Feet First into Oblivion/The Sands of Tune (part1)
Posted By: SeverianofUrth<email@example.com>
Date: 24 June 2004, 8:31 PM
Story of James, a feet lover
The feet. Right foot, left foot. They are, in my opinion, the most romantic part of your body. Their shape dictates what kind of a person you are. Their size defines the boundaries of your soul. Their smell...
I have a romantic foot, on the right side of my body. It is nice and long, size 10, nice, oval shape, slender in some parts and bulging in the good, muscular way in the other. The toenails are well-clipped, the bones well-defined, and what veins that peer through the pale skin are artistic.
My left foot, so beautiful, is gone.
My foot, my beautiful foot, is all I have to look at in here. This bag. Waiting to go foot first into oblivion. Waiting for the impromptu burial ceremony, to go hurtling through the gigantic spaces of the void, like some invisible speck of dust on a cosmic scale with a single, beautiful foot...
I'm dead, by the way. The pathways to heaven and hell seems to have been severed; maybe that's because we're so far from Earth. A strange and novel experience this is.
I had the most beautiful feet in the regiment. In the squad I was voted by myself to have the most beautiful foot. Everyone else just glanced or glared at me, jealous. One, a certain Pvt. Jogen, said to me, "Your foot stinks." I replied,
"Just because you're doesn't produce new and interesting smells..."
Foot first into oblivion.
Foot first into death.
My beautiful foot, all alone with me as we go sailing through the stars and the galaxies.
Death is rather lonely. I'd rather massage my foot.
I have what others tell me a foot fetish. They'd say, with fake sincerety, "James, you have a foot fetish. Now, get off my feet."
Well, to hell to them and their ugly feet.
I died when my left foot got blasted off. I ran off, hopping on one leg to retrieve from somewhere. I took a giant slug on my chest, from some monkey somewhere, in the jungles of Azuhr. I died, I think. It's kind of blurry.
I watched as they found my body, chest ripped open with my right hand clutching my severed left foot and my left hand caressing my right foot. A good way to die, in some weird yoga-way.
Bye. (blasted off into space. His coffin is ejected from the ship like some small speck of turd. Off into the la-la land he goes, to meet some little prince far away.)
Story of one John, death met on the planet of Tune.
Sand and ice swirled through the air, ripping any soft skin and flesh that met it's way. The negativity charges conducted by this brutal wind negated any shielding.
Which was why, after all the other colony planets had been scourged by the Covenant pogrom, the defenses of Tune still held.
Dressed in full Tune desert regaliz, and dripping with royal self-importance more commonly called pomp, John hefted his battle rifle carefully, importantly. This was his first day as a ceremonial guard of the temple, the Mecca of Tune; somehow, Islamic martyrs had been drawn like flies to this harsh, icy, and sandy desert planet.
He was an outsider, UNSC, but who cared? After all, this was an important post, and most of all took place indoors...
Suddenly, a klaxon call disrupted his peaceful aura of blissed self-importance. The call. The battle alert, signal to engage in ritual self-destruction to ensure victory. Several men, strapped with bombs and grenades, started running outside.
John was confused. This wasn't supposed to happen. He watched through a window, the battle that was ongoing between some king-kong type monsters better known as Brutes and some bombers. A man, bent with weight, hurled himself at a Brute, activating his bombs on the way; the resulting blast took out three men, and started a devastating chain-explosion.
The glass shattered. John ducked, his desert regalia protecting him from the harsh desert winds. The sand-ice started swiveling in through the shattered window.
Ignoring the seeping sense of cold and warmth, John looked outside, and saw purple transports flying and hurtling through the air, and dropping more monkeys on the city. It was over, he thought inanely. So much of Tune's defenses had relied on the lack of Covenant shielding, but obviously these berserker monsters didn't use them... He saw a Brute slash down at a woman, the blade it carried ripping through her skull.
'No time for heroics,' he thought. He started running towards the ships, hoping he could get out of here, this god-forsaken desert planet of backward Mullahs and fanatics.
[part 2 coming, hopefully]