Ok. So I wanted to save this idea until Halloween… But I love this story too much to leave it! Sorry, but blood, gore and people losing their minds interests me! Also, I recommend listening to this song, because SERIOUSLY it is AMAZING and it will give you the theme of the song so quick, I promice you!
But I digress. Here it is!
Beware, this following fic will contain demons and gore.
Song: Dance with the dead by get scared.
Pairings: Kico and Pripper. (Kowalski and rico. Skipper and Private)
Private stopped for a moment, wet eyes flicking to the shadows looming up from the darkened city. Flashes of darkness ripped past and he bit his bottom lip to avoid screaming out. He shuffled the bags about in his hands and started walking again, head down and body numb.
'they're still out there' he reminded himself, hacking back a choked sob as the chill night air sped past, tugging at his hair and clothes. Blood blossomed behind his eye-lids, dark sightless eyes and crimson stained bed-sheets also swarming his vision. The twisted images writhed in his mind, flashing from one sick picture to another, and there was nothing he could do to stop them from shifting and continuing in their endless, meaningless pattern of death and gore.
The door was swept aside as he crashed into the glass, iron keeping the sheets of it there as he fell into the lobby of the building. Private held one hand over his mouth tightly, nails almost piercing the skin of his cheeks and he rocked back and forth. Bottles of milk and packets of soup had toppled from the plastic and lay on the carpet as the boy wept. Tears streamed down his face from his tightly closed eyes, muffled screams escaping from between his tightly clamped lips. The loss and abandonment was suffocating, the feeling of drowning sucking the small boy down into the darkness of the memories he would kill to forget.
'Kill…' The tears fell rapidly, and he could feel the copper and salt taste of blood flood his mouth as his teeth pierced the flesh his bottom lip.
There was no way to track time as he knelt curled up on the ground, panic and fear dousing his quaking frame in choking amounts. Slowly the raspy, gasped breaths slowed, his eyes running dry and shaking stilling down to tremors. Carefully he hauled himself forward and hurriedly repacked the bag with groceries, knowing that at any moment the mind distorting panic and desperation could resurface.
He stumbled to the elevator and hit the button, slumping against the corner and closing his eyes . He wanted to cry and scream, anything to numb the pain that was shooting like bolts of electricity down his spine.
But it wasn't fair. He had to stay strong, mentally stable just like Kowalski had. Then Rico. It would be too much of him to ask of Marlene if he lost his mind now. She was already doing so much for him. The bell dinged and the doors slid open with the metalic swish. Private opened his eyes and consulted his reflection in the mirrored paneling on the inside of the lift. His hair was a mess, knotted and sticking out at all angles from when he had attempted to rip it out. His scalp still burned. The normal whites of his eyes had been dyed to a deep magenta, dark irises tired and at the same time jumpy and hyper alert. The same eyes skipper had when he lost too much sleep.
He whimpered and screwed his eyes shut, hands dropping the bags again and reaching up to clamp over his ears. His spine arched as he started to sing loudly and off-key.
"Lord the light of your love is shining! In the midst of the darkness shining! Jesus Light of the world shine upon us, set us free by the truth you now bring us…" He broke off into sobs, and the bloody images started to flash through again.
The memories were too raw, too sensitive. Every time he thought of something even mildly related the world would spin and agony would rip at him with its merciless talons. Reminiscing was like dripping acid on an open wound.
Open like the holes in their chests where their hearts should have been, blood splattering the surfaces like a disturbing greeting card. The same word carved into the wall every time.
DANCE.
Where the band never sleeps
The dead waltz through the streets
And I'm slowly falling"Oh my god…" Skippers voice was taught and strained, pulled tightly with confusion.
Private looked up from his cereal and across the room at his commanding officer. The ebony haired male had his eyes wide and jaw parted slightly as he stared at the screen. He rose from his chair and went to stand beside him, tuning into the T.V as the somber looking presenter continued to talk.
"- Twenty eight year old was discovered in her home early this morning by her parents Joe and Sarah Evens when they stopped by to drive her too her the airport for her flight bound to south America." She read, the screen now flipping to a clip of two people standing outside a house, faces tear stained and eyes puffy.
"She never had done anything to hurt anyone and now she's dead!" the woman wailed, clutching to her husband desperately as armed officers swarmed the house behind them like flies on a rotting carcass.
Private recoiled in horror as a picture flared onto the screen. It was a slim, tall girl with glossy red hair and sharp hazel eyes as she smiled prettily at the camera, still managing it despite the three scars across one of her eyes. He knew how she got those scars, an angry mother falcon attempting to protect her chicks from an inquisitive young girl.
"Kitka!" He yelped.
Skipper only nodded slowly, still staring at the TV as the presenter continued to describe the nature of the incident. It was then the door was swept open, Kowalski and Rico dashing in, breathless and red faced.
"Kitka's been murdered." The scientist gasped out, leaning heavily on the door frame. "We were doing recon and went past her house, there were police everywhe-"
"I know." Skipper snapped. "It's all over the news."
Kowalski stopped his rushed explanation and scowled. "We ran back here for nothing?" He exclaimed.
"No' cool man." Rico huffed.
Private stumbled down the hall blindly, fumbling with the doors as he attempted to find the right one.
"Where is Skipper?" Kowalski asked, tilting his head to the side as he scrutinized the clock. "According to my calculations he should have been awake around 19 minutes ago."
Private shrugged. "Perhaps he's having a lie in today k'walski?" He offered.
Rico let out a raspy laugh and rolled his eyes expressively.
"Hey!" He defended. "It's a perfectly innocent answer."
"Right." Kowalski said, dragging the word out as he placed his plate of toast back on the counter and walked down the hall towards Skippers room.
Private was sure that that was what it was, all the stress of 5 months interrogation for Kitkas murder must have finally gotten to him. Sleeping in would be good for him.
It was crazy how quickly the illusion shattered like a bullet through a pane of glass.
"Skipper skipper? Are you OH MY GOD SKIPPER!" Kowalski shrieked.
Private and Rico turned their heads instantly and looked down the corridor, Kowalski was backed up against the other side of the hall, face sheet white and breathing loud and frenzied. "RICO CALL 911! AND DON'T LET PRIVATE COME DOWN HERE!" He screamed, falling back against the wall, one hand now covering his mouth as his back shook violently.
Rico stood, sharply, knocking his chair back and running towards him, gripping the scientists arms and looking at him sharply. Kowalski screeched out something barely audible and fell into Rico's arms as he turned his head to glance at what had Kowalski so terrified. He staggered backwards, face twisting into a look of horror.
"911!" Kowalski screamed, tearing himself from the others embrace and sprinting down towards the phone.
"K'walski?" Private asked as he snatched for the white device with a shaking hand. He didn't seem to hear him. "K'WALSKI!" He yelled.
He was scared. Rico had tears streaming down his face and his hand knotted in his hair. Kowalski was sobbing into the phone line, and outside the door angry shouts and slamming doors were joining in the chaotic orchestra. Private couldn't stand it, his mind like a scratched CD, stopping, starting and skipping over things as the noise level rose and rose. Suddenly a high pitched wail joined it, an unearthly scream. He hated the sound. It was too raw, too fragile. He was making that sound.
He ran towards the hall.
"PRIVATE!" Kowalski shrieked.
The younger tried to avoid him but Rico snagged him around the waist anyway, and lifted him into the air kicking and howling violently. His back was pressed against the weapons expert's chest, a wet stain growing over his shoulder. Someone was hammering on the door. Kowalski was relaying their address to whoever was on the other end of the phone line. Rico kept saying how sorry he was, whimpering desperately into Privates ear. Private kept screaming, and he couldn't stop. The door was kicked open and Roy marched in yelling. Kowalski turned to him and hit him hard across the face before falling to the ground weeping.
The emergency services came later. The three of them were sitting in an arm chair, clinging to each other desperately. None of them wanting to believe what had just happened.
Skipper was dead. His chest was ripped open and his heart was missing, the single word had been carved into the plasterboard above his head.
DANCE.
He slammed against the door and fumbled with the key, ramming it helplessly against the lock through blurry eyes.
"Eh." Rico murmured, putting a finger under his chin and tilting his head up. "It Ok." He rasped, swiping a stray tear from his own blood-shot eyes. "We be Ok."
Private only bit his bottom lip and nodded dully, head dropping back to the table. Rico stood slowly and walked down the hall quickly. Knocking on the door to the lab and pushing it open slowly. "Walksi? Oo awake?"
Private listened in, still only half awake, as Rico shuffled down the steps, still calling out to the scientist.
Another bullet thorugh the window. Another cross on the imaginary hit-list.
Rico cried out, the long mournful and horrified note rising steadily. Private felt his blood run cold. He stumbled from the chair, feet like lead bricks. Rico was kneeling on the floor, blood slowly seeping into the fabric of his pyjamas. Kowalski's head was on his lap, eyes wide open, but glassy and unresponsive despite how hard Rico was shaking him.
Private could see why he wasn't responding.
It was the same reason why Rico had held him away from seeing Skippers corpse. Kowalski's chest was split down the middle by a jagged open wound, ribs and lungs on full view. Some of the ribs had been shattered, about four of them. The white bones were now splinters embedded in the scientists flesh, leaving a gaping rift where his heart should have been, the veins that connected to it ripped and torn.
Again he started to scream.
No one could calm him. Not Rico, Not Marlene, Not the kind nurse.
He kept screaming untill they gave him a shot. He kept screaming till he fell unconscious.
They key finally fell into place and the door slipped open. He fell into Marlene's living room, turning and crawling so he could re-lock the door behind him. He fell against the wood door, nails scraping deep groves into it.
He wrestled with the door. He was sobbing uncontrollably. Thank god he wasn't screaming yet. The door was locked just as the police had advised. They had to make it harder for whoever was killing them off to get in, because whoever was doing it was certainly smart. There were no traces anywhere to be seen and no one was ever woken. Whoever the killer was they must be proud of being compared to jack the ripper.
Suddenly he didn't care. He swung a kick and sent his foot through the door. He shoved his arm through and attacked the lock with his now bloody fingers. The knob turned and the lock clicked. He rammed against the door with his hip and he fell through the thresh-hold, arm getting speared on the jagged and splintered wood. Rico was splayed out on his bed, arms hanging by his side and eyes glassy.
There was the gaping cut splitting his torso in half.
And there was the message, written as clear as day on the wall, the bloodied tool that had been used to carve the word giving it the impression that the wall was bleeding.
He thought it would get easier, the whole 'Your team-mate has been pulled apart by some sick murdering bastard' thing. But it didn't.
And the almost blissful smile on Rico's face didn't help.
There's a voice in my head
Whispering softly it says
"Join me, dance, dance, dance with the dead!"
Private pressed his forehead against the wood door, using one of his hands to feel for his pulse. It was still there, erratic and crazy, but it was there. He was alive.
But for how much longer he didn't know.
It had been going through rank, one after the other they were falling. The same type of death with the same questions being asked. 'Where did the hearts go? Who was doing it? How were they getting in? How were they getting out?' He had even taken to sleeping with a gun, loaded and ready under his pillow. But for all its reassurance the cold weapon didn't stop the nightmares, and it didn't soothe his fears. Rico had been sleeping with a gun. He never managed to use it.
"I have to say I'm disappointed." The voice was mocking, presented in such a sing-song way.
Private span around instantly, pressing his back against the hardwood door, arms by his side. "WHAT DO YOU WANT?" He screamed.
The silhouette was clear against the lights of the city streaming through the window. They were seated primly in a chair, frame rocking back and forth slightly. An arm moved up to tap their chin. "Well I thought that would be fairly obvious." They laughed.
Private swallowed and sharply reached a hand up, smacking it against the light-switch. The sudden change made him cringe away from it, but he kept his eyes on the figure in the chair, desperate to know who it was. Desperate to know who he was going to kill. His hand moved instinctively to the knife in his sock, only to freeze half-way there.
"No." He whimpered, eyes growing wild. "NO! ITS NOT- YOUR DEAD!" He screamed.
Skipper smiled mockingly. "Perhaps."
Where the band never sleeps
The dead waltz through the streets
And I'm slowly falling"You can't- It's not possible!" His hands clamped painfully over his ears, fingernails digging into his skull. "Praise my soul the king of heaven, to his feet thy tribute bring! Ransomed, healed, restored, forgiven! Who like me his praise should sing!" He sang, rocking back and forth, suddenly diverging from the original tune. "Your dead, you can't be here! I'm going insane!"
Private screamed sharply as the edges of skippers fingers brushed against the side of his face, jerking his head away from the cold touch. Before he knew what he was doing he was on his feet and running, panic seizing hold of his body. He shoved the door to the hallway aside and staggered backwards, body frozen in terror. Kowalski smiled his usual white smile and flipped his almost blue hair from his eyes. "Greetings Private."
A strong hand landed on his shoulder, the frozen touch sinking through his skin as they squeezed. "Ey Pivate!" they rasped cheerily.
There's a voice in my head
Whispering softly it says
"Join me, dance, dance, dance, dance with the dead!"
He lurched away from the icy grasp, turning and backing away as the three of them slowly waltzed towards him.
"I'm making this all up." He whispered. "It's all in my head , They're dead, they can't come back, no-one can come back from the dead it's not possible."
Their shadows loomed over him, as he screwed his eyes shut, pointless ramblings getting louder and louder to the point where he was screeching nonsence.
Skipper frowned, eye-brows dropping and his hand reaching out to trace the younger males jawline. He quivered and shied away from the touch, breath catching in his throat as he wailed. "Oh Pri…" He murmured. "I just want to dance…."
Whisper me a miracle
Or think of something logical
It's all too hard to dealA strong grip snaked around his waist, yanking him away from the wall. And hand caught his own as he fell forward. His eyes snapped open, staring upwards with horror.
Skippers eyes were closed, and he was humming seemingly tunelessly under his breath. His black hair was tossed back like it usually was, not even a single strand daring to disobey it's command and flop across his forehead. Private jerked back even further away from him when his eyes snapped open, the perfect mid blue irises that usually pricked when hit with light now unnaturally dull.
He stumbled over his own feet as Skipper led him backwards. The boy panicked and started to struggle, preparing to rip his throat raw announcing his fear to those gathered. Not that any dead people would care. Kowalski and Rico passed by his line of vision, Locked softly in each other's arms, grinning and whispering quietly. His brows furrowed slightly, Were they dancing?
A cold rush of air hit the sensitive skin around his ear. "It's a miracle isn't it?" the leader breathed, gently throwing the younger away from him and dragging him back in one fluid motion before shuffling off again. Private whimpered in response, eyes still stick akin to a rabbit caught in the headlights moments before it's turned to road-kill.
For a few seconds he was suspended in air, until a pair of thin icy limbs caught him again. He yelped in surprise and struggled against the frozen grip on his hands. Kowalski scoffed loudly, eyes not even resting on the curly haired bot for a moment as his gaze travelled to his superior. "I Disregard such a term, there has to be some logical explanation for all of this.
"Satan." Private whimpered hoarsely.
The scientists dry eyes fluttered down to the boy as he led him in a small circle. "I'm sorry?" He enquired.
The youngest threw his head back and howled violently, the sound ripping abnormally from his throat. "SATAN!" He screeched, thrashing and writhing.
The scientist only chuckled, screams falling against deaf ears, spinning the smaller in ever quickening rounds before dropping the clawing hands and watching as he staggered away. "Oh that can't be it." He insisted.
And if I die before I wake
I pray the Lord my soul to take
And if there's none, oh well.
He shut his eyes against the new freezing touch that splayed against his skin and let the first words he could find spew from him. "Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle. Be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil. May God rebuke him, we humbly pray; and do Thou, O Prince of the Heavenly -"
"Tr'ed Dat." Rico giggled.
He pressed on regardless, vaguely aware outside of his subconscious the bitter salt taste of tears. "Divine Power of God, cast into hell Satan and all the evil spirits who roam-"
The faint trickle of ice flickered away and returned harder than before, frost burning his skin like the cold slush Rico had stuffed down the collar of his polar fleece last winter during the snow fight.
That was it. Forget about the horrors his tormented mind had created and go somewhere safe where it couldn't hurt him anymore. He could see the snowflakes caught in Skippers hair as he tilted his head towards the sunlight like a plant, face flushed and breaths condensing in front of him. He could envision Rico darting between the ice cloaked trees, gripping Kowalski's Woollen hat like a flag and hollering as the scientist cursed and sprinted after him. The weight of compact now in his hands before he launched it, the cold that chewed persistently on his fingers and the Warmth of skippers gloved hands rubbing his rosy cheeks to heat them up a little. The real skipper, of course, not some messenger for Satan this demon wearing his face was.
How he sounded like his mother now. Her persistence in that the devil lay in wait, luring anybody to dare try sin so he could hold their souls for eternity. Back when he was five those thoughts were scary.
Now scary had a whole new definition, the soul word manifested in night terrors and the endless death that ghosted along behind him.
"Don't cry. I don't want to hurt you Private…" skipper whispered, frozen fingers tracing the drops from his eyes.
Where the band never sleeps
The dead waltz through the streets
And I'm slowly falling"You just don't understand yet." He stated, dipping the boy backwards before pulling him back upwards and continuing to waltz even as he wept openly.
"The music!" Kowalski shouted. "Tell him about the music!"
Skippers head went back, a deep rumbling purr in his throat. "The music!" He crooned hungrilly. "You haven't heard the music, you can't hear it that's why you are so afraid." He turned the younger and pressed his back against his chest, arms keeping him pinned there as he continued to pray to a god that would never hear him. "It's amazing, never ending, changing pace and speed, drifting from loud to soft, never once leaving you. It's like an orchestra in your skull." He shuddered. "The music is life. Dancing is the extension of the music, a way to share it." His voice was like a thick syrup against the smaller's ear, smothering it in the sticky ooze, choking all other sounds.
"You're dead!" He wailed, shaking and stumbling as he was pushed around like a mop.
"Yes." He laughed. "I am Dead, But I never felt more alive!" There's a voice in my head
Whispering softly it says
"Join me, dance, dance, dance, dance with the dead!"
She found me, turned me, showed me her way. The music the dancing, everything that death had given to me like a gift. But she was still hearing differently, I wasn't her partner.
So she left and I danced. I never stopped and every time I fell close the music pulled me back, gave a reason to keep moving. But It was lonely, no partner to move with, no one to share this blessing with. " He continued, an almost mournful note creeping into his tone.
"So he turned me." Kowalski Sang out, whirling past and laughing crazily.
Rico appeared from seemingly thin air and dragged the tactician into a samba, bodies and legs bending with the same crazy grace, every movement as perfectly flawless in a way that even years of practice could never master. "Den me." He growled lowly, tuning with the taller, hands bare centimeters apart, The movement like that of a predatory creature.
"They hear it!" skipper whispered, almost breathless. "I hear it! The music, the message!"
"I-I-I don't understan- d-d!" The smaller sobbed, starting to fight the restraints again.
"Join me, Dance with the dead." He breathed.
You're screaming out a melody
You're ignorant but still you scream
You've given up on hellHe couldn't take it, the crazy throw-backs of blood and shattered organs battling his mother standing at the head of the table reciting prayer after prayer. It all seemed like one big acid trip gone wrong, like any second he would rouse and find himself with a bottle of pills in one hand and swaying crazily against an imaginary ghost. But it was all real, every mind distorting detail dragging him closer to the lip of insanity.
Oh how easy would it be to perish into the abyss of craziness? To never care again.
A pain had started to grow in his throat, the incessant mix of screaming, sobbing and howling out words he had strung together in a sentence rubbing against it like sandpaper.
"Ignorance is not always bliss Private." The leader intoned words like a whip crack against his mindless inner monologue.
"Go back to hell!" He screamed, pain joining the cocktail of emotions that was swirling about in his mind. And if I die before I wake
I pray the Lord my soul to take
And if there's none, oh well
"You will not fear the terror of night, nor the arrow that flies by day, nor the pestilence that stalks in darkness, nor the plague that destroys at midday!"
What was it? Psalm 91? Is that what he should have been reciting?
What were they, a mere figment of his tormented psyche? The heralds of the devil?
Or just… real?
Where the band never sleeps
The dead waltz through the streets
And I'm slowly falling"Why are you praying?" Skipper asked gently. "I've told you already that I am not going to hurt you. I just want to dance."
"What are you!" He sobbed.
The leader only laughed. "I'm me." There's a voice in my head
Whispering softly it says
"Join me, dance, dance, dance with the dead!"
For some reason Private couldn't pick it worked. Like two puzzle pieces they slotted together filling in the picture and brining a sense of calm as they swept past.
"Do you see? They fit, they're partners." Skipper rushed out. "That's what we are all supposed to find! The one who fills in out empty spaces and makes us a whole, that person who you want to dance with forever…"
"What do you mean!" Private wept.
Where the- AHHHHHH"I think you might be my partner."
Where the band never sleeps There's a voice in my head
The dead waltz through the streets
And I'm slowly fallingHis arms were seized. Not by a relaxed luring hold, but a furious and determined grip. He was flung back against the wall, back hitting it hard and head snapping back to connect as well. Dots swam and he moaned in pain. Right then he wanted nothing more than to clutch his aching skull and crawl into bed for a year, Impossible due to the hands pinning him back and the demons in Marlene's living room.
Whispering softly it says
"Join me, dance, dance, dance with the dead!"
Skipper glided closer, reaching out to drift the tips if his fingers down Privates face. "I wish it didn't have to hurt so much…" He whispered.
"My Advice is don't struggle. It only gets messy and painful, I'd know, I struggled. Just relax. Give yourself over." Kowalski murmured, pressing his arm tighter against the wall as Private started to struggle and writhe, screaming and wailing as the puzzle fell into place.
The deaths, the missing hearts, the single meaningless word DANCE…
Kowalski hissed and sent the panicking boy a stern glare, dusted behind his lightless eyes a guilty look no anger could ever hope to hide. "Rico gave himself over. He was fine."
Private's head snapped round, tear stained and blood-shot eyes boring into the weapons expert. "You let them do that to you?" He screamed. "Right when I needed you most! YOU HEARTLESS BASTARD! ALL OF YOU!"
Rico didn't answer him, didn't defend himself. Just looked at the scientist and smiled a pitiful half-smile.
"That would be my fault." Kowalski murmured.
"Heartless sicko," Private sobbed desperately, going lax against the grips that held him suspended against the wall
"More true then you may realize." Skipper said expressionlessly, dragging the collar of his shirt down to reveal the still gaping hole in his chest. The sight of the moist red flesh turned the boy's stomach acid and bringing back burning images.
Where the band never sleeps
The dead waltz through the streets
(Waltz thought the streets)
And I'm slowly fallingFaster and faster they flashed past, like a deck of cards being shuffled at an ever increasing pace, staining the back of his eyes with blood red roses, their thorns scraping against the walls of his confined mind. He wanted to outdo the pain, to feel anything but the agony that was paralyzing his thoughts, so he screamed as loud as he could for as long as he could.
It felt better.
And then it got worse. (Dance with the dead)
There's a voice in my head
whispering softly it says
(Wispering)
"Join me, dance, dance, dance with the dead!"
He screamed again throat raw and hurting.
He could feel the blood spouting from the gaping hole in his chest, running in macabre rivers down his skin, hot and blistering to the touch, the swarming crimson lathering his body.
He forced his eyes open. Dots swam violently.
The sheer agony seized hold.
His mother was praying fervently .
Kowalski stepped back with a hand over his mouth, body shaking uncontrollably.
Skipper laughed and tackled him into the snow pile.
Rico dropped the other arm and darted to the tactician side, cupping his face and murmuring words that didn't reach his ruined ears.
His father was showing him how to ride a bike.
He fell against the floor, breathing shallow and needy.
Kowalski was a laughing mess after attempting sing-star.
Skipper crushed his organ, face still blank.
Rico crouched beside him, the fireworks rocketing into the clear starry sky, exploding in a myriad of colours, green, orange, pink, yellow, blue, red.
Skipper started to drag his nails into the wall, The deep marks swimming over the canvas, forming words he couldn't read.
It was so far away, but so inviting. The warm light and chorus of angels grew in his mind. It was feeble, but he reached out for it, and the further he stretched the more the music enveloped, violins, cellos and flutes all raising their voices in a triumphant call.
"Join us!" they sang. "Dance, Dance, Dance with the dead…"
Where the band never sleeps
The dead waltz through the streets
And I'm slowly falling
There's a voice in my head
Whispering softly it says
"Join me, dance, dance…"
"Private! I'm back from my date! They guy was a total sleaze though." Marlene chimed out as he went to swing open the door.
Locked? She shrugged and fished in her bag for her key; twisting and jiggling it until the lock clicked open and she shouldered open the door.
"Private!" She yelled, dumping her bag on the table and going to the sink to scrub her hands free of the grease she had picked up on the stairwell rail. "I want to tell you this! Where are you?" She sang out.
The soap smelled something terrible she realized. She lifted her lathered hands and breathed deeply. No, Peach and lemon, just like always. She span around, ready to sniff out cause of the strange odor.
She didn't have to.
Private was there, slumped on the ground like a puppet with the strings cut. Blood marked his grisly demise on the wall, a gory mess marking his death on the floor. Crimson leaks on the floor swirled and wove back to the dead boy.
The wallpaper was shredded and torn, hanging in strips, pointing at the motionless figure, drooping away from the carving in the wall.
DANCE.
It's so long. And It took me so long.
Please review, I worked really hard on this and would kill for your opinion.
Hope you all love it. It's three AM and I have a compulsory chapel service at ten. I hate myself sometimes.
NEXT UP… MOAR SKANS!
So yeah.
Bye!
WAIT, what would you prefer to see out of these three options for later on?
1) Kowalski attempting to kill Skipper? (raised by the wolves, falling in reverse)
or
2) How Rico went all psycho? (Dead or alive, get scared.)
or
3) Rico being all Bitchy to Doris? (whore, get scared.)
Ok. This is the serious end.
Seriously.
REVIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEW.