10:50 p.m. - 2006-01-19
stupid fantasy story and rpg 1
when he finished, his forehead was moist with sweat. Trickling down his sideburns, droplets gather at his jawline. He dragged the cigarette at his mouth and briefly held his breath. hhrffffff. He exhaled, a long thin smooth line of smoke appeared in the cold midnight air. The grey ghost fluttered and then it was gone. Brownian motion, he wryly observed.
After a while, he got up from the curb.
The car was wrecked, bruised metal pieces jagged out at misshapen angles, cobweb-crack lines splayed across what's left of the windscreen.
a figure slumped backwards on the driver's seat reminds him of a puppet harlequin with thin limbs distorted, head bent over the neck at an impossible angle.
he looked up at the skies and wondered to himself, "when would they come and collect him?"
If they were coming at all.
The arch angels, protectors of the gates, they should appear whenever one of their brethen is killed.
He must hurry now.
The gates are slowly closing, and the arch angels swooping down, as surely as he waits.
The burnt out stub of a cigarette dropped to the floor, and in that instant, his black boots lifted off the road and up and up and then, he was away.
Cigarettes make you high.
He should be a tobacco adsales executive; at least the sins were lighter.
he estimates that there's still about 25mins till the dimensional gate retracts.
Else he might, no, he must kill again.
And this time, it would surely be harder.
