I_Am_Nobody
Supernova
- Joined
- Sep 27, 2011
RE: The Killer and The Victim (I_Am_Nobody x CyanideDisaster)
"I love you, Emile," he whispered, the words that had to be said, as he slipped out of the room. The final words, the only ones that really mattered, and there was nothing else he would rather have said. Sneaking out of the hospital was as easy as sneaking in had been, and soon enough he was nothing but a shadowy form walking down the street as the first of the morning shift arrived.
It was snowing. Somehow Joseph had known it would. The city that never slept was silent as Joseph watched it out of the motel room's window, the morning sun barely peeking over the horizon. Sunrise, a new dawn rising over the white purity of the snow. It seemed like he stared out at the silence for hours before he finally turned back into the room and sat down on the bed, slowly looking up to face the mirror hanging upon the wall.
"You stupid fuck," Heller snarled from behind the glass, his eyes wild as he stared at the bane of his existence. "It's actually pretty funny," he laughed, glancing down at the gun in Joseph's hands. "You think you can do it? After that tearful bullshit you're really gonna look yourself in the eyes and kill yourself? Run back to your bitch, little boy, run back to her sweet tears. She'll be so happy to see you, so pleased that you'd rather come back to her arms. You're really going to sit here and make her cry?"
"Shut up," Joseph said quietly, the gun's hammer clicking as he slid it back. "I've listened to you for too long. No more words." He lifted his head to stare at his brother, and the madman jerked back in surprise; for an instant, the brothers had looked exactly alike.
"I told you what would happen if you hurt her."[/b] The gun rose. "I told you I would kill you again."
It was around noon before the news broke on the local stations, and it was impossible for anyone to avoid hearing it. The Bogeyman was dead in a locked hotel room, the bullet that had taken his life found amidst the room's shattered mirror. The theories and wild speculation continued through the night, but at last there was no way to avoid the suicidal conclusion. The nightmare was over, the story concluded, the final answer given to all those who had lost their loved ones at his hands.
And so the snow fell, and began to cleanse the world and its memories.
"I love you, Emile," he whispered, the words that had to be said, as he slipped out of the room. The final words, the only ones that really mattered, and there was nothing else he would rather have said. Sneaking out of the hospital was as easy as sneaking in had been, and soon enough he was nothing but a shadowy form walking down the street as the first of the morning shift arrived.
It was snowing. Somehow Joseph had known it would. The city that never slept was silent as Joseph watched it out of the motel room's window, the morning sun barely peeking over the horizon. Sunrise, a new dawn rising over the white purity of the snow. It seemed like he stared out at the silence for hours before he finally turned back into the room and sat down on the bed, slowly looking up to face the mirror hanging upon the wall.
"You stupid fuck," Heller snarled from behind the glass, his eyes wild as he stared at the bane of his existence. "It's actually pretty funny," he laughed, glancing down at the gun in Joseph's hands. "You think you can do it? After that tearful bullshit you're really gonna look yourself in the eyes and kill yourself? Run back to your bitch, little boy, run back to her sweet tears. She'll be so happy to see you, so pleased that you'd rather come back to her arms. You're really going to sit here and make her cry?"
"Shut up," Joseph said quietly, the gun's hammer clicking as he slid it back. "I've listened to you for too long. No more words." He lifted his head to stare at his brother, and the madman jerked back in surprise; for an instant, the brothers had looked exactly alike.
"I told you what would happen if you hurt her."[/b] The gun rose. "I told you I would kill you again."
It was around noon before the news broke on the local stations, and it was impossible for anyone to avoid hearing it. The Bogeyman was dead in a locked hotel room, the bullet that had taken his life found amidst the room's shattered mirror. The theories and wild speculation continued through the night, but at last there was no way to avoid the suicidal conclusion. The nightmare was over, the story concluded, the final answer given to all those who had lost their loved ones at his hands.
And so the snow fell, and began to cleanse the world and its memories.