“What’s going on?” whispered Tracey from behind the thick bush where she and Buttercup were sheltering.
“Soldiers killing each other. Soldiers killing other people. Lots of things.”
“It doesn’t look very organised,” whispered Tracey who’d always imagined warfare to be somehow more like the array of plastic soldiers she’d seen in model shops. Or even like the set pieces she’d seen on some movies. It was difficult in the smoke and the distance to make any sense of anything
gay teens allowed by law that was happening. Amongst the dark figures running around were also some jeeps who were dashing about, raising even more dust, associated with cracks of rifle and machine gun fire. One jeep appeared to spin out of control, ploughed over some pale bodies, collided with a wall and almost instantly exploded into a ball of fire.
“Quick!” whispered Buttercup. “This may be our only chance!”
“You what?” replied Tracey in a similarly low voice, but nonetheless took her cue from Buttercup and ran out of the protective shelter
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gay teens allowed by law the orange and black smoke which was billowing their way and into the field. What about mines? she vocalised to herself, but nonetheless kept running. As they ran, Tracey knew not where, there were more figures to be seen running chaotically in the distance. She could make out that some of them were nude, although their skins were strangely dark
gay teens allowed by law and shadowed, but she was sure she caught glimpses of some strange protuberances from just above their legs. Shit! They’ve got hard-ons! What a fucking waste! She tripped on the ground, catching her knee on a rock, but she ignored the pain, more desperate to keep up with Buttercup, who continued racing onwards ahead of her, than to administer to her pain. Fuck! She was out of shape. You’d’ve thought all that fucking would have made her a bit fitter, but … Fuck!
She then saw some more shadows around a parked jeep
gay teens allowed by law to which they were running. It was almost as much a shock to realise that they were wearing clothes than that they were there at all. She almost felt like pointing this out to Buttercup. If she could ever catch up with her. Look! Normal people! Wearing clothes. All over them, Their crotch as well as their chest. Like back home! After leaving home, she’d almost forgotten that clothes existed. However, Buttercup was running in a quite different direction now, away from these figures, so Tracey followed. And the crackle of gun fire, both frighteningly close and thankfully too far away to hit them, reminded her of the true extremity of their situation.
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