JakeFrommStateFarm

United States of America

16-year-old dude
Born in good old USA
Homeschooled
Would rather grow up in an earlier time
Love rock
Love Queen
Love Marvel
Love poetry
Love my girl
(at least, I will when I get one)
Play guitar
Write songs

Message to Readers

I know that this is a little longer than what I normally crank out, but I hope you read it anyway.
Any feedback is great, just don't be unnecessarily rude.
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Street Justice

November 8, 2019

    It's been three long years since those... things attacked us.
    It seemed impossible at first. Unbelievable. Like everything was a bad science-fiction movie. But then you wake up the next day, and you quickly realize... it's real. And its not going away anytime soon.
    It's like a bad hangover. Day. After. Day.
    Three years ago, I felt like I was on top of the world. I didn't know that it would take something like this just to prove me wrong...

Three years ago...

    "Honey?" said the sweetest voice I have ever known.
    "Elizabeth? - don't let me see you! - it's bad luck!"
    "On, don't give me that crap."
    Elizabeth walked into my groom's chamber in her wedding dress, looking more beautiful than I had ever seen her before.
    "I hate this dress," she said plainly.
    "You picked it out," I said in defense of the dress. "You said it was the most beautiful dress you had ever seen."
    "That was before I had to wear it for five hours."
    "Well, please leave, this is the last day I need extra bad luck."
    Elizabeth laughed.
    "Look at you... Staff Sergeant David Morris of the United States Marine Corps, afraid of his fiancee walking into the same room as him," she threw her arms up in mock surrender. "Don't shoot! - Please!"
    I stood there in my dress blues, a little embarrassed. I was on six months lave from the Marine Corps so I could get married to the love of my life.
    I was used to dealing with threats that could destroy America from the inside out, and I was worried about seeing my fiancee in her wedding dress before she walked up the altar.
    "All right," I admitted, "maybe I'm being a little superstitious."
    "You have enough superstition for the entire Marine Corps."
    I laughed.
    Elizabeth sighed. "I can't wait to be in Paris," she said. "Alone away from all of this..."
    I wrapped her in my arms.
    "Neither can I..." I said.
    "Well," she said, slowly slipping out of my embrace, "I'll see you at the altar, Sailor."

    I never did see her at the altar. Instead, I saw her bloody, mangled, twisted, deformed dead body lying on the ground as the entire world was torn to shreds by those... things.
   
    No one knew what to call those things when they attacked us. When I was called in, we called them bugs, because there was no other better name for them.
    I generally don't like to refer to them at all.
    But everyone has to make exceptions.
    The news seemed to be the only people that liked the bugs. Like this was supposed to get them a pay raise or somethin'.
    Everyone wanted to know what these things were, where they came from, what their favorite food was, how they went to the bathroom.
    I couldn't care less, frankly.
    I only know three things for sure.
    First. Life is short. And it doesn't help the fact that I'm fighting for my life twenty-four hours a day.
    Second. We must evolve if we are ever going to survive.
    Natural selection tells us that only the strongest survive.
    There's nothing farther from the truth.
    I've seen men stronger than superheroes die every day.
    Third. There's a reason I'm still alive. I still don't know why.
    If there is a God, I wish he would kill me.
    End it.
    Now.
    Before I can't take it anymore...

    The bugs had set up a base on Pensacola Beach shortly after they arrived. A team of seventy-five Marine Corps officers, fifteen Navy SEALs, ten snipers, and four tanks were sent to invade that hellish warehouse that was crawling with bugs.
    When it was all said and done, only five men came out, including me.
    We had lost eighty-five men.
    It was the worst massacre in the history of America's military.
    And I led them.
    I have a scar from that day that runs down from my temple all the way down my jawline. My left leg from just above the knee down is robotic. Both of them are bitter keepsakes of bitter memories.
    I still fight those bugs today. Nothing I do to them will bring back Elizabeth or the rest of my family, but I do it anyway.
    The will never leave us.
    They will always be here to torment us.
    But I ‚Äčwill fight back.
    I will kill them. One. By. One.
    Because if I don't, they will kill us. One. By. One.

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