This one makes no sense, but if you want I can write a backing story so you get it. But I liked this kinda on it's own. It leaves whatever happened to the imagination of the reader, which usually annoys the hell outta me, but not this time.
The room was empty, small blood splatters on the wall, white tiles on the floor. The ceiling was also white, but bumpy, as if the wallpaper had gotten wet, and dried crinkly. The walls were white, and a very small symbol was in the corner near the floor. Closely studied it would resemble a child-like snowflake, smudged by some unknown substance. There was a slightly grey line, just before the wall met ceiling, going all round the wall. The room was empty…but for the man.
The man lay face down, one arm curled underneath him, the other spread out, as if reaching for something. His legs were straight behind him, and slightly apart; his feet had black boots on and he wore a long grey coat that was crumpled at the bottom, and slightly damp. His hair was a lighter shade of grey than the coat, almost white, and one eye was visible from underneath the sweep of hair, its purple hue appearing to glow. Observed closer, his skin would appear discoloured, and his eyes vacant, empty. If the observer was to put his hand to the neck to check for a pulse, there would be none.
The man was dead.
The door on the far wall opened, and in entered a man, who if seen on close distance would appear to have been crying. Another figure enters, who is crying.
The first figure had blonde hair, glasses, and curiously blue eyes, whereas the second was a woman, with long hair that matched the colour of the dead man's, and a bow in her hair.
Slowly, more figures enter, either crying, or had been, and they all kneel before the dead man, heads bowed, one word on their lips.
Russia…
Russia…
Russia…
So what did you think?
Flames will be used to stoke your funeral pyre...but reviews are loved XD
