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Boy Power; Boys kick butt.
Topic Started: May 3 2011, 04:52 PM (90 Views)
kid9535
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Supposed to be for Commonwealth but I couldn't get it in on time.

Boy Power

“Ah Boy!” His ears perk at the alarmed and slightly hysterical tone. “Ah Boy! Come quick and bring a newspaper!” The panicked shout is punctuated by equally panicked screams. They burst through the air like bullets and pierce through his door. Boy abandons his computer and grabs a newspaper on the way to the kitchen.

Then he is standing at the entrance of the kitchen, his feet cold against the kitchen tiles, warmed by the afternoon sun. His mother is standing, no, pressing herself against the wall on the other side of the kitchen. She is screaming, her mouth open, red, raw and wide. She bounds over the spot directly in front of her to clamour to his side. “Go!” She jabs an offended finger to the spot where she was. “Go! Kill it! Kill it quick! Kill it before it lays eggs in our food!”

Boy blinks, he rolls the newspaper up good and tight and advances towards the spot. The afternoon sun streams through the grilled window, casting a shadow of grids across the floor. He squints against the sun, searches for the vile offender who alarmed his mother. He finds it, squatting quietly, innocently in the thin shadow of the grill. It basks in contentment at having scared away a potential threat. It twitches its antennae at his approach, he can almost se its head lift sinisterly to snap its tiny jaws at him. The cockroach twitches again, shuffling into the sunlight, allowing it to glint off its armoured back like a spotlight.

Boy squeezes the newspaper, it crumples in his grip. He crouches down slowly to get a better strike zone. The cockroach moves.

He misses it on his first strike. The newspaper comes down, hitting nothing but sun dust and tiles. Its smack is hollow and meaningless in his ears. They do not ring with success. He lifts it up again, his eyes darting about, searching for the insect. He spots it, scuttling away towards the table. He jumps up to intercept it but in a surprise move, it unfolds its wings.

It zooms towards him, startling him such that he drops the newspaper and flails about, throwing his arms in front of him, swatting at air. It lands on the wall opposite the table. Boy grabs from his abandoned newspaper and before the cockroach can react, he has it flattened against the wall. It drops to the ground in a dead faint.

Boy pokes it, uncertain of its death. Sure enough it wriggles to life, struggling hard to fight against an unseen enemy its legs run as if powered by a motor. Boy hesitates but it’s already across the room. He runs towards it and slams his newspaper upon it, again and again and again. Its movements slow with time and soon it’s twitching again, but in a puddle of goo upon the floor.

Boy starts to get up, he’s panting, he’s exerted himself. The cockroach corpse gives on final twist and Boy is upon it again, beating it as if to bring it back to life just to kill it again. When it finally gives up, or at least when Boy is sure that it has, Boy gets up from the floor. His mother’s eyes are shining but also furious. She wants the mess cleaned up but she’s proud he prevented a bigger one. She hugs him, then tells him to go wash his hands and clean up the mess he’s made.

--

Boy runs a finger down each stick, feeling the bumps and jagged edges. He breathes in the moist morning air, tilts his head to catch the sound of cicadas in the background. He eyes the row of sticks he has collected, taking his time to select the best one. He evaluates each stick, mentally calculating the length of each stick, the thickness, the weight. He knows he shouldn’t take too long. She is waiting for him, behind the row of bushes, somewhere on the grass patch beside the sidewalk. Trepidation clouds her judgement and she could start screaming at any moment. He carefully selects a medium sized stick, about half the width of his wrist and twice as heavy. He hoists it up and balances it across his knees as he digs his right hand into his pocket. His fingers dive down into the depths, brushing past crumpled Pokémon cards and candy wrappers, closing over a sharpened blade.

He fishes out his pocket knife and slowly but steadily, he whittles the end of the stick. He can feel the blade singing as it slices across the wood, shaving off thin sheets of wood. He stops when the end is as sharp as a pencil and puts his knife away. He tests the point gingerly and is pleased when it elicits a throb of pain.

Then he makes his way back to where she is.

“Help! Help!” She starts wailing once she spots him.

She is almost halfway up a tree when he gets there. The sibilant stalker has raised its green head off the ground, swaying slowly, dangerously. Its beady eyes unblinking, stare into her terrified orbs. He thinks she looks almost beautiful in her fear. Her hair tied into a tight ponytail, the end plastered to the back of her neck with sweat. Her fingers pale from her tight fisted grip around the bark of the tree. Her eyes wide and wet, figure pale and shaking. He smiles almost indulgently before steeling himself against the stalker.

The snake senses his approach and starts, turning its attention from her to him. It slides across the grass and onto the pavement as if entering an invisible circle where the battle will take place. It waves seductively but Boy is not moved. He twists the stick in his hand, his palms suddenly sweaty but his grip is strong. The snake moves but Boy is faster. He rams the stick down onto the serpent’s head, pinning it to the rough cement floor. It thrashes about; it’s only a green blur now. She is screaming, from where she is in the tree, screaming in terror. He does not hear her, he sees only the snake.

He twists the stick decisively, watching its movements increase. He grunts and heaves himself down upon the stick, blood spurts out, coating the sidewalk. The snake’s movements slow and finally, cease.

Boy lets go of the stick, it falls to the ground with a clatter. His blood is pounding in his ears. He watches the snake’s corpse warily, as if it might stir and arise to attack him. He is still staring at it when she leaps off the tree, wraps her thin, sweaty arms around his neck and sobs into his shoulder.

--

Boy, no longer a boy but three-quarters a man, stalks the jungle of Pulau Ubin. He keeps his eye on the commander in front of him and the rookies who flank him on either side. The rest of his contingent straggles behind him. The day has been long and the sun hot. The jungle is buggy and moist and dark. The last rays of the sun barely reach the tired troop. A few beams of light poke their way through the dense jungle and fall upon the bushes in front of him.

Boy watches it warily as it begins to rustle. The commander is already far ahead and the rest of the troop is exhausted and hungry. No doubt most of the troop has both their fingers and eyes crossed. Their ears are probably blocked with fatigue.

Boy stares at the bushes, willing them to stop rustling. He reaches for his pocket knife.

There is an eruption leaves and twigs and the jungle floor debris go flying into the air. A being emerges from the bushes. It’s short and hairy and sinister. It snorts, its beady eyes blinking slowly at the intruders. Boy’s heart speeds up a little as the wild boar lowers its head and prepares to charge. There are small gasps of shock from behind him as the others scramble for weapons they won’t reach in time.

Before he even knows what he’s doing, Boy has reared back, stretching his arm behind him and pulls it forward. His pocket knife whistles as it zips through the air and lodges itself between the eyes of the boar. It collapses with a grunt.

Boy can feel the vibrations from the claps on his shoulder and there are arms swinging across them in praise. He stares at the boar’s dead eyes.

Power he knows he’s worked to achieve courses through his veins.

He feels alive.
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RLunS
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Mmm; I think it takes more to kill a wild boar than that, but don't take my word for it. That was very well written.
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kid9535
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Of course, I exaggerated. :/ Sorry. I just thought kicking butt should have some kind of level up and after all that preparation and prespiration he should be able to kill a boar without breaking a sweat. I suppose a gun would have been better but knives are all the rage these days. Guns are so oldhat. 8D Thanks for the comment though
Edited by kid9535, May 6 2011, 02:23 PM.
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