OneSmallFrog
A Goblin
- Joined
- Jun 6, 2020
- Location
- Eastern USA
It was raining. Not the gentle showers the weatherman had predicted that morning. Huge raindrops fell down in sheets flooding the streets with it's sudden arrival. In the distance lightning flashed and a peal of thunder echoed through city, rattling windows and putting the fear of god into those in the upper floors. It was only mid afternoon but the streets were so dark that it might as well have been dusk. The storm was like nothing the small city had seen and it was concentrated on this location. People would later recall that it looked like Heaven had just opened up, that god seemed particularly angry today. They would have been mostly correct. While God's current mood was something up for debate, the gates of heaven had actually been opened. The storm's sudden arrival and intensity would be on the lips of many, but few would note the strangest part of all, there had only ever been one lightning bolt.
Israfel lay on his back staring up into the rain, his pale blue eyes watching as the clouds above him churned. In one hand he clutched a battered brass trumpet, in the other he held the appropriate carrying case. The ground around him crackled with electricity and the whole area stunk of burning plastic and asphalt. Slowly the tall thin man pushed himself into a sitting position and took stock of his surroundings. His long white hair hung in damp curtains around his face. He wore a leather jacket with a pair of wings printed on the back, tight black pants, a dark green tank top and no shoes to speak of. He was currently sitting in what appeared to be someone's driveway, he'd slammed into the pavement and the trash cans. The trashcans were now melted and their contents were scattered across the pavement, some of it still burning. The rains would quickly extinguish it.
He stood looking for all the world like some poor soul who had been struck by lightning, and slowly he raised his hand to the sky giving it a middle finger before shoving the trumpet in its case and looking towards the building nearby. His arrival had been loud and unignorable, and now he was standing there in the darkened afternoon, his white hair a stark contrast to everything around him.
Israfel lay on his back staring up into the rain, his pale blue eyes watching as the clouds above him churned. In one hand he clutched a battered brass trumpet, in the other he held the appropriate carrying case. The ground around him crackled with electricity and the whole area stunk of burning plastic and asphalt. Slowly the tall thin man pushed himself into a sitting position and took stock of his surroundings. His long white hair hung in damp curtains around his face. He wore a leather jacket with a pair of wings printed on the back, tight black pants, a dark green tank top and no shoes to speak of. He was currently sitting in what appeared to be someone's driveway, he'd slammed into the pavement and the trash cans. The trashcans were now melted and their contents were scattered across the pavement, some of it still burning. The rains would quickly extinguish it.
He stood looking for all the world like some poor soul who had been struck by lightning, and slowly he raised his hand to the sky giving it a middle finger before shoving the trumpet in its case and looking towards the building nearby. His arrival had been loud and unignorable, and now he was standing there in the darkened afternoon, his white hair a stark contrast to everything around him.