Character:
Creed, The Train-Gang
Summary: Creed watches.
Warning: I mess
around with the pronoun "You." The thoughts are disjointed.
Hey, he's crazy.
Hint: All capital You's, Your's, etc are Creed
talking about himself in the first person. All lower case you's and
you-by-products are Creed talking about Train.
Disclaimer: Not mine, and I profit off this in no way.
The bell around your neck sings clearly when you move, still lithe and perfect as ever. It may disguise you, convince others you are a tame housecat, declawed, but You can see through it.
The bell may make your mouth curve into a friendly, toothless smile, may make your eyes soft and brown (dull gold) and pupils round, may make your speech inclusive and warm. But You know how you look when your mouth is snarling, fangs (canines) glinting white on red. How your eyes gleam with golden irises, while your pupils are narrow and catty. How you are when your words are calculated and cold, cutting to the core of You (Creed.)
And you touch people without care. The bell warns them before you arrive in their space. You remember when there were no warnings, none, when you crept up behind someone. There used to be no warning in your steps.
You know you are itching to kill again, to take a life and feel no sorrow. But you've refused. You feel Your lips curl as you continue to restrain yourself, choosing a life like that of that...that WOMAN.
You watch as you freeze, can almost see the hairs standing up of the back of your neck. You know you know You are watching.
You leave.