This was it. The final showdown between Spike and Vicious. At first they
merely stood there 20 feet apart, staring at each other in silence. There
was no need for words now. Both men had spoken when there was still
something to live for. There was no hatred or anger in the air, for both
Spike and Vicious knew that this was coming. Their final conflict was
written in the stars, they knew it the moment they first met.
Death was no stranger to either man. Both had dealt it out to others, and both had died. They were angel of death at one time. Striving for the same purpose, serving under the same master. If one thinks about it, he or she would find it strange, ironic even, that neither man believed in angels. Even when their wings spread out against the night as they carried out their task, they denied themselves.
None of that mattered now though. Two lives were going to end tonight. Two tortured souls were going to be freed tonight.
But who was to make the first move?
As is on signal, Spike and Vicious moved at the same time. They came at each other in a flurry of kicks and punches. It was almost like a ballet, their fight. They came away, seeing that a simple fistfight wouldn't bring their demise tonight. Vicious pulled out his katana, Spike his Jericho. In a swift move, Vicious knocked Spike to the ground. Then, he made for a kill shot, but it was blocked by spike.
They now seemed in a very peculiar situation. Spike with his gun aimed at Vicious' head, Vicious' katana pointed at Spike's heart. Another synchronized move. Spike pulled the trigger, sending a bullet deep in Vicious' skull, as Vicious thrust his katana into Spike's chest.
The two men fell dead in the street that night, lying in a pool of mixed blood. A small snapshot fell from the sky and landed between the men. The woman was a blonde beauty with wistful eyes, and a Mona Lisa smile. Julia. Next to the picture fell a rose. Blood red in full bloom, slowly darkening by the taint of blood. Julia. A heartbreaker, a lover, a woman. If one listened carefully, he or she could hear two men whisper in he night as their souls fled their bodies on their journey to their place in the stars.
"Thank you."
GOODBYE, SPACE COWBOY.
Death was no stranger to either man. Both had dealt it out to others, and both had died. They were angel of death at one time. Striving for the same purpose, serving under the same master. If one thinks about it, he or she would find it strange, ironic even, that neither man believed in angels. Even when their wings spread out against the night as they carried out their task, they denied themselves.
None of that mattered now though. Two lives were going to end tonight. Two tortured souls were going to be freed tonight.
But who was to make the first move?
As is on signal, Spike and Vicious moved at the same time. They came at each other in a flurry of kicks and punches. It was almost like a ballet, their fight. They came away, seeing that a simple fistfight wouldn't bring their demise tonight. Vicious pulled out his katana, Spike his Jericho. In a swift move, Vicious knocked Spike to the ground. Then, he made for a kill shot, but it was blocked by spike.
They now seemed in a very peculiar situation. Spike with his gun aimed at Vicious' head, Vicious' katana pointed at Spike's heart. Another synchronized move. Spike pulled the trigger, sending a bullet deep in Vicious' skull, as Vicious thrust his katana into Spike's chest.
The two men fell dead in the street that night, lying in a pool of mixed blood. A small snapshot fell from the sky and landed between the men. The woman was a blonde beauty with wistful eyes, and a Mona Lisa smile. Julia. Next to the picture fell a rose. Blood red in full bloom, slowly darkening by the taint of blood. Julia. A heartbreaker, a lover, a woman. If one listened carefully, he or she could hear two men whisper in he night as their souls fled their bodies on their journey to their place in the stars.
"Thank you."
GOODBYE, SPACE COWBOY.
