Bordeom at 4 in the morning (Fiction, Female)

[Reiko]

Got bored and started writing this. Wasn’t going to post it because it’s not very developed, but then figured, meh why not? It’s about a girl and is probably gonna end up having something to do with the end of the world or something like that. Trying not to make it centered on her burping, but most of the female characters do naturally burp a lot. There’s a lot more of the girl’s part than the guy and I’ll post it once I get the usb back.


The water level was rising far faster than Mark had expected—he found it quite humorous. At its current rate his cell would be submerged in a little over a minute. Impending death notwithstanding, he couldn’t help but laugh at the entire ordeal. He really didn’t think the Warden would have the balls to do it. Sure he’d threaten it every day. Each hour the intercom would broadcast his monotone rants and assertions of dominance. The empty words of a cowardly youth clinging to the feeble identity he created for himself. More threat could be found in a limbless kick boxer. But as the prisoners in the surrounding cells beat hopelessly on the glass walls Mark felt pride in knowing their little Warden had finally made his first adult decision. Good job, we’ll go somewhere special for dinner tonight.

But, getting back to the task at hand—how was he going to get out of this cell? The water was nearly to his neck and from the looks of it the other prisoners weren’t having much luck escaping. The glass was heavily reinforced and shatterproof. No way he could break it. The row officers stood and watched with their arms crossed across their chests or resting on their hips. A few were snickering. One in particular, Randy Beeks, had not stopped staring at him since the Warden gave the order. He was a rather chubby fellow with a small round face. He had one of those thin twirly moustaches that you don’t think is real and you want to pull on it to be sure, but every time you’re about to do it the guy next to you nudges you like he knows what you’re thinking. Mark decided his one regret in life was that he never got to pull that moustache. No, that’s not true. There were plenty of other things--but there was an idea. One that would work quite nicely.
It just so happened that Beeks suffered from a dreadful inferiority complex. It really was quite terrible. The man would spend the wee hours before his shift pressing and polishing his uniform because he couldn’t allow the common dreck to outshine him. He spoke louder and slower than everyone around him to make sure his words were always taken into account and often boasted about exploits with women who everyone knew wanted nothing to do with him. The man was also very easily drawn into conflict; a trait which had amused Mark, but now would prove to be the key to his survival—at least for a little while longer.

Now completely submerged, his lungs could only sustain him for six minutes before he would need air—he wouldn’t need that long. Calmly and without a sense of urgency Mark made his way to the glass wall separating himself from the line of sneering guards.

Beeks’ beady eyes focused on him intensely. He truly disliked Mark. He was too smug and sure of himself. Worst of all he didn’t show the officers the respect they deserved. Even now, only moments from death, he is defiant. How can he just stand there smiling and waving at us like he’s out on his porch? Doesn’t he realize he’s going to die? What is his problem? Drowning is too good a death for him. Beeks reaches for his keys. I’ll teach him some respect and make him apologize for all he’s done just before I kill him. He enters the key into a hole next to the glass wall and a holographic keypad materializes before him. Hastily he punches in a combination and jumps out of the way as the wall of Mark’s cell flies open Water gushes out onto the row and Mark falls on hands and knees gasping for air—Beeks thought it was fitting.

“Well that was mighty nice of you,” Mark coughs.

Beeks raises his club to beat him, but before the blow lands he disintegrates into thin air. The guards, dead prisoners and cells, walls, even the ground begin to dematerialize around Mark until he is left alone floating in a dark abyss. This too begins to disappear, replaced by blinding light.

Mark awakens to find himself strapped in a cold leather chair. Three thick wires protrude from each arm and run neatly into a large console to his right. To either side of him are more chairs, a body clad in unmarked military fatigues bound in each. In the dim lighting shadows are cast on the bare walls. A blackened mirror takes up the majority of the wall before him. The wires in his arms retract into the console as the dreamer in the chair next to him begins to stir. A deep voice over an intercom booms:

“Candidate three you are to report to room 1530, get your C-Ration, and then report to room 1632 by 0445.”
The voice is familiar to him, but he can’t place it. His body is compelled to obey the order and he finds himself awkwardly climbing out of the chair, his head groggy and legs uncooperative. He stumbles through a door at the far end of the room and travels down a bare hallway. Selection, Mark’s memory slowly kicks in. Phase 1, Q Course, Special Forces. Selection, I’m at Selection.

Meanwhile, at a diner some hundred miles away Katrina Yulavette was busy selecting a new job. Diner’s Delight where she waitressed part time recently changed ownership. The new owner, a portly, middle aged-woman from the mid-west had nearly turned the place into a brothel—to put it nicely. Gone were the days of smiling families, good conversation, and even better tips. In their place were sleazy smiles, back room hook-ups, and incessant groping. Most of the waiting staff had left within a few weeks of the change, but Katrina stayed--for what reason she did not know.

This would be her last night working here, she decided as she searched through the classifieds. She had enough of the gawking eyes and outfits that were tastelessly too tight and low cut. Most of all she couldn’t stand having to pretend she enjoyed it. She hated having to flirt with every single table she got. The men who frequent were far from desirable. Sloppy, self-important womanizers, she felt as though she needed a shower after every table. The worst of all was Greg; one of her regulars. He was a lanky man in his late fifties with bad breath and ill fitting skin. His fingernails were as yellow and cracked as his lips, his black hair thinned in odd patches. Worst still was the man’s personality. He was crabby and grabby; a worse combination she had yet to see. He forced himself on the waitresses who were all expected to giggle and bend over and every possible opportunity. And to Katrina’s great joy he now stood at the host’s stand.

“You’re up,” Ben, the host, called to her.

Sighing, she folded up her newspaper, sipped her soda, and finally managed to burp out the large belch that had been brewing in her for the past few minutes—a nice relaxing rumbler.
“He, he you’re lucky you got those hooters on ya,” Greg rasped. “What are ya, a double D?” His eyes focused on the required low cut top that was two sizes too small; her breasts were pouring out of it.
She smirked as she grabbed a menu and very casually let out another big belch, this one much longer. “A whole lot more where that came from,” she muttered.

She led Greg to his usual table

[reina7]

Oooo! This sounds cool. I'm quite enjoying it. Keep it going.

[Ninjaman1224]

This is really good! Can't wait for more~

[girlburplover9]

wow this story is absolutely incredible. please continue

[Reiko]

Thanks . Got the usb back. Will do more tomorrow night.

She led Greg to his usual table blotting the thought that he was drooling over her ass.

"You want your usual?" she asked, already putting bacon and eggs into the computer.

“Yea and..." He paused for a long while, taking deep breaths, and smiling that disgusting smile of his. She looked over at him and the smile widened; his eyes full of excitment and desire.

Here we go.

"I, well, I wanted to ask if you might be intrested-"

"Kat, can you pick up booth three?" Interrupted a female server cradling a large tray on her shoulder. One of the glasses of water looked as if it were about to tip over so Kat reached out to right it.

"How big?"

"Two," she replied.

"Umm, sure."

The server thanked her and rushed off; the same glass wobbled on her tray.

Greg wasn't too fond of being interrupted and sulked in his seat like an ill tempered child denied dessert. All that sugar would rot your teeth anyway.

"Sorry, hun, I need to get going," she said.

He frowned and grumbled and pursed his lips, "Well you be back quick."

She strained a smile and headed back down the aisle until she reached the booths in the back. Stomach bubbling, she threw her head to the side and burped behind her hand; it tasted like coke.

[Reiko]

Haven't had much time, but still working on it.

Tasty.

Unfortunately, she reacted so quickly she hadn't seen who was standing to her side and unwittingly burped right into her manager's ear.

He wasn't too pleased and this was his breaking point. Three tables had already walked out, the kitchen was full of dead orders, the owner was breathing down his neck about that damn back room, and now servers were belching in guest's ears. Enough was enough. Was it so much for people to just do their damn jobs?

"Cash out, leave, and don't come back tomorrow," he told her.

Shocked, she didn't say anything. She couldn't say anything. Not one for drama or protest, at least when it concerned something she cared so little about. She transfered her tables, checked out, ignored Greg's questions, and left with $47 in her pocket. Good riddance.

The night air was hot and moist; a warm breeze brought dust and the scent of oil. Across the street a light flickered in the old abandoned movie theater. She burped a rumbling six second belch, sighing in relief once it was out. What a stupid thing to be fired for. She imagined going to an interview and explaining why she left her previous job. I drank some coke and got the burps real bad.

She belched loudly and sighed again as she walked to the bus stop pondering what she would do for work. Not many places were hiring, times were rough. She had a cousin who worked as a security guard and apparently they were always hiring. It was worth looking in to. She belched--they just kept flying out--and started to call her cousin, but in an instant it didn't matter. She had no way of knowing it then, but none of it would matter anymore. Because the buildings around her exploded.

[kdrove]

P.S. I like that this has some sort of a plot which isn't belching related. It's like real life. Burping just makes it all the sweeter.

[Reiko]

Haha, yea that's what I was going for. Reader beware, it might get graphic. Or maybe not, don't know yet.

The Special Forces Qualification Course is a rigorous gauntlet of physical and mental trials meant to test the best of the US Special Forces community. Completion of said course grants one admission into one of the seven Special Forces Groups-- the Green Berets. Applicants generally came from other special opperations units such as the Rangers, Force Recon, and SEALs, but occasionally some came from Big Army. Mark Galbert had trained for years with only Selection in mind. He gruled through OCS, Airborne School, and Ranger School taking in everything he could along the way. When the time for advancement came he passed over an O-4 promotion so he would remain in the qualifying O-3 grade. Unmarried with no plans of starting a family, he had devoted the past ten years of his life to service and it would call for many more still.

He would have been pissed had Selection been canceled for any other reason. Two nights prior several cities across the globe were bombed. Casualties worldwide were in the hundreds of thousands and as of yet no organization claimed responsibility. The targets appeared to have been chosen at random, in some cases areas of little strategic importance were hit harder than valuable regions. Mark's unit along with several Big Army and Marine battalions were deployed to the Atlantic Seaboard to assist with rescue and recovery efforts.

Mark's second, a 25 year old first lieutenant named Benjamin Moore, wore a hard gaze on his tan face as the aging UH-60 came about the coast of Maine. The once white sand bore dark scorch marks shaped like giant fingers. Massive plumes of smoke darkened the mid-afternoon sky. Moore's first tour had been in Iraq where he witnessed firsthand the atrocities man could bestow upon his fellows. He prayed to never see such horrors again, but as the helicopter landed the scene felt all too familiar.

The first sergeant, David Woods, couldn't help but feel the same as the platoon rooted through the charred remains of beachfront properties. He had been holding his young daughter when the call came and now was brushing the ash of someone's home off his Kevlar. A fifteen year veteran, he had grown accustomed to seeing the worst of people. It never got better.

"What a mess," was all he could say. "What a mess."

A mess it was. And only a hundred miles from the coast was a force that aimed to make it worse...


Kat shuddered as she brought the hot cup of coffee to her lips. She never drank coffee before and it tasted terrible, but right now that really wasn't important. She needed to keep digging, whoever was trapped underneath the pile of debris needed help. It was a miracle she, herself, had survived and was relatively unscathed. The bench she was sitting on along with a few intact doors had created a cocoon that shielded her from most of the debris.

[Reiko]

A small group found her passed out while they were digging through the area looking for supplies. She hadn't been hurt too badly: her arms were bruised and legs a little cut up. From what they could tell she didn't have a concussion, but none were medically trained. The shock had worn off, but the confusion was still very much present. The town was a smoking ruin and nobody seemed to have any idea what happened. First thought was terrorists, but that got thrown out quick. Of all places to attack why Peachland North Carolina? What would be the point? Because it was easy? To show you were always vulnerable? And if so then why, after almost four days, was there no help? That matter was strange in itself. Outside their little group they hadn't run into anyone. At all. Except whoever was moaning in the rubble they were digging through. It didn't make any sense, but maybe these things weren't supposed to.

She downed the rest of her coffee and got back to sorting through the debris. It was hard to believe this stuff could have been...anything. The voice grew louder as she dug. It made her wonder how things were back...no. She told herself she wouldn't think about. She wouldn't think about her family. She didn't know enough about what was going on and would only drive herself crazy thinking about what ifs.

[Reiko]

Besides, they were probably fine. Peachland's a little out the way which is why its taking so long to send help, but Charlotte's a major city. Plenty of help there. Its not like anything happened anywhere else anyway. They're all fine--no. She wasn't doing this. Not doing it--she suddenly was aware of how quiet it was. The moaning had stopped.

"No," she gasped. "'No, no, no...no, hang on. Hang on!"

She started digging as fast as she could, but it was for naught.

It would take another ten minutes before she found the body. Whoever he had been, he was in bad shape. He wouldn't have lasted even if she had gotten to him sooner. The name on his I.D. read Jeremey Thatcher. Rest in peace.

She headed back to the grocery store where she and the others had been holding out. Topside there wasn't much left, but the basement and its stores were still relatively intact. Kehidar was the only one back--she found him hunched over a small fire cooking pasta. She sat across from him and he immediately threw her a bottle of water.

"Drink up," he told her.

She caught it and chugged it deeply without a word; eyes focused on the ground.

"The one you were digging up?"

She shook her head. It wasn't the first body she had seen, but that didn't make it any better. It was the eyes that got her. They all had the same empty eyes; devoid of all substance.

"That's a shame. Though I guess it's just as well. There's only enough here to keep us another day or so."

How did he stay so detached? It was like he didn't care. Each one they found put her stomach in knots. How much death must you be around to be so unphased? The others were quick to share their entire life stories after the first night. Kendra was just out of highschool, her fiance was in the army, wanted six kids, and dreamed of making clothes for the rest of her life. Her favorite color was purple, she liked fried chicken, and hated homophobia. Rachel was a vegetarian when it was convenient, a die hard Christian, and conservative. She was also in the process of suing her ex for child support. But Kehidar, she couldn't say much about. Quiet, dark skin, 6'2'', 190ish. He was nice and she kinda liked him, which was saying a lot because in her twenty-two years she hadn't liked many people. He would always get this really intense look whenever he did anything. Like right now. It would take some time before the water boiled, but he was still so focused on that little pot. Like he was waiting for it to grow legs and lead him to some hidden gold mine. There was something peculiar about him that she couldn't help but find cute. Not that now was the time for such thoughts.

"What do you mean? This place is full of...did it go bad or something?"

"Looks like most of it was already done."

Kat took another swig and her stomach jumped. She burped loudly--closing her mouth halfway through. Kehidar raised an eyebrow.

"Sorry."

"Let it out if you got it," he snickered.

She smiled. "I got fired for burping too much."