Ezekiel – The Warrior

Ezekiel was a sperm. He was a third generation warrior sperm to be precise.

The great task of his order was to be the steel fist of spermkind, so that when the Tunnels to the Unknown opened, they could secure a beach head for the less warlike, colonial, sperm behind.

Ezekiel was just finishing his morning combat drill with his squad mates, learning hand to hand combat and survival skills. No sperm was allowed to venture into the Unknown without the ability to hunt for food and survive in the wild independent from the group.

Wiping the sweat from his brow with a bit of tissue, he starts back to the barracks when the alarm rings out across the compound.

A big calloused hand clasps itself on his shoulder, “well, ‘Zeke, looks like we are going to find out what we’ve been training for! You excited?” Sergeant Wilson was the oldest sperm in the barracks, and had finally earned the right to forgo training of young sperms and join the fight himself.

“Yes sir, Sarge! I can’t wait to see what lies behind the tunnels. Let’s hope there is something to fight eh Sarge?”

“Steady on ‘Zeke, we’ll fight if we must, but that is a last resort. Hurry into your uniform, from the rumbling above I think this is going to be a BIG one.”

Ezekiel ran from Sarge with a massive grin on his face, racing to his dorm and his shiny dress uniform. It wasn’t until he had finished buttoning his jacket that he glances into the mirror and realises that although he was very excited, he was also mortified.

No sperm had ever returned from the Unknown. Were they all dead? Were they all alive and living in a sperm paradise? These were questions that Ezekiel had been trained to deal with, almost from birth, but this was the first time he had to confront them head on.

Adjusting his jacket for the last time he casts his eye over his room. His whole history, his identity, wrapped up in a few items that are now all but worthless.

He walks over to the big picture of his family. Both parents were warriors, as their parents before. His sister somehow became a baker, safe behind the lines usually – depending on the size of the emergency.

Hopefully this emergency would answer all the questions about his parent’s fate, and hopefully give him the information he needed to break the cycle once and for all. Protect his sister and all sperm kind, forever.

Galvanised, Ezekiel leaves his room without a backward glance. The future is all, now.

More and more sperm were filing into the great square in front of the tunnels. The pressure was palpable; as soldiers barked orders and colonists behind clutched their children and the meagre belongings they were permitted.

Load moans could now be heard from the Unknown. One clearly higher pitched than the other. Massive gyrations were now shaking the square, scaring the children.

“God, just hurry up already! I’m sick of this waiting!” Complained Private Jones, Ezekiel’s best friend in the squad.

“You’ll get your chance Jonesy,” Ezekiel replies grimly, “you’ll get your chance.”

The gyration and otherworldly moaning build to a crescendo.  Sensing the moment Sergeant Wilson stands up to address the troops, tears streaming down his face.

“Today we all step into the valley of the shadow of death. Many of you will not survive the tunnel, and God alone knows what awaits us in the Unknown. One thing I do know is that no matter what comes, you will all hold your heads high, and show the world outside what it means to be SPERM!!!”

Yelling out the last in a spray of tears and saliva, the Tunnel opens suddenly and Ezekiel’s world turns to black.

In the tunnel Ezekiel clings to the training he received, checking his equipment and feeling for his squad mates. Sarge answers his grip with a grip of his own. Jones’ body is limp.

Realising that his friend would never live to share the mystery of the Unknown, Ezekiel makes a silent prayer.

Suddenly – light! Ezekiel dries his eyes and prepares for impact. As he leaves the tunnel he becomes overwhelmed by noise.

“Oh yes baby, yes!!” thunders through the air as from the mouth of a god.

Looking around to identify the situation, a large yellow object appears to be getting closer, very quickly.

Sarge yells out, “Brace for it! Brace dammit!”

Hearing this shocks Ezekiel from his stupor and he braces just in time. Half of his squad did not react fast enough, and Ezekiel is showered in their body parts.

“Oh yeah baby, you had quite a load for me didn’t you?”

The higher pitched voice heard from inside identifies herself far above, still shockingly loud.

Ignoring the voice Sarge pulls together the surviving sperm.

“Okay you maggots! Group up we….”

His voice is cut off as a gigantic finger squashes him to the ground and rubs him in slowly.

“Yeah baby, covered both of your tits. You are amazing with that mouth of yours.” Thunders the deeper voice again. Almost mocking the horror below with its awesome banality.

Ezekiel starts to crawl through the mass of survivors and body parts, trying to rally the men.

“To me sperm, to me! Stick together!”

He cries, as he struggles for safety. He carries on, even as he watches childhood friends crushed to death by an enormous hand.

Finally, he and his rag tag troop of survivors make it to a large bowl like valley.

As Ezekiel does a quick head count the higher pitched voice cracks overhead, “Oh baby, I’m filthy, hand me the towel. I got some of your junk in my belly button. ”

The reply is lost to the sperm as the whole world turns a greyish blue and the light dies. Hearing screaming that Ezekiel finally recognises as his own, he knows that he is the only survivor left. Raising his head to face whatever comes head on, the last thing he hears is the rasp of old towel on damp skin, and then – blackness.

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Published by

James

Easing into my mid 30's, writing just crept up on me. I had to put something out there - no matter what. So here we are! I live in Canberra, Australia and work in statistical IT systems development and support and am a proud father of two

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