Barbwire Rose
It was raining…isn't it always raining? It seems that it didn't matter how nice or how sunny it had been when you left because as soon as you stepped out side it was raining. He had just learned to deal with it.
He walked down the sidewalk humming to himself, the lyrics to some old forgotten song his mother might have sung to him when he was small.
A bullet in your chestA bullet through your heart
It was a grim song…but so was everything about his life. He carefully shifted his scythe, his weapon of choice, to his other shoulder as he walked. A scythe, how appropriate.
Barbwire on wrist
Barbwire across you throat
"Hey old man, who do you think you are the grim reaper?" The local hooligans were out causing a racket. It appears they had been spray graffiti or something to that affect. They were still carrying spray paint cans. He decided to ignore them, they were just kids.
Then one hurled a spray pain can at him as he walked by. He turned and swung his scythe one fast single fluid moment, leaving the kid decapitated. His friends stared in horror then both ran away screaming. He thought about letting them go…
Mercy is over rated
Pain is underestimated
No…he wouldn't let them get away. Fuck them. Not tonight. He smiled; he loved this feeling, this god-like feeling. This feeling that said ' I decide who lives and dies'. For a moment he thought he might be developing a god-complex but he then dismissed it.
"Time to die boys" He whispered. " You fucked with wrong reaper." Thorn-covered vines shot up from the ground grabbing one kid and ripping his leg clear off. Then the vines descended upon him, shredding him with deadly precision. A quick, quite, clean, yet outrageously painful death. That's why they called him the Graceful Assassin wasn't it?
Tears of Hatred
Tears of Love
The last boy was escaping, but not for long. The ground buckled at the boy's feet and he jerked to a halt. A large but beautiful flower sprang up. He had time to admire it for a moment before the flower opened its maw and devoured him. A man-eating plant. And all traces of the boy were gone. No on would ever know what happened. He picked up the headless corpse and the remaining shreds of the boy and tossed them into the maw of the man-eating plant as well. The plant finished its meal then sunk back down into the earth and disappeared. He laughed and picked up the spray paint can one of them had dropped and knelt down on the grass where the man-eater had just been. He wrote in big pink letters: R.I.P.
Every cobra has its fangs
And every rose its thorns
He was always hurting, there was always a deep unsolvable pain in his chest where his heart one was. It always hurt, even though the throb wasn't as bad as it once was. He was like a caged beauty in this state, depressed, alone, without a heart. He was almost like a rose, a rose wrapped in barbwire.
((Authors Note: I wrote this based on the positive feedback I got from my story Hurt. I might possible do more stories like this, these short one shot semi-emo looks into the minds of the Organization members. I enjoy writing them, and from what I can tell some people like reading them. Also, the song in this story, unlike my other one, was written by my girlfriend, not a band so the credit goes to her))