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Oliver’s Right Leg
The frozen canal looked like a thick sheet of shiny, black glass. The bitter kiss of the cold wind seemed to gnaw at Oliver. It made his blue-gray eyes water as he desperately searched his surroundings for a gun, crowbar. Anything. His taloned hands scratched at the slippery surface that surrounded the shipwreck, desperately reaching for his backpack. The snow stung the raw flesh of his leg, currently crushed between the stone-solid sea and what remained of the ship. He was powerless to do anything, all of his supplies were in his bag, his guns, signal flare, and even his radio as the remainder of his crew either drowned or bled out… He turned back to his leg and let out a screech as the muscles protested at being unnaturally twisted. He was alone he was sure of it. The only thing he could do now is attempt to free himself.
Thinking quickly he tore off his coat and tied it around his thigh to act as a tourniquet. He hesitated. He hoped that someone else had called for help, but deep down he knew that even if someone was on the way he’d be long dead before they would arrive. His beak chattered with fear and his breathing grew heavy as he forced himself to go on with his plan. He gripped his right leg, his jaws parted exposing his white razor-sharp teeth as he quickly bent forward to sink them into the mutilated flesh. He tore away at the muscles not giving himself a moment to pause. Eventually, he brought up his talons to rip away at his striped fur. He couldn't tell if his lightheadedness was due to blood loss or intense fear. Nevertheless, he continued to chew away at ligament, sinew, and eventually bone. By the time his teeth clacked at his tibia, he was nothing more than a shaking, sobbing mess.
Oliver couldn't do it anymore, he didn't have the jaw strength to crack the bones apart and he swore that his aching teeth would shatter if he continued to try. He scratched at them, screaming as he futilely tried to pry himself away from the debris. He took a moment to wipe the gore away from his mouth and held his head in his hands as he seemed to accept his fate. That's when he heard it. The skull-piercing whistle of a train seemed to sing across the canal. Oliver whipped his head towards the mainland and spotted the bright red locomotive pulling into the station. The emblem of the Spes Nova could barely be made out in the midst of the blizzard. He had to act fast. He stretched his aching body back to where his backpack was laying uselessly. He dug his talons into the ice, desperately ignoring the burn of the remaining meat on his leg being pulled to its limits.
His nails brushed against the leather straps. He furiously flapped his wings hoping to give himself a final thrush forward. His fingers grasped the bag’s strap and he quickly yanked it towards his chest. His stiff, blood-crusted fingers fumbled with the buckles, he was running out of time and he was sure he’d succumb to hypothermia soon. His beak tore through the polished leather in one last act of desperation. The backpack’s content’s spilled on his lap. After throwing aside half-finished sketches and crushed nutrition bars he quickly found what he was looking for. Oliver picked up the neon orange flare gun only for it to fall into his lap as he could no longer bend his fingers. He stuck his frozen fingers in his mouth in an attempt to warm them up, struggling not to gag at the taste of his own blood. He chewed them until he finally felt the sharpness of his teeth.
Not wasting any more time he curled his fingers around the trigger with what seemed like barely enough force. He fell onto his back, watching the hot-pink flare sore across the grey sky. He turned to the mainland, struggling to see the ground in front of him let alone the red train. His entire body felt as if it was filled with sand as he violently shook. His eyes struggled to stay open, even his eyelashes had frozen together seemingly determined to seal them shut. His slowed breathing filled the madding silence around him, the harsh winds having long been drowned out. After what seemed like an eternity he heard a heavy clacking followed by dulled out yelling. He forced his eyes open and was met with the deep red eyes of Sisyphus. The unicorn was yelling something at him but he was too delirious to make out any of her words, he instead poured all his energy into focusing on her. He took in the sight of her brown face and the sharp lines of her scars. He forced himself to stare at her bright red coat, not allowing himself to associate it with the color of hot, quivering muscle.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a couched figure frantically tending to his leg. He didn't even notice the elderly field doctor, having lost feeling in his extremities. Jaak yelled something at Sisyphus and she gently let go of Oliver’s shoulders and slid to where the aitvaras man was standing. They frantically pitched ideas to free their comrade back and forth, or at least Oliver assumed so. His head felt so heavy and dense that he could barely hear anything his saviors were saying. Jaak was at his side and gently held his hand in a comforting gesture, Oliver blinked in confusion before turning back to Sisyphus. His eyes widened as she lifted her muscular leg and he only had a split second before she brought it down on his tibia. He let out a strangled cry as she chipped away at the rest of the bone with her heavy hoof, and Oliver swore that she took the time to scrape the ragged ends of flesh away from the rest of his leg before Jaak swooped in to tightly wrap bandages around the amputation site.
Sisyphus then pulled Oliver onto her broad back and began the tedious journey back to the train. He rested his head in the crook of her neck, seeking her warmth. Sisyphus took brisk, heavy steps, hoping to stake her hooves into the ice so as not to slip. Jaak had long called in for backup on his own radio and was currently screeching orders into the transmitter. With every step Sisyphus took the sight of the bright red train filled Oliver with hope and once the three had reached the old wooden platform of the station did he finally allow himself to close his eyes. He knew that he was finally safe.
#spilled ink#original writing#Original Work#amature writer#spilled writing#excerpt from a book I'll never write
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