All posts by Just Bored

A 15 year old that writes things sometimes

Aleppo destruction

Done in a meeting. Our task was to watch drone footage of Aleppo and describe it in 2 ways; 1 paragraph with a neutral tone and 1 paragraph using emotive language.



Paragraph 1 – Neutral tone

There are no other words to describe Aleppo apart from a seemingly unfinished mess. Houses were missing large parts of their walls, as if, in the middle of construction, the builders abandoned it.Debris from slowly collapsing buildings lay strewn all over streets where people still walked and children still played. A view from the sky showed the dusty, cream-coloured mess of the roofs. Giant, gaping holes could be easily seen in the houses with roofs still left; many structures had no roof and instead had what appeared to be half finished rooms, with the walls gradually crumbling down to the streets below. Potholes infested the roads, where cars could be seen shaking as if there was an earthquake driving through them. Bricks had been thrown off of buildings and onto anything else, from the streets below to other buildings.

Paragraph 2 – Emotive language

My home is gone. Well, it isn’t entirely gone, part of the building remains standing (albeit looking like a tornado ripped through it) while the other part of the building has crumbled and fallen to the streets below. All my possessions are destroyed, lost or both in the debris that is left all around the pavement I stand on. Everything that marked my existence in this world has been taken from me. If I didn’t live here, I would think this place was abandoned; a city decimated by war that no one had returned to. I know better though, I know that people go through the city like ants in an anthill, from dirty, dusty streets to newly-made tunnels through buildings, hard to see but hard to ignore. There was a faint buzz somewhere far off of people talking, but I couldn’t tell where.

Just Another Apocalypse

Done in a meeting, published 1.5 months later. Please pardon me constantly using the topic of a zombie apocalypse to write, its pretty much my backup topic in case I have nothing else.


Its every man for himself. There is no one else who I can trust. If you are still alive, it means you have supplies, which is reason enough for someone to put a 50 millimetre piece of lead in your head. You would think that our thriving communities would work together. You would think that it would take more than a few slow moving, rotting corpses to disrupt order and create pandemonium in every city. Big surprise; the world isn’t what you think it is anymore. Logic and reason sumersaulted out of the window as soon as corpses walked of their own free will. Any plans anyone thought of to combat the virus were crippled when people, their only weapon against the virus, started killing each other for a bottle of water or a can of beans. We can’t beat these things individually, but its hard to talk sense to a person pointing a fully loaded M1A4 at your head, demanding in a high pitched, panicked voice for your weapons, ammunition and supplies, or else. So, with a heavy sigh, I willingly surrender for the third time this fortnight one of my only two possessions; a clip of ammunition for some random gun I hoped I would find later on. They all let me keep my crappy rucksack. They know they could barely hold a piece of paper in it without it falling out. As I walked out of the building, I chided myself for venturing into the city again. Maybe one of these days, someone will listen to reason. Eh, probably not,

Two in a Room

Something done in a meeting which I forgot to publish. The prompt was:

“You wake up in an unfamiliar white room with a stranger who’s in the same situation as you. There is one button with a sign over it, reading ‘Do Not Press’. What do both of you do? (Write 2 perspectives, one from each person in the room, make sure dialogue and events match up. Spend about 15-20 minutes on each)”


Subject #6377


I wake up in a sweat, with a pounding headache. Shock and pain cause me to raise my hands to hold my head. Some monster had made its way into my head, and was now beating the inside of my forehead with something hard and blunt. Trying to clutch my hair didn’t help the pain. I feel as if I had just been dreaming, but I can’t remember what I was dreaming about. Maybe I’m still dreaming. I don’t know anymore. I raise my head for the first time, realising I was in a sort of sitting fetal position. The first thing that surprises me is how bright the room was. My eyes have to adjust to the light, like coming out of a dark movie theatre into a well lit hallway. Strange, I don’t remember ever hearing that phrase, nor ever saying it before. I don’t really remember anything from before the moment I woke up. As my eyes get used to the brightness, I recognise something across the room from me. A figure of some sort. A person. I squint to make the figure out. He was wearing a thin, white shirt, with a pair of white pants. I see something black on him, something I can’t quite make out. I try to get up, but my muscles are too stiff. If I will myself to move, I can, but it hurts. Why does it hurt? A surge of fear rocked me. Why am I suddenly feeling so scared? I didn’t feel anything besides pain when I woke up, and now I feel terrified. I shuffle up against the back wall, my body racked with pain as I force myself to move. What’s happening? Why the hell am I in a white room with another person? Wait, I completely forgot, there’s a person across from me. I pick myself up slowly from my crude fetal position again and trudge towards the figure opposite me. As I get closer, the black on his shirt gets clearer, though it is pretty hard to see with such blinding light. I have about a meter away from him before I see what is on him, and when I do, I recoil in fright. On his forehead, what seemed like black spots I am now able to make out as very dark red lettering. The lettering is uniform, as if it was done on a grid. It was engraved into his skin, unlike if someone wrote on his forehead. I don’t know why they did this, but it takes me a second to make out the writing. It says “subject #2”. I backtrack, almost tripping on my own feet in my haste to get away from this man. Why the hell is there writing engraved into his forehead? Why the hell does it say subject #2? What is happening? Wait, is there something on my forehead? I feel my forehead, and sure enough, I felt the text. I would have collapsed had something else not caught my attention. Above the figure, there was a bright red button. Above it, in large, black, polished text, it read, “Press the button, he dies. Don’t press the button, you die”. With what I’ve experienced and felt in the past few minutes, this didn’t phase me as much, if you compare my jaw dropping reaction to almost vomiting when seeing the blood red lettering on the man’s forehead. Looking down at the man, I realised his eyes were open, but his irises weren’t. They were fixed, staring straight ahead, though I bet if he was awake, he could see me. I feel an immense wave of sadness go through me. I don’t want to hurt this man. I don’t want to kill him. Then I think, this could be a quick death. Maybe he’ll die fast, and if I keep on going, i’ll incur a more severe pain for betraying my kind. I don’t know who is controlling this situation, but someone must be. So with all sadness gone, I take a step and lean forward and I press the-


Subject #6378


I fee; dazed. That’s it. No emotions. Just dazed. Nothing about this seems remotely phasing to me, I just feel light headed, as if I had been drugged. I feel abnormally calm. Trying to remember any sort of event which occurred before this was fruitless. I don’t remember what I look like. I don’t remember my family. I don’t remember my own name. I wish I knew what was happening. I can barely move. I can breath, I can blink, but my limbs were worthless, pathetic lumps of skin attached to me. I sat limp, looking at the person across from me. He looked so much more panicked about the situation. I hadn’t noticed him when I woke up, but now I had no choice but to stare at him. He was whispering and mumbling softly like a madman. I want to ask him what was wrong with him. I want to ask him what the panic felt like, because I can’t remember what emotion feels like. I want to ask him whether he knows anything of his past. I want to move my lips, make some noise, communicate with the man in front of me, but I can’t. So I sit, and watch emotionless as the man carefully approached me. I watch as he bends over to look at something on my forehead. I watch as he steps back a little, feels his forehead, glances above me then looks back at me, a sad look on his face. And I watch as he steps towards me, leaning over me, and-





Subject #6377 failed the test. Both subjects eliminated. New test will be performed tomorrow.


Running – Chapter 2

Her legs hurt. They burned like a fire that refused to go out. Her feet were weights secured to the two narrow pieces of string that were her legs. She was too afraid to look back, if she did she was sure that she would stop. Stop to look at the monstrosities coming towards her. Stare in horror as cold, dead hands reached for her and grabbed her. The thought of them gaining ground on her kept her positively terrified, so she ran. That’s all she knew how to do. That’s all she could do. The darkness threatened to overtake her, to devour her torch and leave her in darkness. The torch was fighting desperately in a battle against the dark, and it was losing. As she ran along, she shook her torch with the sheer force of moving forward, bouncing the small light ray she relied on against the sewer walls around her. The cobbled floor beneath glinted at her. She did not dare step near the edge of the narrow platform which separated her from the sewer water, she did not want to know what hell lurked there. How long had she been running for? A few minutes? An hour? It was impossible to tell. All she knew was that she was getting tired, fast. She wouldn’t be lasting much longer. Her hope faded, and she started slowing down, getting herself ready for the horrors behind her.

A light appeared. At the end of the tunnel, it was barely visible because of the distance, but it was just visible. Her eyes lit up brighter than her meagre light source and she put on an extra burst of speed, using the last of her energy for the final stretch. She panted, her chest heaved, her body begging for her to stop moving. The light grew brighter and larger as she got closer, and she caught her first glimpses of the sun…


“Damn it…” mumbled Zach. “Another wasted hour.”

A lone figure stumbled out of a small house, kicking a nearby stone as he passed by it.  The stone half rolled, half bounced along the pavement, finally stopping at a garbage bin further along the street. He swung his bloodied baseball bat over his shoulder for the umpteenth time. “Did the people here discover some new way to gain sustenance or has food just gone out of fashion…” he mumbled to himself. He ambled along the road, ignoring the dried blood all over the walls of the houses around him.

The sky was a pale, cloudless blue. The sun was unrelenting, trying it’s hardest to send more unbearable heat his way. If the infected didn’t kill him, the late Summer would. It was hot, humid and Zach was sweating more water than a running tap. He reached the stone and kicked it again, sending it skittering over the cracked tar of the road. It bounced and stopped at the edge of the pavement, startling a nearby crow. Zach watched it spasm its wings and flap its way to the top of the house next to him. It turned to eye him with a dark, spiteful glare. He chuckled and kept walking.

These days, the loud caws of nearby crows were the only traces of life that made him sure he wasn’t the last living organism on Earth. He hadn’t laid eyes on a person in a little while. A normal person anyway. He found solace in kicking stones following them, looting houses along the way. This was his new way of life, and hell did he like it. Call it what you will, but he called it adventure, albeit with the risk of a painful and horrible death. At least it was better than the life he had been living before this mess.

He reached his stone again but hesitated in kicking it. He realised he was at the bottom of a slope, and kicking the stone wouldn’t get it over the slope. The uphill road obscured any vision he had ahead of him, so he had to get over it, but he wanted to keep his stone. Rolling the mental dilemma in his head, he realised something. Using the tip of his worn out runners, Zach flicked the stone up in front of him, and swung with all his might with the bat in this hands. The stone soared over the hill, setting him running after it. He reached the top of the uphill climb and was astonished at what he saw.

The line of houses that he had been walking alongside ended abruptly at the end of the street. He had the choice of either going left or right, or straight. What troubled him was what lay ahead of him. The ground ended where he stood and dropped steeply, curving a few meters down and finally coming to rest horizontally. The slope repeated on the other side. Poking out of the slope at the other side was a large opening, looking like the cross section of a pipe. A large grate hung on its side on the pipe-like opening, sprinkled with rust and peppered with dents, as if it had been recently been driven into several times. The inside was cut off by darkness, but the occasional glint of water flashed at Zach’s eyes. He squinted his eyes and raised his hand to the sun to block off the light, managing to see a small flow of water dripping out of the pipe and into the large space before him. He saw something poking out of the water just beside the pipe, and for a moment he caught the flash of something golden…

The Matrix – Remade

Just a thing we were doing in the meeting


Jason woke up feeling suffocated, before realising he was submerged. Panic surged through him as he swam upwards to the small bit of light that he could see. His head almost broke the surface before he was painfully yanked downwards. He frantically flailed his arms and realised a series of cables trapped him, and a large metal chord seemed to have attached itself to his chest. He kicked away the cables, rapidly running out of air, at the same time trying to yank the chord off his chest. Pain surged through his body as the chord disconnected with a sickening pop that left an angry red scar. Now free, and almost out of oxygen, Jason kicked his way tot he surface. He broke the surface panting heavily, holding onto a steel beam above him. Finally able to observe his surroundings, Jason saw that he was in a glass, egg-shaped capsule filled with water, a narrow slit between the roof and the capsule.

Running – Chapter 1

My first post, possibly going to try and continue this when I can. Apart from that, enjoy and please give feedback!


The world went to hell in the short time span of a day.

A more average morning couldn’t be found at any other time.  The streets were packed with commuters, and noise could be heard for what seemed like miles. Smoke marred the sky, a sign of the beginning of another productive day. If looked upon in a birds eye view, the city would be nothing short of a living, breathing throng of people dressed in suits. Now and then the occasional horn of a car would sound, triggering more than a few brawls, but that was normal. The traits of a busy city. If only the unaware city-goers could savour that moment of routine for a second longer.

A scream signalled the start of the outbreak. A loud, terrifying shriek that would chill even the coldest of men. Blood spurted onto a nearby graffiti covered wall, painting a new kind of art known as death. The bystanders had no idea what was going on. Nobody knew if it was a performance of some sort, some of the poor fools clapped at the woman’s doom. The woman of course just kept screaming, until it got to her throat. Then her legs gave way, and the bystanders clapped even more, attracting it’s attention. The poor fools.

With that, order was broken. Snatched away by them, shattered in the cold, dead hands of them.

The outbreak itself was by no means the worst part of this. Soon after the outbreak came the gangs, terrorising the populous and taking advantage of the panic. This was their glory moment, at least that was what the insane ones kept chanting while the ones with a speck of sanity ran like Satan himself was on their heels. Their little facade lasted little more than a few minutes, maybe at the very most an hour, before they got overrun as well. You can still see the remnants of the gangs splayed along the empty streets or splattered on nearby walls, as long as their killers allowed even that much leeway in their feeding.

The gangs may seem pathetic, but at the time they really were powerful. Deaths from the infection were only rivalled by deaths from the gangs. They tortured their victims as well, worse than the infected did. At least the ones that took death from the cruel hand of the gangs didn’t move after they died.

After the gangs got overrun, survivors grouped together, some from the shattered gangs that had ran. Every move made was one made by the groups decision and the groups decision only. That was if you were lucky enough to be in a democratic group. The unfortunate ones were stuck with gang leaders that somehow survived, the dictators that commanded the groups like slaves.

Even after all this, it still wasn’t as bad as the next disaster.

A deep feminine voice from the sky had reached ears of anyone that still had ears. At first nobody knew what it was, then we saw the soldiers. Then we knew. In the minute that spanned over the talking, utter silence ensued, as if the infected had shut up to listen. Of course, it was general crap about “remaining calm” as they eloquently put it, but the last part really got us. The firebombings were coming. The city was being quarantined, and survivors were to head to areas where the military had control of to be checked and “saved”. After two weeks, a series of incendiary bombing devices were to be dropped on the city, eliminating all organic life. The broadcast ended, and the silence continued for another minute.

The city was a deserted, barren, industrialised wasteland. The buildings looked out of place. The streets were coated in a deep red. Fires illuminated patches of smoke, bathing the city in a demonic red-orange light. Well, at least it fit the blood.

And that is how the city fell, and how my life began.

-End chapter 1