KÖNIGSTIGER
11-17-2003, 09:17 PM
i just wrote this, it took me about an hour, and i would like to know what needs to be improved on it. thanks!
the parts in red are in a different perspective
The Grunt
His whole world has slowed to a creeping
The adrenaline is pumping, seething
He pulls the trigger
His weapon recoils quickly, faithfully
Seconds have passed, seemingly hours
His weapon spits leaden death into enemy ranks
A long, nasty shriek echoes, painful, horrifying
Enemy mortar shells streak in accurately
They tear up the Grunt’s world
He gives it back with a vengeance...
It happens suddenly, far too quickly
His weapon has jammed, stuck fast
He makes a quick dash for cover
She takes careful aim
Holding a good foot ahead of the Grunt
She takes a deep breath, then lets half escape
Taking the trigger slack up, her rifle bucks mightily
Her thirty-caliber slug is on its way,
The messenger of death eagerly approaches
Carrying with it one premature ticket to a warrior’s heaven
He feels it whiz just before him
Down he goes, behind a log
Reality is back, everything’s fast-paced
The jam cleared, he brings the gun up
A long burst of fire is sent out yonder
Hoping to make its way to the sniper’s hide
Unbeknownst to the Grunt, she has moved
She has found a new hide, ten meters to the left
Clearly he can be seen, she cannot miss this time
The Mosin recoils heavily once again
The thirty-caliber bullet flies fast
The Grunt recoils in pain, the bullet just hit
His right elbow was nicked, "only a scratch"
She quickly works the bolt, chambering new lead
He sends more bullets speeding her way
The Mosin is to her shoulder
Suddenly, he sees a glimmer, ever faint, so yonder
She finds him once again, in the same place
Ignoring the pain, he runs to the left, firing a long burst once again
Her bullet hits his right foot, he can move no longer
His buddy lets out a big war whoop, shouting motivation
With newfound enthusiasm he raises his gun
He expends the last of his ammo on his tyrant
She pulls up the rifle, fearing nothing, untouchable
However, the Grunt’s last bullets strike home
The lead strikes her in the temple, her head blows apart
The rifle falls to the ground, active no longer
The Grunt pulls out his forty-five automatic
Fending off the last of Victor Charlie
Her cursed soul is on its way to VC Heaven
One bullet is her only passport, her ticket
A ticket stamped, "Courtesy of the United States Marine Corps"
There are no more enemy left, they’ve fled, overpowered
The Corpsman sprints to the Grunt as he slips into unconsciousness
Even if he dies today, he knows he made a valiant stand
He faced the Grim Reaper, and twice, dealt him the Black Hand
---
well?
the parts in red are in a different perspective
The Grunt
His whole world has slowed to a creeping
The adrenaline is pumping, seething
He pulls the trigger
His weapon recoils quickly, faithfully
Seconds have passed, seemingly hours
His weapon spits leaden death into enemy ranks
A long, nasty shriek echoes, painful, horrifying
Enemy mortar shells streak in accurately
They tear up the Grunt’s world
He gives it back with a vengeance...
It happens suddenly, far too quickly
His weapon has jammed, stuck fast
He makes a quick dash for cover
She takes careful aim
Holding a good foot ahead of the Grunt
She takes a deep breath, then lets half escape
Taking the trigger slack up, her rifle bucks mightily
Her thirty-caliber slug is on its way,
The messenger of death eagerly approaches
Carrying with it one premature ticket to a warrior’s heaven
He feels it whiz just before him
Down he goes, behind a log
Reality is back, everything’s fast-paced
The jam cleared, he brings the gun up
A long burst of fire is sent out yonder
Hoping to make its way to the sniper’s hide
Unbeknownst to the Grunt, she has moved
She has found a new hide, ten meters to the left
Clearly he can be seen, she cannot miss this time
The Mosin recoils heavily once again
The thirty-caliber bullet flies fast
The Grunt recoils in pain, the bullet just hit
His right elbow was nicked, "only a scratch"
She quickly works the bolt, chambering new lead
He sends more bullets speeding her way
The Mosin is to her shoulder
Suddenly, he sees a glimmer, ever faint, so yonder
She finds him once again, in the same place
Ignoring the pain, he runs to the left, firing a long burst once again
Her bullet hits his right foot, he can move no longer
His buddy lets out a big war whoop, shouting motivation
With newfound enthusiasm he raises his gun
He expends the last of his ammo on his tyrant
She pulls up the rifle, fearing nothing, untouchable
However, the Grunt’s last bullets strike home
The lead strikes her in the temple, her head blows apart
The rifle falls to the ground, active no longer
The Grunt pulls out his forty-five automatic
Fending off the last of Victor Charlie
Her cursed soul is on its way to VC Heaven
One bullet is her only passport, her ticket
A ticket stamped, "Courtesy of the United States Marine Corps"
There are no more enemy left, they’ve fled, overpowered
The Corpsman sprints to the Grunt as he slips into unconsciousness
Even if he dies today, he knows he made a valiant stand
He faced the Grim Reaper, and twice, dealt him the Black Hand
---
well?