by Nev Stardust
The warehouse was dark, almost pitch black, but a tiny stream of light dared to penetrate the
overpowering darkness, from a high but small window near the ceiling. Below that
shimmering square of hope, the derelict floor lay littered with various boxes and stained rags,
some resembling what once could have been clothing of some sorts. In one corner there sat a
man of about twenty-seven in appearance. He was hunched over, allowing his long black hair
to shield his red eyes, eyes that harbored a well-hidden pain and rage.
There are times when I'm just a shell
When I do not feel anything for anyone
In his leather gloved right hand he held a 9mm handgun, the Peacemaker, already loaded and
eager for sweet release. His left hand was a golden clawed and unfeeling outcome of the
perverse experiment that gave birth to the lonely nightmares that he would never live to
All I feel is hollow and bruised
Used up and misused
It was always the same in his dreams, a passionate kiss, stolen and given to another less
worthy, less human. Hojo would always be the one lacking in humanity, for he was the one
responsible for bloodied hands and altered lives. Vincent, the man who now sat alone in the
abandoned warehouse reliving his past, was the victim.
Forced to be someone I didn't want to be
Have I failed somehow or someway?
Up above, on the windowsill, a sparrow trilled its praises to the morning, unaware of the
haunted man who sat so far below in the shadows. Vincent slowly looked up, cold hatred
burning bright behind his mask of stoicism. He silently raised the handgun, with the Galian
Beast looking over his shoulder, waiting for the moment when the bird would raise its
plumage in an attempt to fly, something ghosts of men will never experience. After a few
moments of anxious waiting, the sparrow hopped to the edge and gracefully spread its wings
to greet the warmth of a day that would fade out to become a darker shade of grey. A sky
disrupted only by the searing sound of unleashed bullets and tortured screams. Now as the
bird toppled from its perch in a dying light, another memory was released, like the silence that
was once again choking the air.
Will the weight of today finally
Pull me down to drown?
Another dream now, a vision of vented anger, like the tempest let loose upon a cheated mind.
Her debauchery was Hojo's private game, always his sadistic games.
In the depths of despair
Where I am alone
As if in slow motion, the Peacemaker slipped between jaded fingers and clattered on the
concrete floor sending ripples into the cavernous void. The room was a river of lament and he
was drowning in it.
Except for my rage
My rage...My pain
A garbled howl ripped through Vincent's pale lips, making them bleed the
sinister whispers of hell-bent thoughts.
I hate my darkest days...
*I don't own the song Darkest Days...Stabbing Westward does.*