Train Wreck Gif Novels & Stories

Martinez jerked at her voice, he turned his head once—with death instinct, looked her in the eye with a smile. Blood foamed from his lips—but he raised his hand to his forehead. Breanna had run to catch him, but covering the two step distance, she saw him land—right in front of an oncoming train. The body didn’t bounce. It was sucked under, like paper. Blood exploded across the tracks like oil spray. The sound was deafening. The crunch of bones, the whine of metal on flesh, the pop of the skull splitting open. A leg flung twenty feet. One hand hung from the front of the train like a macabre hood ornament, while his brain matter flung like thrown meat onto Breanna's face.

The explosion that followed silenced the cries. From the darkness, illuminated by the fire engulfing the train, the figure that had been waiting by the roadside approached the wreckage. He stopped before it and pulled the hood from his face. His face was a horrid affair, a decaying patch with worms crawling out of it. He raised his hand towards the train and the train shivered violently, even as it was still burning. Wraiths of bodies, translucent and glimmering a ghoulish blue, rose from the wreckage. The faces on these wraiths were confused and they seemed to be drawn to the being rather than moving towards the figure by the roadside. On sighting him, they started screaming, high-pitched,

“Just want to drive without stopping—” The light went green. “You can go now, darling,” she said. He rolled forward— —and the road train hit them. It arrived like an iron verdict. Metal screamed. Tyres detonated. The truck spun—once, twice—fuel lines tore, and fire bloomed into the sky. Glassflowered. People screamed. The road train’s cab hissed and ticked, cooling in the sudden quiet. From inside, a ghost of music bled out: Linkin Park, “What I’ve Done.”

Because there it was. My car. Or what used to be my car. Now it looked like a crime scene. Red spray paint screamed across the sides and windshield, all caps and venom and hate. “SLUT.” “WHORE.” “HOPE HE WAS WORTH IT.” I couldn’t move. Couldn’t blink. My chest rose in jagged little gasps that didn’t feel like breathing. People were filming. Filming. Phones raised. Fingers pointing. I lifted a trembling hand to my forehead, pressing hard—like if I could just push down hard enough, I’d stop myself from unraveling in front of everyone.

I put a a frown on my face. Feeling a sudden nausea, when I saw a scene of two people flocking theirselves together intimately, my head felt like a cracking shell that it hurts so much after seeing a blurred scene that I couldn't remember. So, I tried pressing my eyes tight. What I knew was, it was one of the things I knew but I couldn't remembered and it was kinda frustrating. I don't know where am I either. "What the-" A curse almost escape my lips when my peace of mind crumbled from the tingling noise of something crashing. It came from the door so I threw a glance over and meet a two pair of pretty eyes, moist and longing for something.