9:34 PM
Thursday, August 7, 2008
by kellie shae((: w/ ben's help. LOL
Chapter One (Past)
A black shadowy figure stood at the mouth of the alley. He wore a dark, low hat, casting a shadow upon his scarred, such that his red gleaming eyes stood out in the starless night. Around him, his cloak billowed in the wind. From afar, he appeared to be the Grim Reaper. The gun in his hand shone in the streetlights. He raised his white-gloved hand and put his finger to the trigger.
A hollow clicking resounded off the walls of the empty alley.
A scream pierced the still silent night.
Arterial blood splattered onto the walls of the alley.
The figure smiled to himself. The bright red of arterial blood reflected in his bloodshot eyes. The dull grey shade of the alley walls became abstract with blood creeping into the crevices of the wall; the art of murder. Holstering the gun, he allowed himself one more smile of satisfaction before straightening his expression. As he turned to walk out the alley, the demon returned, and his hunger for murder increased tenfold. If anyone were to stick their heads out their windows, they would never see the silent demon make his kill.
Chapter Two (Present)
Looking down the high streets of London, amongst the top hats and prim coats, a lone man stands out. A poor old man stands hunching against the wind in his thin cotton shirt. His patched checkered pants frayed at the calves, looking like the works of pesky rodents. If you look closely, beneath the dirty oversized hat, you could see his stark white skin and glowing red iris. A deep scar stood out on his skin, cutting from his eye to his lip. If you stared hard enough, you could see the deep lines on his colourless face, defining his age. Shivering in the cold, the beggar’s long white hair blew about, giving him a dishevelled look.
From behind, a carriage slowed to a stop, banging into the side of the beggar, knocking him off his feet, onto the steps behind him. A young well-groomed man stepped out of the white carriage, smiling charmingly. With a black bowler hat, a black cloak billowing in the wind, the man stood by the door of the carriage and held out his white gloved hand, bowing slightly. A fair maiden took the young man’s hand and eased herself out of the carriage. Laughing, the young man and lady swept past the crouching old man and strode briskly up the steps, into the costume boutique, not giving the poor old beggar even a second glance. The poor old man stared enviously, almost hungrily, as the young couple walking into the boutique. The driver of the carriage glared at the beggar with disgust and drove the carriage away, kicking sand into the beggar’s already sore eyes.
Coughing and retching from the sand in his throat, the beggar stood up slowly and rubbed the bruise on his blistered foot gingerly. He limped away down the street and turn into the alley behind the boutique. Shaking the sand out of his hair with one white hairless arm, the other help onto the wall, easing himself around the corner, disappearing from sight.
A black shadowy figure stood at the mouth of the alley. He wore a dark, low hat, casting a shadow upon his scarred, such that his red gleaming eyes stood out in the starless night. Around him, his cloak billowed in the wind. From afar, he appeared to be the Grim Reaper. The gun in his hand shone in the streetlights. He raised his white-gloved hand and put his finger to the trigger.
A hollow clicking resounded off the walls of the empty alley.
A scream pierced the still silent night.
Arterial blood splattered onto the walls of the alley.
The figure smiled to himself. The bright red of arterial blood reflected in his bloodshot eyes. The dull grey shade of the alley walls became abstract with blood creeping into the crevices of the wall; the art of murder. Holstering the gun, he allowed himself one more smile of satisfaction before straightening his expression. As he turned to walk out the alley, the demon returned, and his hunger for murder increased tenfold. If anyone were to stick their heads out their windows, they would never see the silent demon make his kill.
Chapter Two (Present)
Looking down the high streets of London, amongst the top hats and prim coats, a lone man stands out. A poor old man stands hunching against the wind in his thin cotton shirt. His patched checkered pants frayed at the calves, looking like the works of pesky rodents. If you look closely, beneath the dirty oversized hat, you could see his stark white skin and glowing red iris. A deep scar stood out on his skin, cutting from his eye to his lip. If you stared hard enough, you could see the deep lines on his colourless face, defining his age. Shivering in the cold, the beggar’s long white hair blew about, giving him a dishevelled look.
From behind, a carriage slowed to a stop, banging into the side of the beggar, knocking him off his feet, onto the steps behind him. A young well-groomed man stepped out of the white carriage, smiling charmingly. With a black bowler hat, a black cloak billowing in the wind, the man stood by the door of the carriage and held out his white gloved hand, bowing slightly. A fair maiden took the young man’s hand and eased herself out of the carriage. Laughing, the young man and lady swept past the crouching old man and strode briskly up the steps, into the costume boutique, not giving the poor old beggar even a second glance. The poor old man stared enviously, almost hungrily, as the young couple walking into the boutique. The driver of the carriage glared at the beggar with disgust and drove the carriage away, kicking sand into the beggar’s already sore eyes.
Coughing and retching from the sand in his throat, the beggar stood up slowly and rubbed the bruise on his blistered foot gingerly. He limped away down the street and turn into the alley behind the boutique. Shaking the sand out of his hair with one white hairless arm, the other help onto the wall, easing himself around the corner, disappearing from sight.