He could taste blood as the blows came, faster and harder than before. He knew he ought to scream, to cry out for help, but deep down he knew nobody would hear him. Nobody ever heard him. So he had given up.
His eyes were sad, broken, and dead. He didn't care about the blows anymore, but accepted them as a part of his life. He watched as the man's mouth moved, but he heard no sound. He watched in what seemed slow motion as the fist was raised again, but he made no move to get out of the way.
To him, seconds seemed like hours, and hours like years. Cold fingers suddenly clamped around his neck, and he felt his feet lift from the floor. He opened his mouth, but no air came. His vision started to go spotty. He was going to die here. He knew it, but he couldn't bring himself to care. After all, death was just another thing he had learned to live with, alongside the pain.
/
He watched as the blood flowed into the crisp white snow, staining it crimson. A hand clamped on his shoulder and steered him away, as distant sirens came near. He was led to a car, and tossed in between two gorilla-like men. As always, they bound his hands, ankles, elbows and knees. They called him a demon, a soulless killer. Maybe he was.
He stared at his hands, stained red with his victims' blood. His eyes were hard, guarded, and dead. There was no light or warmth. He was a pawn, made to be used and cast away at need. Trained to be a ruthless killer.
Death was all he'd ever known.
/
He was numb. He could smell the retched stink of burnt flesh, but he made no move to leave. He watched with emotionless, cold, and dead eyes. His mind didn't register the pain of the flames licking his arms or legs.
He was jostled and smacked by the stream of people rushing past, but he made no move to follow. He would die, as those around him were doomed to do. He'd given up the fight long before it had started. No all he could do was watch as the last of the people burned alive. They were strangers, who cared only of themselves.
Why should he care about them if they didn't even glance his way. He would burn alive, and he wouldn't move an inch as he did so. Death was a gift for him, and he was more than ready to receive it.
/AN/
...Yeah...I'm starting to think I'm a really depressing person.
Anyway, these are all each a different character. One is Suoh, one Nokoru, and the other Akira. Try and guess to see fi you all know which one is which.
Just so you know, I have no clue where this story is going to go, as my fingers type the first thing in my head, so I'm coming along for the ride as well. I hope it'll turn out alright, and at least not too depressing. I don't want to be considered an unhappy person, because I'm not really. It's jsut late, I don't want to go to school tomorrow, and this is what I'm thinking about at the moment.
Please tell me what you think and give me some ideas as to where this could possibly go, as I'm winging it at the moment. ;P
