it I should’ve been called moth, Mol. That would have at least been a more accurate representation of myself. What have a I turned into? A selfish, heartless, cold blooded, alcoholic bitch. Actually… now that I think about it, I pretty much just described everyone these days. What a fucking joke.

hgvm9wg.png

The tip of the iron blade met the wooden yoyo’s flat surface. I begin to carve out the pattern of a butterfly. The wooden shavings landing on my lap then gently they get caught in the spring breeze blowing through my home. I use my warm breath to blow off the remaining shavings.  It was poorly done, I’m no artist but you could tell what it is supposed to be. I flip the wooden toy around, doing the same to the other side, but with a different pattern. A moth. Like two-face from the Batman comics I used to read, maybe I can use my yoyo to decide people's fate, instead of fate deciding it for me. I don’t really know, maybe I’m just bored. Maybe I just lost my only friend to something I couldn’t stop. Maybe it’s time for me to become the person that decides whether it is the butterfly or moth.

300x300http://i.imgur.com/2RnDyMh.png[/img]

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

To be continued...

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
Yoshi    54

Oooooh. I wonder what games she'll play to decide people's fates. Interesting.

Still sexy, but damn, starting to sound craaaaaaaazy...

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
Mercy    485

Looking good, Looking real good... but who the hell is Dr. Flick?

Wait and you shall see :P

Oooooh. I wonder what games she'll play to decide people's fates. Interesting.

Still sexy, but damn, starting to sound craaaaaaaazy...

It will be interesting once I roleplay her, she is only going to be my alternative character though unless I ever perma'd Hope (which I highly doubt) but yeah, her mentality right now isn't the best especially when you're alone :S

You can't blame her really

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
Mercy    485

Welp, she sounds kinda fucked in the head right now... and like she is going towards the whole "Two face" thing ^.^

Probably, being by herself she's becoming bored and is letting fate kill people off, not her as she sees it. ;)

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
Mercy    485

Chapter III: Dark Secrets Should Remain Behind Closed Doors

[mp3]http://img.dayzrp.com/mp3/upload/56df7fa24ad57.mp3[/mp3]

So we’re going to have a little fun with you two. You’re going to be our… playthings. And when we’re done with you, it’s your choice if you want to continue living or give up and die.” This wasn’t the first time we had heard this line from someone in what they called a ‘zombie apocalypse’. Most people had the audacity to do whatever the hell they wanted to, know that the laws of men meant nothing. The picture of those smug grins will be etched into my mind forever. I turn to Jurkemik, “I can't believe this is happening to us again.” A slight chuckle escapes from my lips. A chuckle of disbelief. How is this happening again? The scrawny man took a the small rock into his hands. He looked at me briefly and I could instantly tell that his fucked up mind was pondering something. The hit was fast and I didn't have the energy to try to avoid it. The stone cracked across my jaw opening a deep gash in my bruised cheek. The familiar crimson colour trickled down to my neck. Mr. Scrawny stares down at me, that toad like smile engulfs his face. He opens his mouth to taunt me, “Such a beautiful colour…” He bends down to me and swipes his pinky over the wound. Without a moment's hesitation he brings his finger to his mouth and moans in pleasure. He smacks his lips together as he gives out another moan of ecstasy. “Mmm...She’ll do.” 

Before I knew it Mr. Strong is behind me, his overpowering arms wrapped around my body. My feeble attempts to escape must've seemed hilarious to them. His arms wrapped around my chest, I could feel my back against his sweaty muscled torso. He grabbed my head and turned it to the side, exposing my neck. I see Jurkemik laying on the ground beside me, unconcious. A large gash in the back of his head. These assholes didn't even have the courage to attack him like a man, instead they hit him in the head from behind. Mr. Scrawny rips the shirt from my body. I could feel the warm breath as Mr. Strong began smelling my hair… The warmth of his breath almost overpowered the cold night’s chill on my bare skin. Mr. Strong looks down into my eyes and smiles. He then turns to his minions and extends an offer, “Who wants to go first?” The entire group of men yelled out with anticipation and ran forward. I didn't know what they were on about at the time, but I knew it wasn't going to be good.

400x400http://i.imgur.com/ryBTbB9.jpg[/img]

I can feel Mr. Strong's finger gliding down my neck. He softly caresses it from front to back, then side to side. One finger turned to two, then three and four. It isn't long before his whole hand is wrapped around my neck and he begins to squeeze. “I can guarantee this is going to hurt you alot, but I can promise if you move it is going to hurt more.” What was that even supposed to mean? The warm breath cascades down my shoulder. Then the warmth of spit drips down my back. And then…  a sharp intense pain like nothing I have ever felt before. It shoots throughout my neck and then down my arm and up to my brain. Before long it feels as if my whole body is hurting. I open my eyes and it finally clicks… This fucking psycho is biting me! No, not just biting me… more than biting me. He is drinking my fucking blood, like some sort of fucking vampire cult. One by one they take their turns, harvesting me like some sort of meal. They take so much blood from me so quickly that my mind gives out. I open my eyes after what seemed like days; when I finally gather my thoughts it is apparent to me that Jurkemik and I have became someone’s blood slaves.

Days go by. The constant draining of my blood takes its toll on my body and my mind. The pain I feel when being drained eventually disappeared until I almost can't even feel it anymore. It went on like this for days. The same routine. The same people. The same protocol. Until the night of the full moon. The bright light of the moon filled the cell I call home. My cell door opens, at first I didn't even look, I know what is going to happen. I brought myself to gaze upon my tormentors, only this time there was someone new… This new man was smiling nervously excited like a child getting a new toy… But the toy is me. He didn’t even take a moment to hesitate, he rushed forward, grabbed me and sank his teeth in. But this feels different, there is something different than before. It doesn't feel like he is drinking, it feels like he is eating.

My torment is over. I open my eyes, a coat of thick sweat drenching my entire body. Out of breath I look around and I become relieved to see that I am still in my broken home.The fire which I had lit hours ago now burning with an amber glow. I reached down to my shoulder, the scarring from teeth marks and the chunk from my shoulder only held more bad memories. These nightmares come back to haunt me but lucky for me they are uncommon. Maybe my mind tricks me like this in order to remind me that I still feel fear and I still feel pain. Or maybe it is something more... Maybe it is something I will never understand. You can be sure it is something I wish I could get rid of though.

I reach up to the windowsill and grab the empty can of beans, I pull the lid of the can open and pour its contents onto my chest. Dr. Flick falls to my chest with a gentle thud. I look down and gently grab my new best friend and lift him up to my forehead. The little caterpillar begins moving from one side of my forehead to the next. I place a small leaf on my forehead so he has something to eat. I lay back down to my pillow and pause for a moment. I let out a deep sigh. I take a moment to gather myself as I feel the cold feet tapping on my brain. I finally tell myself, ‘It is time to spill my secrets.’ Dr. Flick begins to eat his leaf, “Well Doc, I hope you have some time. Cause I have a whole new shit story I need your help with…”

Two hours later… My physchatrist is back in his can and I have the strength to carry on. I grab the rifle that lay upon the bed that once held a dear friend of mine. I drag a rag up and down the barrel cleaning of whatever was building up on it. I finally have the courage and strength to carry the blood stained bed to the back yard. I grab a can of gasoline and soak the mattress through and through. I hesitate only for a moment but before the night is through the bed is gone. Engulfed by the flames that I finally had the strength to light. I need to try to remember to thank Dr. Flick next time I see him… And ask him what medical school he went too...

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

To be continued...

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
Mercy    485

bwahahaha I love it!!!!!

Hehe I hope you will like the rest of the chapters in the future :P

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
Jm Von Cat    153

That is one fucked up dream... or is it perhaps part memories?

Some twisted things are going on... I wonder if I can see what way its going before they happen ^.^

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
Mercy    485

That is one fucked up dream... or is it perhaps part memories?

Some twisted things are going on... I wonder if I can see what way its going before they happen ^.^

Will eventually write how she was captured :)

Only fucked up things can make a fucked up person

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
Guest   
Guest

Wow, great writing. Paints a clear picture of your character. Can't wait to read more :)

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
zoyo    64

Keep up the good work Helena! :)

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
Mercy    485

Wow, great writing. Paints a clear picture of your character. Can't wait to read more :)

Thank you! <3 Can't wait to write more, this is a story I really enjoy writing!

Keep up the good work Helena! :)

Thank you <3 <3 <3

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
Guest   
Guest

-snip-

Thank you! <3 Can't wait to write more, this is a story I really enjoy writing!

I can tell by your writing :P

Seems like she'd be an interesting character to run into in-game.

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Create an account or sign in to comment

You need to be a member in order to leave a comment

Create an account

Sign up for a new account in our community. It's easy!

Register a new account

Sign in

Already have an account? Sign in here.

Sign In Now

Sign in to follow this  

  • Recently Browsing   0 members

    No registered users viewing this page.

×