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Alas, my plan fell through. Sitting as proud as tinsel on a Christmas tree laid a thick curling mass of razor wire. Spool upon glinting spool of wire tied in thick knots all around the top of the fence.
Amid my distraction my boots slipped and instinct took over. Instinct, the least logical of human autopilot reactions. Instinct can be a good thing. Instinct makes you look before walking out into a road. Instinct tells you to shield your face when something explodes in front of you. Instinct, when falling, however, tells you to grab hold of something – anything – to stop you falling.
Razorwire was my salvation. Flesh, tissue and muscle hung from the jagged chunks of wire like deflated balloons. Face first I fell, my stumps grinding deep into the gravel and my cover blown in a spectacular fashion. Pulmonary and aorta pumped and starved and I slipped into a blood-puddle coma.
So there’s my story, sorry it’s so brief. Some details can be left out when you’re writing with your mouth. I wasn’t going to write this story. My instincts told me not to bother, that nobody would like to hear it. But I’ve learnt to ignore my instincts.
Anyway, well done.
Then again, the point about learning to ignore the instincts, I liked that...
Drawing on personal experience, eh? The infamous fence episode.
A catlike eel?
I like it.
Alas, my plan fell through. Sitting as proud as tinsel on a Christmas tree laid a thick curling mass of razor wire. Spool upon glinting spool of wire tied in thick knots all around the top of the fence.
Amid my distraction my boots slipped and instinct took over. Instinct, the least logical of human autopilot reactions. Instinct can be a good thing. Instinct makes you look before walking out into a road. Instinct tells you to shield your face when something explodes in front of you. Instinct, when falling, however, tells you to grab hold of something – anything – to stop you falling.
Razorwire was my salvation. Flesh, tissue and muscle hung from the jagged chunks of wire like deflated balloons. Face first I fell, my stumps grinding deep into the gravel and my cover blown in a spectacular fashion. Pulmonary and aorta pumped and starved and I slipped into a blood-puddle coma.
So there’s my story, sorry it’s so brief. Some details can be left out when you’re writing with your mouth. I wasn’t going to write this story. My instincts told me not to bother, that nobody would like to hear it. But I’ve learnt to ignore my instincts.