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LAZARUS BLOOM
--The Story of Revenge--
Chapter I
The Beginning
Lazarus was hiding in his basement. Although he was only nine he knew how to use a rifle. He took his fathers', which was mounted on the. He had to pull up a stool to reach it. If his father was going to die right now, Lazarus would have to protect his mother.
Lazarus always feared this day would come. After all, they were in very hard times. Could he blame the burglar? His family didn't have much money to begin with. Lazarus never considered himself lucky. Although, he never viewed himself as unlucky. Of course, living on the outskirts of Mudge, a town deep in the desert, wasn't the best environment. But he had a loving family….
But that was just it. He wouldn't always have a loving family. The burglar was armed. A revolver. He had already fired a warning shot, which meant that if the revolver was full, there were five shots left. Five bullets. Lazarus loaded the rifle. Just as he pushed the bullet in, he heard another gunshot. Then he heard the most painful combination of sound that he had ever heard before. First a scream, presumably from his mother. Then a thud. A heavy, lifeless thud. Fast-paced footsteps, an then…. A fourth gunshot. Then, finally, silence. There were three bullets left in the revolver.
After what seemed like hours, Lazarus heard loud knocking on the trap-door in the ceiling. Lazarus tightened his grip on the rifle. His palms were moist. Sweat dripped from his forehead. The knocking sounded again. He slowly made his way over to the trap-door. He climbed to the top of the ladder, his heart pounding in his chest. He cautiously lifted a finger, and unlatched the door. He aimed his father's rifle, his finger on the trigger. The door opened, and his mother fell in.
She tripped as she entered, nearly tumbling down the ladder (she would have, were it not for Lazarus catching her). His mother's gown was stained with blood, emphasized by the fact that the gown was white. Lazarus couldn't tell if the blood were her own, or if it was his… father's.
He dropped the rifle. It fell down the stairs. Every time it hit one of the wooden rungs, the sound echoed in his mind.
"Laz… Lazarus…." His mother muttered. "Lazarus…. Plea… Please…."
"What!?" He cried, his eyes filling with tears. How desperately he wanted to know what his mother had to say. He would have given anything to know what her last words were. It didn't matter the cost, he would have paid it.
"M-ma? Ma!?"
She became increasingly heavier. Lazarus didn't want to let her go. He couldn't let her go. But as much pain as it caused him, he had to. The dead weight was too much, and she slipped out of his hands. Her body tumbled down the ladder, making horrible, terrible noises as it did. Lazarus closed his eyes in attempt to avoid the horrible image, but to no avail. The graphic sounds painted a picture in his mind. A picture of blood and bones and death….
Lazarus went through the trap-door, carefully averting his gaze away from his mother's dead body. He entered the dining room, which was really just a table in the kitchen, where he'd eat his meals with his family. The rug that usually concealed the trap-door was cast aside, all twisted and mangled. Lazarus examined the room. He saw his father's body, lying in a puddle of blood. He couldn't see his father's face, and was thankful for that. He then shifted his gaze to the front door. It was wide open, and just below the arch-way was a revolver.
Three bullets were left. Three bullets. They would be saved. He would keep the bullets in this revolver. He would use them to avenge his parents. A bullet for his father. A bullet for his mother. A bullet for his own sake. Three bullets for revenge. Three bullets.
Three….
--To be continued….
--The Story of Revenge--
Chapter I
The Beginning
Lazarus was hiding in his basement. Although he was only nine he knew how to use a rifle. He took his fathers', which was mounted on the. He had to pull up a stool to reach it. If his father was going to die right now, Lazarus would have to protect his mother.
Lazarus always feared this day would come. After all, they were in very hard times. Could he blame the burglar? His family didn't have much money to begin with. Lazarus never considered himself lucky. Although, he never viewed himself as unlucky. Of course, living on the outskirts of Mudge, a town deep in the desert, wasn't the best environment. But he had a loving family….
But that was just it. He wouldn't always have a loving family. The burglar was armed. A revolver. He had already fired a warning shot, which meant that if the revolver was full, there were five shots left. Five bullets. Lazarus loaded the rifle. Just as he pushed the bullet in, he heard another gunshot. Then he heard the most painful combination of sound that he had ever heard before. First a scream, presumably from his mother. Then a thud. A heavy, lifeless thud. Fast-paced footsteps, an then…. A fourth gunshot. Then, finally, silence. There were three bullets left in the revolver.
After what seemed like hours, Lazarus heard loud knocking on the trap-door in the ceiling. Lazarus tightened his grip on the rifle. His palms were moist. Sweat dripped from his forehead. The knocking sounded again. He slowly made his way over to the trap-door. He climbed to the top of the ladder, his heart pounding in his chest. He cautiously lifted a finger, and unlatched the door. He aimed his father's rifle, his finger on the trigger. The door opened, and his mother fell in.
She tripped as she entered, nearly tumbling down the ladder (she would have, were it not for Lazarus catching her). His mother's gown was stained with blood, emphasized by the fact that the gown was white. Lazarus couldn't tell if the blood were her own, or if it was his… father's.
He dropped the rifle. It fell down the stairs. Every time it hit one of the wooden rungs, the sound echoed in his mind.
"Laz… Lazarus…." His mother muttered. "Lazarus…. Plea… Please…."
"What!?" He cried, his eyes filling with tears. How desperately he wanted to know what his mother had to say. He would have given anything to know what her last words were. It didn't matter the cost, he would have paid it.
"M-ma? Ma!?"
She became increasingly heavier. Lazarus didn't want to let her go. He couldn't let her go. But as much pain as it caused him, he had to. The dead weight was too much, and she slipped out of his hands. Her body tumbled down the ladder, making horrible, terrible noises as it did. Lazarus closed his eyes in attempt to avoid the horrible image, but to no avail. The graphic sounds painted a picture in his mind. A picture of blood and bones and death….
Lazarus went through the trap-door, carefully averting his gaze away from his mother's dead body. He entered the dining room, which was really just a table in the kitchen, where he'd eat his meals with his family. The rug that usually concealed the trap-door was cast aside, all twisted and mangled. Lazarus examined the room. He saw his father's body, lying in a puddle of blood. He couldn't see his father's face, and was thankful for that. He then shifted his gaze to the front door. It was wide open, and just below the arch-way was a revolver.
Three bullets were left. Three bullets. They would be saved. He would keep the bullets in this revolver. He would use them to avenge his parents. A bullet for his father. A bullet for his mother. A bullet for his own sake. Three bullets for revenge. Three bullets.
Three….
--To be continued….
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Nooooooooooooooo!
1 min read
My scanner stopped working (EPSON needs to jump off of a Cliff). I can't upload any deviations ( 
).
It's really frustrating. A lot of the art I create I make specifically for DA (
). However, the horrible demon that I know only as.... The SCANNER (!).... Prevents me from doing that. *Sigh*.... When I'm done crying, I might try to fix it. Maybe (In other words, almost definitely not 
)....
).It's really frustrating. A lot of the art I create I make specifically for DA (
). However, the horrible demon that I know only as.... The SCANNER (!).... Prevents me from doing that. *Sigh*.... When I'm done crying, I might try to fix it. Maybe (In other words, almost definitely not )....
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