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Re: Survival Horror Competition

Thank you PlayStation and everyone else who entered. :smileyhappy:

The beginning part of my story actually was true. I do believe I heard what sounded like a big cat in the woods and there have been sightings of one at the local docks and surrounding areas. The rest I just made up :smileyvery-happy:
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Re: Survival Horror Competition


ytevo79 wrote:
Thank you PlayStation and everyone else who entered. :smileyhappy:

The beginning part of my story actually was true. I do believe I heard what sounded like a big cat in the woods and there have been sightings of one at the local docks and surrounding areas. The rest I just made up :smileyvery-happy:


I'm never going to trust anything you say ever again :smileysad:

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Re: Survival Horror Competition

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and now some translations!

Hi everyone!
Greetings from Russian Community! :smileyhappy:

 

We were having the same competition. After it we decided to translate our stories and post them here.

So I've translated my story. I hope you'll enjoy it! :Ghost:.

 

p.s. as we still don't have a winner I can't choose a best story for translation, so I'll translate stories that I like. I think I'll translate more on the next weekend.

p.p.s. I also hope that there are no mistakes, but I'm afraid that this is only a hope - my English is not the best :Stupid:

 

The Judje

 

The heavy rain was hitting the roof of the old shed, which was standing on a plowed field. The wind was staggering the cracked door as if he liked to hear the song of ungreased hinges.
A rare lightning lit up the field. There was a man. He walked slowly to the shed. He stumbled and fell, but was keep going. One of his hands was holding wide-brimmed hat, while the other one was helding a collar of a tattered coat. The sole of his right shoe almost pulled away, and clods where getting under his feet.
The raven was circling around a man. Once he sat down on travelers shoulder and took a little rest but then soared upward. Once he croaked loudly and pecked man in his neck. The man waved his hand, and the coat immediately flew open. Raven croaked again and waved his wing to the shed. The man nodded and the bird flew to the shed. As he sat at the door a shot rang out. But the raven did not stir.
The man managed a grin. When his hand touched the *****, he heard heavy breathing.
No...
The man opened the door, took out a box of matches and lit one. His deep-set eyes were barely seen in a thin light. His beard was smeared with mud and there was gore on the ears.
Go away...
Flame touched the wick and an oil lamp lighted up the whole shed.
My eyes! Put out! Put the.. light out!
- Your eyes will get used to.
A man went to one wall and touched the chain. There was a shapeless body on the other end of it. Collar squeezed a fat neck, arms and legs were shackled by other chains. The metal was tearing the flesh. Hands with stains of blood were keeping shotgun.
- Look at you. You have overcomed yourself. You reached the weapon through blood and sweat. But there is a mistake. I had left you one cartridge and you didn't interrupt your miserable existence with it. You spend it on the raven. And even missed. You are really miserable.
Fear ... I'm afraid... of birds ... Pecking ... A painful pecking...
The raven cried and sat on the prisoner's back and pecked him between the shoulder blades.
No! Take him away!
The man in a hat laughed.
- Fear is a sin.
He went to one of the shabby cabinets and opened the door.
- You know, there's no one else. All of the miles around, all, all are empty. Margaret, Jones, Salma, Jacob, even that retard bully Evans. I gave them absolution.
Prisoner was trembling with sobs. Saying was given more and more difficult.
Why? You said ... I was ... sufficient...
- There is no name for madness, but the justice has his name and the name for it is God. They say "you're crazy," I say that God talks with me. And he sad that the mission is not over. Not all sinners are condemned.
The hat fell on the floor, and the man ruffled his gray hair.
- Do you know that the fire purifies? - He took the canister out of the cabinet and began to wet the shed. - It will purifie even you, my pig. You would have shot me, but you do not have the cartridge. You would shot me and have died of starvation. A nice end for an adept of gluttony, but I don't have time.
He took the lamp and came to a stop in the doorway.
- Later.
And he threw a lamp on the floor. The flames leaped up.
The man was almost out when the prisoner hitted him in the knee with the shotguns butt. The man fell on his back and wanted to get up but his hands slipped on the wet floor. Manacles were cutting off prisoner's skin but he striked the man again and mashed his head.
Shed groaned and beams collapsed over the men...
Raven was flying and croaking around the burning shed, he was enjoying the cries.
The man. The other. Seek. Seek.
And he flew away.

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Re: and now some translations!

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Re: and now some translations!

The last scream (by Kordhard)

 

Michael could hardly contain his sobs. He was shaking with shiver, and the panic that squeezed his throat was the only thing that prevented him to scream. The thing is - there's no way out. He couldn't even imagine what this way could be. Michael clung onto the basement's wall and soiled his jacket with plaster. He could not make himself to move because any move would utter something. Parched throat was burning with fire, and the neck muscles were cramping because he was breathing with opened mouth and tensed throat. But it was the only way to breathe quietly.
The spit was crawling down his chin like a nasty sticky treacle. It was impossible to swallow it - the sound! And there was no way, there was no way out... He could just let loose the feelings and even scream after all, he could let things go hang - because there were no more strength to endure this fixed posture, and each slow breath was bringing out only pain.
Michael rushed into this basemenеt and banged the door's bar at the very last moment. He even felt a whack with his shoulder. There were too many of them on the street. Too meny to bear at least a chance to run to the next shelter. The basement. Michael had thought he was going to die there of thirst or hunger when he heard a sound that crossed even this illusory chance for the last few days of life. Slow monotonic steps. Inexorable. Then his eyes had adjusted to the darkness and he spoted them. The entire basement was filled with them. Reaching for him. They did not smell, they did not growl and didn't breath. They didn't even see in the dark. They were attracted only to sounds. A slightest sound. Any sound. Michael was preparing to die. But when he stood motionless, with his eyes closed in fear, they suddenly lost him. And then they frozed close at hand.
It took several eternities since then, but Michael could only glanced at the phosphorus watches to see that he wasn't there for long. Only four hours. Four hours of relentless torture in a tense stillness, when the cold wall was pressuring on the shoulderю Four hours when feet not even hurt but aches of stress, as if there were nails in them. And every breath was a torture. And there was no way out. Even if he managed to get out of the basement by some miracle - what's next? Where to go? And there was silly thing: the life was over, every next minute was bringing only pain - what's the point?
But a stubborn body does not want to die and can not decide. Another minute. Another five breaths. It's never late. But hopelessness was smothering with waves of panic. He even wanted to weep from despair - but it did not work too. And there were no courage to make a step. And Michael suddenly realized with horror that he could not bring himself to deal with it. That he would stand. Perhaps forever. But he would stand for his life even with strained throat and stoned legs, he would stand as only a human being can - desperate and selflessly. Because it was a goal. Maybe pointless, but the goal.
***
Marianne took a disgusting look at the long rows of bodies. There is only one room of morgue. And only she was in a shift. There were inventory, data and documents for each of them. There were same boxes that had dozens of others just like she.
There were no shootings in the spirit of Hollywood - forces just sprayed an antidote from helicopters. And they turned off. Everyone. Forever. But now everyone should be counted, logged, cremated and buried.
Marianne was describing the third dozen corpses, when her attention was attracted by some movement in the corner. One of them stood up. His wide-open mouth and his bared teeth left no doubt for her. He was reachinf for her with gnarled fingers and she jumped into the opposite corner of the morgue. Marianne thought her eardrums would burst up when she screamed. But before the dead man's body was shattered into pieces by the guards who broked in, Marianne had saw that his eyes were ALIVE.
But no one else didn'y notice that. And no one would believe. And she suddenly realized, with all the hopelessness, that no matter how long she would live these eyes would come in her dreams. And she will never find an answer to this mystery. Because there was no answer. And she couldn't even imagine what this answer could be...

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