W.I.D., part 25: A Gun Without Bullets

Here’s part 25…. I’d love to hear what you all think!

Whatever I Draw

by Eliza May

When they were close enough to see the camp, dawn was well on its way, and they could see a cloud of dust from quite a distance away. Kirk slowed the motorcycle and turned to Tullier. “There’s a lot of those Pens. If we’re going to help, it’s gotta be something big. Can you draw something?”

“Of course! But what should I draw?”

“Anything! But hurry, I think they’ve seen us. I see a group coming this way.”

The more Tullier tried to think, the slower and more muddled his mind became. “I can’t think of anything!” he cried.

“Try a gun!”

Tullier hesitated, then rapidly began sketching. “Whatever I draw, may it be made real.” A machine gun appeared. Tullier grinned, and handed it to Kirk. Then he made another for himself. “Let’s go.”

Kirk revved the engine, and they sped towards the camp, headed straight into the group that was coming towards them. They scattered, and the motorcycle continued forward. Then they were in the middle of the battle. It was chaos. Raised by the skirmish, dust filled the air, making it difficult to see and even harder to breathe. Shouts came from all around.

A man emerged running from the cloud, obviously a Pen. Kirk lifted his gun to his shoulder and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. Again, Kirk tried to fire the gun, but with the same lack of results. “Is it on safety or something?” he shouted over the noise. Quickly and expertly, he gave the gun a looking over. Then his shoulders sagged and he tossed the gun onto the ground. Halfway turning to face Tullier, he sighed, “You forgot to add ammo.”

Tullier’s eyes widened, and he tried his gun too. Just as with Kirk’s, the gun didn’t work. Gritting his teeth with furious frustration, Tullier threw his gun on the ground. “Now what?” he asked, his voice raised to be heard over the sounds of battle.

“What do you mean, now what?” Kirk replied, also in a loud voice. “We fight!”

“With what?”

“With whatever you’ve got!” Then, with a loud battle cry, Kirk leaped off the motorcycle and charged into the fray.

Tullier stared after him for a moment, and then followed him. For the next chunk of time–he was never sure of how long it really was, he operated entirely on instinct. Somehow, despite his battle frenzy, he was able to discern between Pens and Pencils, and with swift, deadly accuracy, he dispatched all of the former that he could. He had never been in such a situation before, and in the back of his mind, he knew that he was hurting fellow human beings. However, his adrenaline was high and he silenced such thoughts, and focused on fighting for his life. After a quarter of an hour, his energy began coming in bursts, and between those bursts, he felt weariness seeping through his limbs. A quarter of an hour after that, he was fighting with a cold, systematic, unenthusiastic precision. The battle continued. Many, both Pens and Pencils, fell. However, whereas when a Pencil fell, it was a serious blow to all of the Pencils, the Pens just kept coming. After a while, all of the remaining Pencils grouped together, forming one last, desperate rank against the incoming tide. It was inevitable that they would fall, but they would at least fall fighting.

Then there was a lull, and all present knew that it was simply the calm before the storm. The Pencils looked to the people on either side of them, suddenly the best friends simply because they would fight and die next to each other. Somehow, Kirk and Tullier stood beside each other, and they gripped each other’s hands in one last handshake.

“It was good knowing you, kid,” Kirk said gruffly.

Tullier nodded sharply. “Thanks. For all you’ve done.”

Then there was a roar, as the Pens charged.


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