Sequel: Our Lady of sorrows ›
I will die in this place.
the touch of death
I walked Quickly out of the room past, some of the loyal officers of the law. No one moved or looked at me or turned and stared. It was almost too quiet, I hid my eyes from them. I could feel the step in my shoes got faster and faster. But when i peeked from the inside of my jaket sleeve, No one had a gun in there hand pointing at me, nothing.
A guy with a green mohawk passed me in hand cuffs at first he frigtened me. Well not frigtened but caught offgard. He had a sneering look on his face, he didn't look at me but to the floor where i could sence his puiples burning a hole through the floor boards.
I scuffed passed him trying to make my escape less exagirated. It didn't work. The guy with the mohawk looked straight into my eyes with the same hatred as he gave the floor boards a kind of look that would tell any living creature to turn tail and run. But i stood my ground. Tried to give him my best poker face, stare him down.
But he only made a croocked smile my way his nose ring twitched back and forth, It was one of those rings that bulls in the rodeo wore, the big loop conecting both nostrils together. Discusting. He put his head back where he once had it and kept walking. The officer behind him made no notice of me at all. I wouldn't either if i was in carge of somone with that hair shade.
I quickly moved back into motion pushing past people making sure to say exuse me so i didn't sound 'that' horrible of a criminal. One foot after another I made it to the atuo-matic doors. I closed my eyes, prayed to god, and ran.
I opened my eyes. I was out side, Out of the police station. piece of cake.
My hands shook like crazy I need somthing. A cigarette! I searched my pockets empty. I really needed a cigarette NOW! Oh my god oh my god, Im panicing this is not good. Where are my cigarettes?!
I was going mad I saw sombody cross the road. I would go up and ask him for directions to a gas station.
"Um do you know of any gas station around?"
The man looked me up and down. "If your sellin' coffins I don't want any, wifes already dead."
*sigh* the typical responce. "Um sir I really just need to find a gas-"
"Kid what you need is an exorcism, I know a good preist who will make it nice and comfy for yah." THe man smiled.
"Okay, haha funny pic on goth kid, where is the gas station!"
"Don't get fresh with me you little freak!" Ahhh shut up shut up! this is the kinda stuff that got me smoking! I hate it! I HATE IT!
"Listen you old shit bag! I need to find a gas station and your gonna tell me where it is!"
THe mans smile faded. " Son, Im really not kidding about that exorcism, seems you got one bad. . . "
I looked him in the eyes he looked on at me dead serious, My mind went completley blank. Nothing was registering. what was I doing this was a poor old man trying to get a couple laughs. I looked at my shaking hands which, about 3 min ago strangled somone just as innocencet.
"You think so?" The old man put his hand on his chin rubbing it bad and forth.
"Nothing father Bryer can't fix." The old men smiled. "I'm his offical exorsist assistant I could tell the very second you walked to me you needed somthing special." He put out his hand. "The names O'dell, Barney O'dell, friends and family call me GABO."
I reached out and shook it with a little coutiosness and alittle trust. This might just be exactly what mde me kill him I thought.
* * * * * ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
After Gabo had bought me a pack of choice I though and inhaled. I was in recap mode just what I needed around this time today.
Death does somthing to the pereson who watches the death. It humbles you, frightens you. A shock to the system, Somthings there now that isnt. Killing is that exact same feeling only worse. The exact discription of Killing, Could not and should not be explained. But many factor that make it what it is are there.
The smell, an intoxicating flavor of sweetness and bitterness, love and hate, good and evil.
The taste, Revenge, sweet taste consoumes your lips makes your toungue
heavy and your mind loose.
The sight. Somthing terrible that no eyes should ever see not the Dying and not the killer.
THe touch,. . .
Is there a touch? Humm the touch of the kill. or the touch of death.
I would have to think of that. but now was only to reflect. An intesesting subjuct, for some resion I felt no gult, was I suposed to? Was I?
A guy with a green mohawk passed me in hand cuffs at first he frigtened me. Well not frigtened but caught offgard. He had a sneering look on his face, he didn't look at me but to the floor where i could sence his puiples burning a hole through the floor boards.
I scuffed passed him trying to make my escape less exagirated. It didn't work. The guy with the mohawk looked straight into my eyes with the same hatred as he gave the floor boards a kind of look that would tell any living creature to turn tail and run. But i stood my ground. Tried to give him my best poker face, stare him down.
But he only made a croocked smile my way his nose ring twitched back and forth, It was one of those rings that bulls in the rodeo wore, the big loop conecting both nostrils together. Discusting. He put his head back where he once had it and kept walking. The officer behind him made no notice of me at all. I wouldn't either if i was in carge of somone with that hair shade.
I quickly moved back into motion pushing past people making sure to say exuse me so i didn't sound 'that' horrible of a criminal. One foot after another I made it to the atuo-matic doors. I closed my eyes, prayed to god, and ran.
I opened my eyes. I was out side, Out of the police station. piece of cake.
My hands shook like crazy I need somthing. A cigarette! I searched my pockets empty. I really needed a cigarette NOW! Oh my god oh my god, Im panicing this is not good. Where are my cigarettes?!
I was going mad I saw sombody cross the road. I would go up and ask him for directions to a gas station.
"Um do you know of any gas station around?"
The man looked me up and down. "If your sellin' coffins I don't want any, wifes already dead."
*sigh* the typical responce. "Um sir I really just need to find a gas-"
"Kid what you need is an exorcism, I know a good preist who will make it nice and comfy for yah." THe man smiled.
"Okay, haha funny pic on goth kid, where is the gas station!"
"Don't get fresh with me you little freak!" Ahhh shut up shut up! this is the kinda stuff that got me smoking! I hate it! I HATE IT!
"Listen you old shit bag! I need to find a gas station and your gonna tell me where it is!"
THe mans smile faded. " Son, Im really not kidding about that exorcism, seems you got one bad. . . "
I looked him in the eyes he looked on at me dead serious, My mind went completley blank. Nothing was registering. what was I doing this was a poor old man trying to get a couple laughs. I looked at my shaking hands which, about 3 min ago strangled somone just as innocencet.
"You think so?" The old man put his hand on his chin rubbing it bad and forth.
"Nothing father Bryer can't fix." The old men smiled. "I'm his offical exorsist assistant I could tell the very second you walked to me you needed somthing special." He put out his hand. "The names O'dell, Barney O'dell, friends and family call me GABO."
I reached out and shook it with a little coutiosness and alittle trust. This might just be exactly what mde me kill him I thought.
* * * * * ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
After Gabo had bought me a pack of choice I though and inhaled. I was in recap mode just what I needed around this time today.
Death does somthing to the pereson who watches the death. It humbles you, frightens you. A shock to the system, Somthings there now that isnt. Killing is that exact same feeling only worse. The exact discription of Killing, Could not and should not be explained. But many factor that make it what it is are there.
The smell, an intoxicating flavor of sweetness and bitterness, love and hate, good and evil.
The taste, Revenge, sweet taste consoumes your lips makes your toungue
heavy and your mind loose.
The sight. Somthing terrible that no eyes should ever see not the Dying and not the killer.
THe touch,. . .
Is there a touch? Humm the touch of the kill. or the touch of death.
I would have to think of that. but now was only to reflect. An intesesting subjuct, for some resion I felt no gult, was I suposed to? Was I?