Who's really out there

The Russian rose from the pile of bodies that surrounded blodied and covered in gore. His thich muscular arms ached from the nights fighting and really it had only just begun. His legged throbbed from where one 'cretin' had got lucky with a stab.He rolled his shoulders back and cracked his neck. The silvery moon shone bright above him illuminating the dark night that he had fought so long into.

He cursed himself, why had he been punished with this ability? Why had God felt it right to do this to him? Why wasn't anyone given this power? Why him?

He was brought out of his trance by the feel of cold steel sliding inbetween his ribs. 'Argh' he screamed out and swung round at the same time making contact with the man behind him. He could feel their pain, he could feel everyones suffering yet he loved it so much. He closed his eyes and concentrated for a moment and felt the energy from anything living around him absorb into his body.

'Round two i suppose.' at that moment he felt 5 or more men charge at him at once. He ducked and doged as the blows fell thick and fast. There may have been 5 of them but he had been trained to kill, no born to kill but what were they? Nothing. He grabbed the arm of the assailant closest to him and twisted it feeling the bones break as he did so then gave a resounding kick to the groin satisfyingly feeling a crunch as he did so. He twisted around lunging out as he did so. He made contact with one mans nose and felt the warm spurt of blood spray over his face. Diving to the floor and kicking round he felt the legs of two men go beneath him, he chuckled and rose again making a concious effort to stand on the ribs of the man he had just felled. The last assailant was well built and stocky; big enough to pack a punch but small enough to be nimble on his feet. The Russian was tired from his previous efforts and lunged in. The man side stepped and gave a jab down toward his neck. The blow made contact and the Russian fell to the floor. He felt the sole of the mans shoe on his neck trying to crush his osoephagus. With a concentrated effort he pushed the leg back. The man flew through the air and crashed into a the undergrowth. The Russian slowly rose and walked towards the man.

 

He slowly squatted down and whispered in his ear: ' You should never have chased me.' And gave a last resounding punch feeling the mans skull give way as he made contact.

The resounding carange in the morning was catastrophical bodies lay strewn across the floor mutilated and massacred. Not a soul was left alive: 'Only a monster could have done this.' was the conclusion from the press but no monster had done this.

There comes a time where we have to make a choice between good and evil, right and wrong, life and death. If you had those choices to make what would you do. Would you stand and fight even though you knew that it would end up with death and suffering or would you just disappear and waste your talent? We all need to find our place in the world but what if we have no place, what if we're one of a kind, what if we're different.

The End

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