OP
OP
Wingshadow
Guest
""Thank you, Souji-kun," Tomoki took one last breath before the young man brought down the blade.
With that, the weapon sliced clean through its intended target, nearly an instant death for the young educator. His lifeless form slid down lifeless upon the back lawn, head cleaved and unable to be reanimated to join the assembly of the walking dead. He fell forward, with the side of his face pressing gently against the sweet-smelling ground below him as if having fallen into a peaceful slumber. For him, however, he would never have to rise up again.
Oba-chan stood beside Souji, her left hand holding her long smoking pipe with the tip pressed between her lips. Her old and wrinkled face looked down at her grandson, then turned toward the young man and reached her right hand toward him. She held a long-handled shovel.
"The least and old woman can do for her grandson is give him a proper burial. Go on inside and help the young lady," a sorrowful smile graced her lips as she spoke, "I think I can manage myself... If any of them weird folk come by, I always have my trusty shotgun, so don't you worry. This old crone won't go down without a fight."
She patted his shoulder, showing that she bore no ill-will toward him before shrugging her shoulders and turning toward the lawn once again, "Tis a sad day we live in, when someone of my age outlives her grandchildren... A sad day indeed."
-------
Hitomi lay in the room that had been assigned to her by Oba-chan, her right hand spread across her eyes and forehead while her left hand hung off the edge of the bed. Between her fingers she could see the still fins of the fan as they stood at the ready for the electricity to return, which of course was futile. The only sound she could hear was from her own breath, and the distant groan of the old wooden house frame against the afternoon wind. Her mind was quite literally blank, neither considering nor debating, as she patiently waited. What did she wait for? It was anyone's guess.
Tiring of her position she curled over to her side and laid her head down on the pillow. Calmly and idly, she began to trace the curvature of her figure with her left hand, finally resting it on her hip. Abruptly she sat up and began to undress, stripping down to her undergarments before slipping under the covers. She hugged the pillow, pulling it close to herself before drifting into a light doze.
With that, the weapon sliced clean through its intended target, nearly an instant death for the young educator. His lifeless form slid down lifeless upon the back lawn, head cleaved and unable to be reanimated to join the assembly of the walking dead. He fell forward, with the side of his face pressing gently against the sweet-smelling ground below him as if having fallen into a peaceful slumber. For him, however, he would never have to rise up again.
Oba-chan stood beside Souji, her left hand holding her long smoking pipe with the tip pressed between her lips. Her old and wrinkled face looked down at her grandson, then turned toward the young man and reached her right hand toward him. She held a long-handled shovel.
"The least and old woman can do for her grandson is give him a proper burial. Go on inside and help the young lady," a sorrowful smile graced her lips as she spoke, "I think I can manage myself... If any of them weird folk come by, I always have my trusty shotgun, so don't you worry. This old crone won't go down without a fight."
She patted his shoulder, showing that she bore no ill-will toward him before shrugging her shoulders and turning toward the lawn once again, "Tis a sad day we live in, when someone of my age outlives her grandchildren... A sad day indeed."
-------
Hitomi lay in the room that had been assigned to her by Oba-chan, her right hand spread across her eyes and forehead while her left hand hung off the edge of the bed. Between her fingers she could see the still fins of the fan as they stood at the ready for the electricity to return, which of course was futile. The only sound she could hear was from her own breath, and the distant groan of the old wooden house frame against the afternoon wind. Her mind was quite literally blank, neither considering nor debating, as she patiently waited. What did she wait for? It was anyone's guess.
Tiring of her position she curled over to her side and laid her head down on the pillow. Calmly and idly, she began to trace the curvature of her figure with her left hand, finally resting it on her hip. Abruptly she sat up and began to undress, stripping down to her undergarments before slipping under the covers. She hugged the pillow, pulling it close to herself before drifting into a light doze.