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Darkest Days 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
* 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 outrun. *
All I feel is hollow and bruised
* 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
* 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
* 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
* 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
* 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.* Maintained by: |
