_-^-_ Chapter VI: Preamble _-^-_
The thought of the man who slaughtered his entire family sent Aidan into a convulsion of white-hot anger that burned in his heart, mind, and soul. His eyes rolled into the back of his head and he roared of his anguish. He clenched his hands digging his fingernails into the blood caked tanned palms of his hands, leaving half-moon cuts that dripped streams of blood down his wrists. Then the cuts healed all by themselves leaving nothing but the leaked blood.
Aidan calmed from his out burst and stared at his dirty hands. He turned them over and over, looking for some sign of the cuts that he had inflicted upon himself. There was no sign at all, and then the crow explained the phenomenon.
'You cannot be hurt. You can be shot by all the angels of heaven and all the demons of hell and there wouldn't be a scratch upon your skin,' cawed the crow.
Aidan looked at the crow in amazement until the crow screamed in annoyance, 'Hey boy, we have a lot of work ahead of us. I've said that at least two times by now. You want to look the part don't you?'
The Silver Cowboy nodded and turned back to the bottles that sat on the top of the bathroom counter. Aidan thought of the man who killed him and his family and the people who watched and Aidan's blood boiled. With this pure hatred coursing through him he took the bottle of white paint and poured some onto his bloody fingers. He rubbed his callused digits through each other and when he was satisfied that they had enough paint over laying them, he pressed the full length of each finger onto his foreheads.
With his fingers spread apart, he ran the fingers of his bloody hands down the length of his face. The feel of the tough skin of his fingers of the softer skin of his face was an odd feeling. He could feel each groove that made up his fingerprints and joints. And the sound that came of rubbing those grooves against the cheeks of his face was a scratchy sound that would have frustrated anyone else, but it soothed Aidan in a small way.
After he had gone from forehead to chin with the white paint, he dipped two fingers from each hand into the black paint and went to work with his face. He spread the black paint across his lips very carefully. Then he haphazardly spread paint from the corners of his mouth and curved up into a malicious smile. A smile that is planted on the face of Death as he goes about his gruesome work.
Now, he went to his eyes. He spread black paint on his closed eyelids from the bridge of his nose and out, leaving deadly spears between his eyes and sideburns. Aidan then re-dipped his fingers and made thick streaks that went from eyebrows to hair and from the bottom of his eyes to the lines coming from the mouth.
Aidan looked from his paint covered fingers to the large mirror that hung on the wall in front of him. There were white vertical stripes from the top to the bottom of his face and violent, thick streaks of black that sprouted from his mouth and eyes. He looked so primal and full of suppressed anger that he began to laugh at the sight of himself. His laugh turned from a giggle to a cackle in a matter of seconds and pretty soon he was laughing hysterically at himself.
The crow had said that he should look the part of the avenging angel and he certainly did. He looked extremely primal and he supposed that he was becoming somewhat primal, but instead of it being 'kill or be killed' its 'kill and then be killed'. The though made Aidan laugh even more hysterically and was only stopped by the crow that sat perched on the shower curtain rod.
'Get a hold of yourself man; this is no time for funny business. We have to get to work, or would you like them to get away with all of this?' the annoyed crow cawed.
Aidan stopped laughing abruptly and turned on the crow. Anger flaring in his eyes, anger for the idea that he wanted his killers to get away.
'That's right boy, keep that anger boiling and flowing in you. You'll need before long. They have about a thirty head start and we need to make up time. There is one that isn't that far from here so you can get there on foot, you ready?'
Aidan thought for a moment and studied the crow. All of it's feathers, it's beak, and it's talons. Its talons were black and sharp as spears to rain upon the wicked. Aidan turned from the crow and looked at the bottle of black paint that now lay on its side. He picked it up and poured the remaining paint onto all of his fingers and rubbed them in making the digits on each hand completely black. He looked down at them and was satisfied with the look. He then strode out of the bathroom and into his own room. He opened his closet door and fished out two new shirts. He peeled off the blood soaked, hole filled shirt from his back, revealing a washboard stomach.
He threw the filthy shirt onto the rug and slipped off one of the two shirts that he had plucked from the closet. This shirt was a white plain t- shirt that was meant as an undershirt. He then slipped on the second shirt, which was a smooth black button down, long sleeved shirt that had a design of scales set atop the surface. Aidan buttoned all the bottoms but the top two and the bottom two buttons making it able to flap in the wind. He then removed the blood caked blue jeans that were encasing his legs and slid into a pair of black jeans. He strode out into the hall and stared at the black bird that sat on the top of the open door to the coat closet.
'You know I don't think that any of these guys are going to compliment you on how you look. Seeing as you have been sent back here to kill all of them, I don't think that they are going to cooperate with you. So, are you ready?'
Aidan nodded and walked into the front entrance of his once home where a few hours ago, he had been greeted with hugs all around from his then alive family for his engagement to Chloe. His anger flared even higher at the thought, and he rushed for the door, knocking it off its hinges, out its own doorway and out onto the lawn. The anger that was flowing through his veins fueled his body and Aidan went tearing down the street with his shirt flapping in the air that rushed past him, like a black bird on a night's breeze.
_-^-_ Disclaimer: I do not own The Crow, James O'Barr does. _-^-_
The thought of the man who slaughtered his entire family sent Aidan into a convulsion of white-hot anger that burned in his heart, mind, and soul. His eyes rolled into the back of his head and he roared of his anguish. He clenched his hands digging his fingernails into the blood caked tanned palms of his hands, leaving half-moon cuts that dripped streams of blood down his wrists. Then the cuts healed all by themselves leaving nothing but the leaked blood.
Aidan calmed from his out burst and stared at his dirty hands. He turned them over and over, looking for some sign of the cuts that he had inflicted upon himself. There was no sign at all, and then the crow explained the phenomenon.
'You cannot be hurt. You can be shot by all the angels of heaven and all the demons of hell and there wouldn't be a scratch upon your skin,' cawed the crow.
Aidan looked at the crow in amazement until the crow screamed in annoyance, 'Hey boy, we have a lot of work ahead of us. I've said that at least two times by now. You want to look the part don't you?'
The Silver Cowboy nodded and turned back to the bottles that sat on the top of the bathroom counter. Aidan thought of the man who killed him and his family and the people who watched and Aidan's blood boiled. With this pure hatred coursing through him he took the bottle of white paint and poured some onto his bloody fingers. He rubbed his callused digits through each other and when he was satisfied that they had enough paint over laying them, he pressed the full length of each finger onto his foreheads.
With his fingers spread apart, he ran the fingers of his bloody hands down the length of his face. The feel of the tough skin of his fingers of the softer skin of his face was an odd feeling. He could feel each groove that made up his fingerprints and joints. And the sound that came of rubbing those grooves against the cheeks of his face was a scratchy sound that would have frustrated anyone else, but it soothed Aidan in a small way.
After he had gone from forehead to chin with the white paint, he dipped two fingers from each hand into the black paint and went to work with his face. He spread the black paint across his lips very carefully. Then he haphazardly spread paint from the corners of his mouth and curved up into a malicious smile. A smile that is planted on the face of Death as he goes about his gruesome work.
Now, he went to his eyes. He spread black paint on his closed eyelids from the bridge of his nose and out, leaving deadly spears between his eyes and sideburns. Aidan then re-dipped his fingers and made thick streaks that went from eyebrows to hair and from the bottom of his eyes to the lines coming from the mouth.
Aidan looked from his paint covered fingers to the large mirror that hung on the wall in front of him. There were white vertical stripes from the top to the bottom of his face and violent, thick streaks of black that sprouted from his mouth and eyes. He looked so primal and full of suppressed anger that he began to laugh at the sight of himself. His laugh turned from a giggle to a cackle in a matter of seconds and pretty soon he was laughing hysterically at himself.
The crow had said that he should look the part of the avenging angel and he certainly did. He looked extremely primal and he supposed that he was becoming somewhat primal, but instead of it being 'kill or be killed' its 'kill and then be killed'. The though made Aidan laugh even more hysterically and was only stopped by the crow that sat perched on the shower curtain rod.
'Get a hold of yourself man; this is no time for funny business. We have to get to work, or would you like them to get away with all of this?' the annoyed crow cawed.
Aidan stopped laughing abruptly and turned on the crow. Anger flaring in his eyes, anger for the idea that he wanted his killers to get away.
'That's right boy, keep that anger boiling and flowing in you. You'll need before long. They have about a thirty head start and we need to make up time. There is one that isn't that far from here so you can get there on foot, you ready?'
Aidan thought for a moment and studied the crow. All of it's feathers, it's beak, and it's talons. Its talons were black and sharp as spears to rain upon the wicked. Aidan turned from the crow and looked at the bottle of black paint that now lay on its side. He picked it up and poured the remaining paint onto all of his fingers and rubbed them in making the digits on each hand completely black. He looked down at them and was satisfied with the look. He then strode out of the bathroom and into his own room. He opened his closet door and fished out two new shirts. He peeled off the blood soaked, hole filled shirt from his back, revealing a washboard stomach.
He threw the filthy shirt onto the rug and slipped off one of the two shirts that he had plucked from the closet. This shirt was a white plain t- shirt that was meant as an undershirt. He then slipped on the second shirt, which was a smooth black button down, long sleeved shirt that had a design of scales set atop the surface. Aidan buttoned all the bottoms but the top two and the bottom two buttons making it able to flap in the wind. He then removed the blood caked blue jeans that were encasing his legs and slid into a pair of black jeans. He strode out into the hall and stared at the black bird that sat on the top of the open door to the coat closet.
'You know I don't think that any of these guys are going to compliment you on how you look. Seeing as you have been sent back here to kill all of them, I don't think that they are going to cooperate with you. So, are you ready?'
Aidan nodded and walked into the front entrance of his once home where a few hours ago, he had been greeted with hugs all around from his then alive family for his engagement to Chloe. His anger flared even higher at the thought, and he rushed for the door, knocking it off its hinges, out its own doorway and out onto the lawn. The anger that was flowing through his veins fueled his body and Aidan went tearing down the street with his shirt flapping in the air that rushed past him, like a black bird on a night's breeze.
_-^-_ Disclaimer: I do not own The Crow, James O'Barr does. _-^-_
