Moving...
The cries and shouts were getting louder and louder.
The cacophony of the sounds was so intense.
Full of emotions, - I could feel them and hear them!
Then, I woke up, bathed in sweat, cold sweat.
I just sat there immobile on my tattered bed, breathing in the musty smells of the room.
I listened to the sounds of cars passing by my house.
Such horrifying dreams plague me night after night.
Even on the days I don't have any of those dreams I'm awoken by strange noises.
The sounds of chairs dragging.
The sudden sound of the tap running.
Yet with my paltry income I knew I had to put up with this.
So every night I endured the those horrors.
Eventually I went for counselling to find out about these horrific dreams.
The counsellor merely gave me the inconclusive theory that it may be a manifestation of my inner hatred towards something and gave me some drugs.
Finally, I resumed proper sleep.
The furniture continued to shift around though but it didn't bother me too much anymore.
I neglected to mention about my sleepwalking to the doctor during my visits but I felt that I was pretty used to it.
On the very first day itself, I awoke to find myself in the living room asleep in a large wooden ornate chair.
This had happened quite a few times.
It was always the same.
I always woke up in that chair.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Truly Friends?
*BOOM BOOM*
*Followed by a span of silence that felt like a year but in fact only lasted about a second or so.*
But who's timing it?
*Klink Klink*
The shell casings hit the floor. Followed by an unending silence.
The attacker holsters his gun and takes a seat on a bench near enough to see the body. My body.
"It's perfectly safe to touch him you know? All I wanted was to knock him off. Go on weep or something. He's your friend after all."
No one stirs. Nothing happens just endless moments of silence. Some people run off to get the security others shield their eyes from looking at the body and many others turn to examine the killer.
He's wearing a funny coat with markings on it and most notably stripes on his shoulders. With a young face with deep eyes and blood red tinted sunglasses which seem to have sparks flowing around in the lenses. Slick combed back hair and shiny black leather shoes. He was tall and lean. And he certainly didn't look like he could have carried off what he had just done.
Pulling a gun at 10 metres firing 2 shots in under a second with dead on accuracy for the centre of the forehead and another to the heart.
No one looks at me. I can tell.
"You call yourself friends? There really isn't any of you that hasn't wished for him to be dead anyway. You'd break his heart if he found out."
*Mocking laugh*
"Ooooooo The air is pretty cold in here with a hint of celebration I guess you guys which call yourself his friends are actually glad to be rid of him. All those times where you felt he was strange, knew too much, was too nosy, too annoying. Such a pity."
His eyes darts to my body. People are screaming and backing away. No one has touched my body for 20 minutes and suddenly they're all backing away faster than I would expected for them to come and tend to my body.
The murderer merely looks on.
2 Hands made entirely of mental flare, I use, looking like disembodied hands made of sparks with a ball of flame in the palm. I go for the heart first pulling out the bullet and sealing the chambers. I leave the wound open. I don't have enough energy to close it.
I pull the bullet out and close the wound in my head. I'm going to need that.
I don't need the hands anymore. I can use my own hands.
I get up and head over to him. He isn't shocked but he is certainly surprised.
I hear the gasping but thats not going to stop me. He draws the gun again. He takes a few more shots at me but my inner fire burns the bullets distorting their direction.
I grab him and fling him bodily into a bench. I pick him up.
"Closest thing to immortal. Yeah, thats you. My name is Everich Mackeler from the Virulence. Just here to prove it to you again."
I fling him into a wall and he passes out cold immeadietly.
Feeling my eyes begining to burn.
But yet not from my powers. I feel my strenght draining. The strenght that makes me more than just human. It's something else.
I turn to these people whom I call my friends, tears begining to flow.
I take a deep breath.
"WHY!!!???"
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Lazy to moderate 2 blogs need I say more?
The cacophony of the sounds was so intense.
Full of emotions, - I could feel them and hear them!
Then, I woke up, bathed in sweat, cold sweat.
I just sat there immobile on my tattered bed, breathing in the musty smells of the room.
I listened to the sounds of cars passing by my house.
Such horrifying dreams plague me night after night.
Even on the days I don't have any of those dreams I'm awoken by strange noises.
The sounds of chairs dragging.
The sudden sound of the tap running.
Yet with my paltry income I knew I had to put up with this.
So every night I endured the those horrors.
Eventually I went for counselling to find out about these horrific dreams.
The counsellor merely gave me the inconclusive theory that it may be a manifestation of my inner hatred towards something and gave me some drugs.
Finally, I resumed proper sleep.
The furniture continued to shift around though but it didn't bother me too much anymore.
I neglected to mention about my sleepwalking to the doctor during my visits but I felt that I was pretty used to it.
On the very first day itself, I awoke to find myself in the living room asleep in a large wooden ornate chair.
This had happened quite a few times.
It was always the same.
I always woke up in that chair.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Truly Friends?
*BOOM BOOM*
*Followed by a span of silence that felt like a year but in fact only lasted about a second or so.*
But who's timing it?
*Klink Klink*
The shell casings hit the floor. Followed by an unending silence.
The attacker holsters his gun and takes a seat on a bench near enough to see the body. My body.
"It's perfectly safe to touch him you know? All I wanted was to knock him off. Go on weep or something. He's your friend after all."
No one stirs. Nothing happens just endless moments of silence. Some people run off to get the security others shield their eyes from looking at the body and many others turn to examine the killer.
He's wearing a funny coat with markings on it and most notably stripes on his shoulders. With a young face with deep eyes and blood red tinted sunglasses which seem to have sparks flowing around in the lenses. Slick combed back hair and shiny black leather shoes. He was tall and lean. And he certainly didn't look like he could have carried off what he had just done.
Pulling a gun at 10 metres firing 2 shots in under a second with dead on accuracy for the centre of the forehead and another to the heart.
No one looks at me. I can tell.
"You call yourself friends? There really isn't any of you that hasn't wished for him to be dead anyway. You'd break his heart if he found out."
*Mocking laugh*
"Ooooooo The air is pretty cold in here with a hint of celebration I guess you guys which call yourself his friends are actually glad to be rid of him. All those times where you felt he was strange, knew too much, was too nosy, too annoying. Such a pity."
His eyes darts to my body. People are screaming and backing away. No one has touched my body for 20 minutes and suddenly they're all backing away faster than I would expected for them to come and tend to my body.
The murderer merely looks on.
2 Hands made entirely of mental flare, I use, looking like disembodied hands made of sparks with a ball of flame in the palm. I go for the heart first pulling out the bullet and sealing the chambers. I leave the wound open. I don't have enough energy to close it.
I pull the bullet out and close the wound in my head. I'm going to need that.
I don't need the hands anymore. I can use my own hands.
I get up and head over to him. He isn't shocked but he is certainly surprised.
I hear the gasping but thats not going to stop me. He draws the gun again. He takes a few more shots at me but my inner fire burns the bullets distorting their direction.
I grab him and fling him bodily into a bench. I pick him up.
"Closest thing to immortal. Yeah, thats you. My name is Everich Mackeler from the Virulence. Just here to prove it to you again."
I fling him into a wall and he passes out cold immeadietly.
Feeling my eyes begining to burn.
But yet not from my powers. I feel my strenght draining. The strenght that makes me more than just human. It's something else.
I turn to these people whom I call my friends, tears begining to flow.
I take a deep breath.
"WHY!!!???"
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Lazy to moderate 2 blogs need I say more?
