Donovan's Palace

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Donavon awoke to the piles of severed limbs and bloody corpses before him.  The massacre had been swift, cruel, and horrible. Luck, if could so be called, was the only reason Donovan had survived, and this luck had graced Donovan with a gaping wound one the side of his large square head.

Donovan did not know where he was at the time, he didn’t even know that his name was Donavon.  He looked all around him at the piles of bodies, but was more distracted by the beautiful and graceful surroundings hosting the piles.  If not for the bile and bloodstains on the pillars and walls this place would look like a palace.  In fact it was a palace, Donovan remembered that now.  But why was he in a palace? He thought.

He then felt his clothes, and felt something on his chest, these, what were they called? MEDALS, yes, medals and badges, but why was he wearing medals and badges?  It was a uniform, yes thats why, he was in a military uniform, a quite well decorated one to.

As Donovan pulled himself to his feet, dizzy like a drunk he stumbled repeatedly using one hand to clutch the gap in his forehead and the other to make an attempt at balance.

Donavon had know idea who he was, why we was in a well decorated uniform, and why he was in a palace.  All he knew was that he was surrounded by limbs and bodies, but why? What happened?  Who were all these people, some like Donovan are in well dressed uniforms and others in tuxedos and other variants of 5000 dollar suits.  Women were in either classy night gowns or fuck me mini dresses, a fitting variety of your typical political wives, if only Donovan had realized that.

He stumbled around this tall palace with its glorious decorations, the room he was in resembled something out of Versailles.  The glory of this hall had Donovan lose himself more in its beauty than his terror and amnesia.  Donovan struggled to keep his wound from bleeding out more and his tears from pouring out his eyes.  Near the door to this hall was another pile of bodies engrossed in flames.  Donovan recognized the smell coming from those scorching bodies.  It was napalm.  Donovan could remember the smell of napalm but not his own name.

Donovan stumbled once again and leaned against the doorway, looking back on the gore and horror in the room.  Who were all these well dressed people? Why were they all in this palace?  Why were they all dead?

Donovan stumbled all across this palace, and from hall to hall it was the same.  Stains of blood and remnants of destruction, with the occasional fire and smell of gasoline and napalm, and bodies.  Lots and lots of bodies.

Suddenly Donavon turned a corner and found another body, a body that was definitely different from all the others.  The body was in a type of hand welded battle armor, it was both obviously self done but very high tech.  The body was that of a boy who couldn't possibly be more than 18 or 19.  He had a red bandana around his forehead, and in one hand he was clutching a pistol.  He had been shot in the shoulder, and he was still bleeding out.  Donovan bent down to look at this body because it was unlike all the others it still seemed familiar in some way,  but how? Was he one of the ones responsible for all this blood shed?

Suddenly Donovan turned to look at the other bodies in the room and was alive with a great sense of terror and fear.  In a bloody heap just next to the boy in armor was a body that looked exactly like Donovan.  Everything from his large square head to the well decorated uniform were there, the only difference was this body had no gash on his forehead.

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