Suicide Notes and Butterfly Kisses
Given Up
"Get the fuck down!"
The closet door burst open and in flooded heavily armed men, who were dressed in black suits and gas masks. Ray and the gang sprung to the end wall, huddling together with confused expressions and racing hearts. Their eyes flickered around the small enclosed space as the sound of shuffling feet ceased. Two men solemnly dragged out the pathetic corpse of Sam, leading a long trail of thick crimson blood, while in walked another man.
Apart from the rest, this man wore a flawless white suit with white leather shoes. His hair was short and combed neatly to he side. Two scars were visible under his right eye and one above his right eye brow. Overall appearance was expensive and in his mouth, hung a half smoked cigar. He walked in readjusting his jacket before cupping his hand behind his back.
“Shayne, we finally met. I’ve heard so much about you and by the looks of it seems you haven’t drifted far from your murderous past, have you? And what do we have here? Strays?”
They all looked up at this stranger at the same time holding each other tighter than before, trying to figure him out.
“How rude of me. My name is King, Eric King. A few who deny, that what I do, I am the best,” he proclaimed. “And I’m here to collect my prize.”
They all looked at each other alarmingly, having this shit confuse the fuck out of them.
Eric chuckled and brought his arms to the front of him while standing at ease. He readjusted his cigar and blew out reels of grey smoke. He knelt down eyeing Frank giving a sick smile before wiping two fingers across the blood stained floors. He brought those two fingers to his nose, while smearing it with his thumb.
“So promising.” Eric whispered. Frank on the other hand, swallowed hard as he knew Eric’s words were set toward him.
Eric stood up pulling out his white handkerchief from his left pocket. While wiping off the blood from his fingers, his glare extended from Frank to Shayne’s.
“W-what do you… mean, prize?” Frank choked.
“Finally, he speaks.” Eric played. “What do I mean by ‘prize’? 548 students, whereby 67% were put on the market to see who would live and who would die… in the other words it was the ‘Survival of the Fittest’. Now 4 months and 7 hundred grand later, I finally get my answer… I win.”
“There’re gonna get you, you know,” Ray loathed.
“What’s gonna get me? The authorities?” Eric laughed amusing at with his back turned. “You’d think they’d get you out by now? Money makes the world go ‘round, son. You of all people should know that by now.”
Once he was finally out of the room he turned back to the four huddling for dear life. He was then handed a white gas mask, which he strapped to his face. As his gas mask was secured he tilled his head in though and in went in can of oneirogenic gas.
“Oh and before I forget. Raymond, your father says hi.”
The gas suffocated the air and forced Ray and the others to breath in the intoxicated smoke. Their eye lids fell heavily over their over glossed eyes. Their grips loosened as they drifted off into a deep sleep, finally giving up.
The closet door burst open and in flooded heavily armed men, who were dressed in black suits and gas masks. Ray and the gang sprung to the end wall, huddling together with confused expressions and racing hearts. Their eyes flickered around the small enclosed space as the sound of shuffling feet ceased. Two men solemnly dragged out the pathetic corpse of Sam, leading a long trail of thick crimson blood, while in walked another man.
Apart from the rest, this man wore a flawless white suit with white leather shoes. His hair was short and combed neatly to he side. Two scars were visible under his right eye and one above his right eye brow. Overall appearance was expensive and in his mouth, hung a half smoked cigar. He walked in readjusting his jacket before cupping his hand behind his back.
“Shayne, we finally met. I’ve heard so much about you and by the looks of it seems you haven’t drifted far from your murderous past, have you? And what do we have here? Strays?”
They all looked up at this stranger at the same time holding each other tighter than before, trying to figure him out.
“How rude of me. My name is King, Eric King. A few who deny, that what I do, I am the best,” he proclaimed. “And I’m here to collect my prize.”
They all looked at each other alarmingly, having this shit confuse the fuck out of them.
Eric chuckled and brought his arms to the front of him while standing at ease. He readjusted his cigar and blew out reels of grey smoke. He knelt down eyeing Frank giving a sick smile before wiping two fingers across the blood stained floors. He brought those two fingers to his nose, while smearing it with his thumb.
“So promising.” Eric whispered. Frank on the other hand, swallowed hard as he knew Eric’s words were set toward him.
Eric stood up pulling out his white handkerchief from his left pocket. While wiping off the blood from his fingers, his glare extended from Frank to Shayne’s.
“W-what do you… mean, prize?” Frank choked.
“Finally, he speaks.” Eric played. “What do I mean by ‘prize’? 548 students, whereby 67% were put on the market to see who would live and who would die… in the other words it was the ‘Survival of the Fittest’. Now 4 months and 7 hundred grand later, I finally get my answer… I win.”
“There’re gonna get you, you know,” Ray loathed.
“What’s gonna get me? The authorities?” Eric laughed amusing at with his back turned. “You’d think they’d get you out by now? Money makes the world go ‘round, son. You of all people should know that by now.”
Once he was finally out of the room he turned back to the four huddling for dear life. He was then handed a white gas mask, which he strapped to his face. As his gas mask was secured he tilled his head in though and in went in can of oneirogenic gas.
“Oh and before I forget. Raymond, your father says hi.”
The gas suffocated the air and forced Ray and the others to breath in the intoxicated smoke. Their eye lids fell heavily over their over glossed eyes. Their grips loosened as they drifted off into a deep sleep, finally giving up.