“I have a beffing spade!”

 “Sevra, do you think that this bloody foxhole will dig itself? You have a beffing,” the comment was dripping in sarcasm,  “spade, and I don’t want to get shot at.”

 The two began digging the hole, sweat slowly crept up on them.

 February…

You have got to be shitting me… I can take rain, but not when it pours. I can take God taking a piss, but not when all the Angels in heaven join in. I guess the Vodka’s love this stuff…

Serva pulled his jacket closer to him. After glancing around himself, Serva broke into a jog, his boots splashing into the puddles around him, all the while sending up water in every direction possible. In one fluid motion he hauled himself over a shoulder high brick fence. The heavy boots landing on the soft grass with a loud thud, Serva glanced into the house as he straighten up and walked to it’s door.

Without much effort, or much emotion, Serva planted his heavy boot onto the door. Swinging off the hinges, the oak door collapsed onto the ground.  Stepping into the house Serva smiled.  

NOTE: Not complete...

Intro KRA5 maybe...

The dark shadows cast out upon the open road, the light by the moon flickering as it hid behind clouds. It will live forever, the broken sound of rubber riding over tar and crackled country road. Inside the ghostly vehicle six men dosed, guns lay by their sides and no rest could be seen under their eyelids.

The driver’s white knuckles gripped the steering wheel, as hobo gloves covered the rest of his hands; he wore what was once long ago a blue t-shirt, now more a dark amalgamation of sweat, grease, dirt, blood and strong alcohol resulting in a general mess; Taking centre place upon the shirt, an extremely faded white bear rising upon it’s hind legs.