21-11-2003, 03:33
The City slumbered like some broken beast, bruised and bleeding. A red moon hung low against the jagged foil of crumbling skyscrapers, steel skeletons rearing up into the dark, dark, night. The streets shone wet with fresh rain, running black wih fresh ash, running red with fresh blood. The shadows tenuous here, save for the dying flutter of a streetlamp, a stolen peek of warmth and light from behind those heavy black curtains, from within the ruins of a broken home.
He leaned against the twisted carcass of a burnt-out car, fatefully caught within the crossfire of the last few days. The stirring crackle of match, lit cupped behind the massive breadth of his hand, dancing shadows cast against those thin, dark lips. A few stray tendrils of smoke curled at his nostrils, winding past the felted brim of his hat. The soft pulse of a lit cigarette, a silent warmth, it's gentle orange glow. Held between his lips, it brightened at the draw, shadowing a smooth sillouhette against the broken concrete wall. A tall, gaunt man, built of long, thin, limbs, like a marionette sof reshly freed from it's strings. A long black overcoat, damp with the rain, still clinging fresh to the night air, hung loose about his thin shoulders, slightly set off kilter. He was clean-shaven, his hair freshly cut, cropped short against the scalp, making his face seem all the more drawn and thin.
The silence held like a thin sheet of celophane, stretching and twisting to the abient sounds of the night, barely clinging to the city, trimmed with the gentle hum of a burning sign, left hanging in a shop keep's broken window, with the casual rustle of papers tumbling in the wind. Then it all broke, shattered in the high toned slick of fresh soles against the sidewalk. They permeated the autumn breeze, their pace all too meticulous and measured, niether rushed nor slowed. A figure swept through the thin halo of light amongst that cigarette, flickering faintly. A man's whisper, but a thin rasp against the tall man's ear. You could almost hear, almost feel, the tall man grin, tabbaco nearly run through as his teeth clenched firm.
He slipped a thin manilla folder into his damp overcoat, his hand rsting there for a moment, fingers plucking the cigg from his lips, almost black, they were. His voice, soft and deep, warm and inviting, the kind you always wished you could believe.
"Ringraziamenti del Charles il grande per voi assistenza.."
That smile faded at the sound of the gunshot, the flame caught within his eyes. The rosy glow of the moon cast against the fresh spilled blood, the tiwsted shadow of a dead man, strung against the broken curb. And he walked down the street, towards the twisting steel skeletons, revolover still warm aggainst his palm.
He leaned against the twisted carcass of a burnt-out car, fatefully caught within the crossfire of the last few days. The stirring crackle of match, lit cupped behind the massive breadth of his hand, dancing shadows cast against those thin, dark lips. A few stray tendrils of smoke curled at his nostrils, winding past the felted brim of his hat. The soft pulse of a lit cigarette, a silent warmth, it's gentle orange glow. Held between his lips, it brightened at the draw, shadowing a smooth sillouhette against the broken concrete wall. A tall, gaunt man, built of long, thin, limbs, like a marionette sof reshly freed from it's strings. A long black overcoat, damp with the rain, still clinging fresh to the night air, hung loose about his thin shoulders, slightly set off kilter. He was clean-shaven, his hair freshly cut, cropped short against the scalp, making his face seem all the more drawn and thin.
The silence held like a thin sheet of celophane, stretching and twisting to the abient sounds of the night, barely clinging to the city, trimmed with the gentle hum of a burning sign, left hanging in a shop keep's broken window, with the casual rustle of papers tumbling in the wind. Then it all broke, shattered in the high toned slick of fresh soles against the sidewalk. They permeated the autumn breeze, their pace all too meticulous and measured, niether rushed nor slowed. A figure swept through the thin halo of light amongst that cigarette, flickering faintly. A man's whisper, but a thin rasp against the tall man's ear. You could almost hear, almost feel, the tall man grin, tabbaco nearly run through as his teeth clenched firm.
He slipped a thin manilla folder into his damp overcoat, his hand rsting there for a moment, fingers plucking the cigg from his lips, almost black, they were. His voice, soft and deep, warm and inviting, the kind you always wished you could believe.
"Ringraziamenti del Charles il grande per voi assistenza.."
That smile faded at the sound of the gunshot, the flame caught within his eyes. The rosy glow of the moon cast against the fresh spilled blood, the tiwsted shadow of a dead man, strung against the broken curb. And he walked down the street, towards the twisting steel skeletons, revolover still warm aggainst his palm.