Post by Sutcliff on Jan 8, 2013 10:17:10 GMT -6
Oh how unfathomably boring... So much waiting. It was positively dreadful. Even with all of the death and carnage he still had to wait for more. And seeing as he had already completed much of his work since arriving to this world, it only meant that he had even less to do. Curse his deadly efficient ways.
High, high upon the roof tops of Hallowton, a red clad figure watched over the city with nothing short of boredom in his yellow-green eyes.
Red coat slung about his shoulders, radiantly gleaming hair blowing to and fro in the death and blood stained wind, he made for an elegant and entrancing vision of beauty and perfection. A vision of death in it's purest form. A message of the plight that washed over the city. A living symbol of the pain and sorrow that swept these streets. How lovely.
Pointed teeth parted in a sigh that slumped even his shoulders as he leaned upon his beloved death scythe, a chainsaw. Yes, such a boring night indeed. Luckily his next collection would be along shortly. Not too much longer now... Hopefully.
The red-haired man's lips were drawn into a sickening smile as he peered down into the streets just below his perch. Speak of the devil. There he was. A young man, not even yet reaching the peak of his life and about to retire into eternal slumber. From the outside he appeared simply fine- but on the inside was a different story. Internal bleeding, hemorrhaging, disease running rampant. And to think, he was no older than perhaps eighteen. Perhaps even had a family to take care of. A little sister that looked up to him. An ailing mother that loved him dearly. Yes, even a dog that wanted so badly to follow it's master wherever he may go but was too stricken with the plague to do so. That man himself was struggling. Holding his gut and trying his best not to moan with every painful step. How tragic.
Here was a man that was a perfect example of how life emulated the stage. All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players. Cliche and wonderfully true. Ah well, onto work.
Without further ado, as if cued by some invisible force, he collapsed, the hand he had pressed to the wall not doing much to support him. A harsh thud and he was laying face first in the streets, coughing up blood and who knows what else, staining said street in a wonderful shade of crimson red.
Now was the time.
The red-headed man, lighted the street with nary a sound, heels landed just beside the man's head.
"My my my. Dear me you have suffered quite a bit. Not to worry~"
The tone was rather cheery. So much so that it caused the young man at his feet to weakly attempt to turn his head to see who could possibly be so light hearted in times like this. But that is when the tone darkened.
"It is all over now..."
A sadistic grin washed over the smoothly twisted face as the roar of his chainsaw sparked to life, and it came down upon the poor man's back.
High, high upon the roof tops of Hallowton, a red clad figure watched over the city with nothing short of boredom in his yellow-green eyes.
Red coat slung about his shoulders, radiantly gleaming hair blowing to and fro in the death and blood stained wind, he made for an elegant and entrancing vision of beauty and perfection. A vision of death in it's purest form. A message of the plight that washed over the city. A living symbol of the pain and sorrow that swept these streets. How lovely.
Pointed teeth parted in a sigh that slumped even his shoulders as he leaned upon his beloved death scythe, a chainsaw. Yes, such a boring night indeed. Luckily his next collection would be along shortly. Not too much longer now... Hopefully.
The red-haired man's lips were drawn into a sickening smile as he peered down into the streets just below his perch. Speak of the devil. There he was. A young man, not even yet reaching the peak of his life and about to retire into eternal slumber. From the outside he appeared simply fine- but on the inside was a different story. Internal bleeding, hemorrhaging, disease running rampant. And to think, he was no older than perhaps eighteen. Perhaps even had a family to take care of. A little sister that looked up to him. An ailing mother that loved him dearly. Yes, even a dog that wanted so badly to follow it's master wherever he may go but was too stricken with the plague to do so. That man himself was struggling. Holding his gut and trying his best not to moan with every painful step. How tragic.
Here was a man that was a perfect example of how life emulated the stage. All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players. Cliche and wonderfully true. Ah well, onto work.
Without further ado, as if cued by some invisible force, he collapsed, the hand he had pressed to the wall not doing much to support him. A harsh thud and he was laying face first in the streets, coughing up blood and who knows what else, staining said street in a wonderful shade of crimson red.
Now was the time.
The red-headed man, lighted the street with nary a sound, heels landed just beside the man's head.
"My my my. Dear me you have suffered quite a bit. Not to worry~"
The tone was rather cheery. So much so that it caused the young man at his feet to weakly attempt to turn his head to see who could possibly be so light hearted in times like this. But that is when the tone darkened.
"It is all over now..."
A sadistic grin washed over the smoothly twisted face as the roar of his chainsaw sparked to life, and it came down upon the poor man's back.
