A Man in a Warehouse

Posted: September 27, 2011 by luzob in Random
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Modern factory-made machete of US Forces issue

Image via Wikipedia

I thought that I was prepared…

I thought that maybe this enclosure would have something promising, or at least some makeshift shelter until the rain let up.

Fucken hell was I wrong.

I found what seemed to be an uninhabited warehouse, and as usual protocol I kept my eyes on the area for a little under an hour.

Should’ve been a little over an hour.

I wouldn’t be all fucked up if I did.

As I am dressing my wounds I will tell you about the two men that decided (luckily) to come at different times to their little abode; right in the middle of me looking for supplies to bring back home and fuck around with. I like to tinker with this and that in my spare time on the weekends. I have to use the weekends for my tinkerings for two reasons:

I am a survivalist.

I am a college professor.

Anyway this place was practically barren, but very open. The only other appearance was little bits of useless debris and dust. I was eyeing a particularly clean spot to set up camp when I hear it.

Y’know those doors with the weird gears that lifts up as one big sheet? I think it’s called a bay door or some shit. The metallically loud report of someone saying “hello there”…

I thought it would’ve been one of the many MANY security guards I usually come across.

Hell I even know most of the local rent-a-cops by name, and as a joke they may point a club and say to the effect of “C’mon Elton, I told you to keep away from here after hours, or at least to not get caught” and I would be on my merry way.

This man was not one of them.

Wielding one of those collapsable metal batons usually found on gangsters…

or people like me.

You can always tell when someone will actually use a weapon against you when they happen to not be very flashy about it. He didn’t Kung-Fu it around, or even point it in my direction.

Right at his side, fully extended, and ready to knock me something fucked.

Well I knew there was only two viable entrances, and only one was available to me.

That was about two feet from Mr. Baton.

I admit, I hesitated, calling out “I’m sorry, I was just trying to find a place to wait the rain out.”

That was when he flashed a smile that only means I will have to be ready for some shit.

“Son of a bitch” was all I could get out before he charged toward me.

That and my trustworthy machete.

It has a name, but I’m not telling you.

I got a shot toward him before he could, but he was a quick bastard, and he soon realized I was as well.

Despite the B.O.B. on my back.

Another, more calculated blow met his chest, and I could tell that it counted.

I knocked the air from the asshole’s body, and went to knock him another one but he had the impulse to roll away from me and attack.

Motherfucker do you know who you are fucking with?

That one landed but the adrenaline was already flowing through my circulatory system.

Or endocrine, whatever.

Anyway I got him yet again in the chest.

I liked the audible crack and the sound of his strained breaths.

I could make it from here alive.

Another heavy chop to his core and he went down, sputtering viscera from his chest and mouth.

As I was ready to loot his still corpse I heard a familiar sound of chain on gear, and realized the bay door was being closed.

A man stood there.

A big man, looking a bit more menacing then a mere thug or thief, and extracting something from his jacket.

Brass knuckles?

What the fuck are you, some Mafia-style beat-em-up fucker?

I called out to the monster “I’m just a college teacher, I never wanted to hurt anyone! Please just leave me alone!”

His reply?

“I don’t give two FUCKS about you, but my buddy is dead and you’ll be next!”

Diplomacy was going nowhere here…

Exhausted from my last confrontation, I allowed the burly man to make the first move. While about as smart as his “buddy,” he gave me the perfect opening as he charged. I thought I could’ve had him as my blade struck true.

…directly into the padding of his jacket. I would be paying for that mistake.

Soon my head felt around somewhere between here and Cambodia as that meat-paw-with-brass waylaid me. I felt every bit of my body want to seize up and fail me right then and there.

The rest was programed suvival tactics…

bullshit… I dug my heels into the ground and tried running off. This wasn’t going to stop him so I decided that heaving something toward him would at least give him hesitation.

What to throw… not my machete… hell no… So I tossed the only other thing I had on me.

…My pack landed by his feet, landing with a thud straight to the ground.

I wish I took those backpack-flinging lessons… but they don’t exist.

What happened next was somewhere between the most luck I’ve yet to have, and divine intervention.

The big fuck bulled himself toward me, and conveniently forgot about my pack and tripped himself, falling flat on my face. I had to take the opportunity, as anyone would, right?

With the savagery of a wild demon I swung at him with all I had as he got to his knees.

I’ve never been a person who fights.

I am not in the military, nor in a gang or anything like that.

I am a fucking educator.

With that hit you would’ve thought I was a trained assassin.

I felt the blade bounce off of the back of his dense skull, something completely unexpected on my part.

It’s funny the thing your mind thinks of during the strangest events. The first thing I thought of was the fact that I would probably need to buy a new machete, because I wouldn’t be able to pull it from his cranium. Strangely enough in my panic I spine-hit him (with the back of the blade) which knocked him out cold.

Either that or the cement that met his head afterward. Either way he was done, breathing faintly but still surviving my hellish attack.

I contemplated leaving him there, because two deaths on my hands would look less like self-defense and more of murder.

What was I to do with this lumbering satan-beast?

Then the adenaline bitched out on me. The pain that was a deluge of hatred in my veins was the only answer I needed.

I felt his fading pulse through my weapon, and quickly (before a guy with a shotgun or flame-thrower decided to say hello) picked up my bag and screamed out of there.

Fucked if I ever go to that area again. Now I’m here, still trying to figure out all that is broken/lascerated/generally damaged within my person.

More on this later, but for now I’m off to find a place much safer.

Elton Livingston, signing off.

 

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Comments
  1. MoonPie says:

    very good, very descriptive. As I read this I was playing out in my imagination what it looked like. It was good and i enjoyed reading that… HOORAY!

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