A/N: Yeee.something sort of creepy I guess. Not my usual style, but
eh. Enjoy =)
Disclaimer: -_-"
~*~*~*~*~
:: Hush ::
There had been better times.
When the streets were full of caterwauling and fanfare, and the sky just a bit brighter. Now silence swept the entire city it seemed. The sky was dull argent, its clouds mere wisps, like the people lying in their crisp, white beds.
Jack could remember, so long ago it was, those same people once talking animatedly amongst each other, their faces full of colour unlike the waxen ones now. Cheekbones protruded dangerously, their eyes vacant and placid.
The Lodging House had already lost three. Three far too many.
A small group of children played quietly near the old statue, the greenish rust creeping like vines over the brass. As Jack passed, the children sang in morose voices, the nursery rhyme....
Husha, husha, we all fall down.
He shuddered. It echoed in his mind.
Husha, husha, we all fall down.
He began to run. Selling papers no longer mattered. There was no one to sell them to anyway. The children watched him run, their pallid faces growing smaller in the distance, blurring into nothing.
Husha, husha.
The Lodging House was a grave. Not a sound could be heard anywhere. The life had been taken out with the three who passed. When Jack entered the bunks, every pair of eyes turned to look at him mournfully. The small crowd parted, revealing a bunk, someone lying in it. Blonde hair falling into his eyes, glasses slightly askew. His skin cold, and eyes closed.
Another gone.
One more taken.
Husha, husha, we all fall down.
Disclaimer: -_-"
~*~*~*~*~
:: Hush ::
There had been better times.
When the streets were full of caterwauling and fanfare, and the sky just a bit brighter. Now silence swept the entire city it seemed. The sky was dull argent, its clouds mere wisps, like the people lying in their crisp, white beds.
Jack could remember, so long ago it was, those same people once talking animatedly amongst each other, their faces full of colour unlike the waxen ones now. Cheekbones protruded dangerously, their eyes vacant and placid.
The Lodging House had already lost three. Three far too many.
A small group of children played quietly near the old statue, the greenish rust creeping like vines over the brass. As Jack passed, the children sang in morose voices, the nursery rhyme....
Husha, husha, we all fall down.
He shuddered. It echoed in his mind.
Husha, husha, we all fall down.
He began to run. Selling papers no longer mattered. There was no one to sell them to anyway. The children watched him run, their pallid faces growing smaller in the distance, blurring into nothing.
Husha, husha.
The Lodging House was a grave. Not a sound could be heard anywhere. The life had been taken out with the three who passed. When Jack entered the bunks, every pair of eyes turned to look at him mournfully. The small crowd parted, revealing a bunk, someone lying in it. Blonde hair falling into his eyes, glasses slightly askew. His skin cold, and eyes closed.
Another gone.
One more taken.
Husha, husha, we all fall down.