The Saviour
Chapter One.
Gerard is collapsed in an alley, bleeding from the corner of his mouth. Crimson pooling on his stomach, through his shirt from the deep gashes in the centre of his stomach; blood, so much blood.
Gerard is dying. Some guy had tried to steal his wallet, and he’d tried to fight back, really tried. Turned out he just wasn’t strong enough, not even close. The man had ripped him open, hip to hip, dug the blade into his stomach a few times for good measure, kicked him behind a dumpster and run off.
Gerard had passed out, barely able to catch a breath to scream for help and bled onto the piss-stained ground, alone in the dark as he died.
There’s a soft stirring, a circling breeze that disturbs the trash and broken glass close to Gerard’s mutilated form. Then a shadow, a darkened form at the mouth of the alley, framed by a halo of fluorescent light from streetlamps. The shadow comes closer to Gerard and stops, kneeling by his side and inspecting the wounds.
Its fingertips carefully grip the torn hem of the t-shirt, sliding it up his stomach to reveal the solid tears in his flesh. It makes a soft ‘hmm’ sound and snaps its wrist back and forth before leaning closer, brow furrowed in concentration and presses the same firm fingertips directly into the wounds.
Even in his half conscious state, Gerard feels it and whines, low and weak as his body jerks roughly against the pain. The fingers stay through the commotion, pressing and concentrating, until the blood starts to recede; the drops and smears spread across the darkened skin and back towards the wounds. The moans keep escaping Gerard’s lips, sweat settled on the Cupid’s bow above, but the shadow continues, rubbing back and forth as the skin becomes clean again. The edges of the lacerations begin to seal and close over within a matter of seconds.
Less than a minute later, it’s just the shadow running his fingers over smooth unmarked flesh, a smile at the accomplishment marked on its face.
Gerard sucks in a breath, eye’s snapping open with a choked cough. He sits upright, barely aware of the creature that’s fingers have retracted, and fights for air. Scrabbling at the still slightly bloodstained t-shirt, he gazes at his stomach, bewildered.
“What the...?” It’s then that he notices the shadow and jerks back, smacking his head on the wall with a hiss. “Who the fuck are you?”
It thinks about this for a moment, staring with a kind smile at Gerard’s bewildered face, watches as he starts to claw at his stomach.
“Frank. My name is Frank.”
Gerard is dying. Some guy had tried to steal his wallet, and he’d tried to fight back, really tried. Turned out he just wasn’t strong enough, not even close. The man had ripped him open, hip to hip, dug the blade into his stomach a few times for good measure, kicked him behind a dumpster and run off.
Gerard had passed out, barely able to catch a breath to scream for help and bled onto the piss-stained ground, alone in the dark as he died.
There’s a soft stirring, a circling breeze that disturbs the trash and broken glass close to Gerard’s mutilated form. Then a shadow, a darkened form at the mouth of the alley, framed by a halo of fluorescent light from streetlamps. The shadow comes closer to Gerard and stops, kneeling by his side and inspecting the wounds.
Its fingertips carefully grip the torn hem of the t-shirt, sliding it up his stomach to reveal the solid tears in his flesh. It makes a soft ‘hmm’ sound and snaps its wrist back and forth before leaning closer, brow furrowed in concentration and presses the same firm fingertips directly into the wounds.
Even in his half conscious state, Gerard feels it and whines, low and weak as his body jerks roughly against the pain. The fingers stay through the commotion, pressing and concentrating, until the blood starts to recede; the drops and smears spread across the darkened skin and back towards the wounds. The moans keep escaping Gerard’s lips, sweat settled on the Cupid’s bow above, but the shadow continues, rubbing back and forth as the skin becomes clean again. The edges of the lacerations begin to seal and close over within a matter of seconds.
Less than a minute later, it’s just the shadow running his fingers over smooth unmarked flesh, a smile at the accomplishment marked on its face.
Gerard sucks in a breath, eye’s snapping open with a choked cough. He sits upright, barely aware of the creature that’s fingers have retracted, and fights for air. Scrabbling at the still slightly bloodstained t-shirt, he gazes at his stomach, bewildered.
“What the...?” It’s then that he notices the shadow and jerks back, smacking his head on the wall with a hiss. “Who the fuck are you?”
It thinks about this for a moment, staring with a kind smile at Gerard’s bewildered face, watches as he starts to claw at his stomach.
“Frank. My name is Frank.”
♠ ♠ ♠
I wrote this quite a while ago, and just recently discovered it, and fell in love with it again. Struggled with the title a little, but I think it'll do for the moment.Cheers for reading!