It was dark. Moon nor sun nor the stars could reach their sweet celestial light into the dingy street, the only source being the flickering golden light of a street lamp up ahead. Calm, was his trot, one foot after the other as he went to his goal, the lamp, the light. Is it not the goal of all, on further thought?
Cold, too. Cold and dark, and if he had enough light he was sure he could see the frost's breath that carried from his lips. Fog that has its origin from man, from its factories and burning piles and a near feverish haste to make energy for itself has enveloped this plain, or perhaps that was a simple exaggeration? Was it merely smog of the soul that he saw? Wouldn't arouse any of his own confusion.
With a gentle scraping of the tarmac, his left foot stood parallel as his right, right under the lamp whose light showed that the seams of his coat were frayed-a few threads sprung loose from the pattern they were made to do. He ponders and broods a lot now, he noticed, how could he not? He's not an emotionless monster; grief is a natural thing that plagues all hearts.
The one he was meeting was a man marred by war and death but covered up with so much smiles and gentle laughter, it was his protective shell against all those who wish him harm. It'll fail one day, you can only hack at paper grins for so long before it rips down the middle. You can only drop a man once before his head cracks wide open, grey matter and white matter exposed to the foul air that is exhaled by the masses.
He trotted as well, the man, coming to a stop only an arm length away, bespeckled and grey haired, his coat was even yellow, just like his shell of woven joy and forced understanding, glued together with sticky blood of those whose kin will one day hold the chopping axe, or of the ones who fell.
"I trust you have what I needed?" It was more than a need, it was higher than a want and higher than a need and higher than a want-it was a mix and it was also the opposite of the love child of the two. It was the one with frayed coat that spoke, the silence broken and viciously stabbed by it. No one shall mourn your death, oh invisible one.
"Information like that requires a price. I trust you have what is the payment?" Oh, the other spat his words out, taking 'I trust', the phrase spoken by himself first and making it into something unlike the vile venom of the blackened blossom. The frayed coat felt the goods in his pocket, a careful arm pulling out what the smiling man wanted, a photograph of happier times. When flat mates were together, and hunting the evil of the world, when one had seen so many limbs in his kitchen that it soon didn't faze him. A smile could have tugged at his cheeks, if not for the sobering thought that the other would see it.
The other grinned, taking away his rare joy.
"He's truly dead, your flat mate. Death by his own hand-well-gravity certainly had her own dark hand in it as well, but never mind that. You should know this, and then you wouldn't have to part with such a lovely memorabilia." Plucking it, the man sniffed it, shivering in delight. Among many other things, he claimed to be able to smell memories on things of importance. The mad do sometimes amaze him in their illogical ways.
Eyes going down, a toe wiggling in its boot as the frayed coated man couldn't help but sink deeper into the heavy thickness of despair. If the other thought so, then, it truly is. Out of all of them, his flat mate didn't deserve to end life so utterly quickly.
"Thank you for your time, Sir. Jagson." His heels clicking as he turned, he left the man alone in his disgusting, nostalgic thoughts under the sodium lamp.
It was soon when the light flickered, and died out. Only the darkness of oblivion dwells here, and it is oddly sweet.