Finally after much writer's block...and not being able to decide how to start this chapter, I bring you the sixth chapter of this rather short saga...of one-shots(sounds a bit pathetic...sigh...
Anyway...only two more chapters to go...unless I include Torque's monster form, but that is up to you, whether I include it or not...so anyway...please read and review...
Chapter 6: Justice for a Dead Man(Nooseman)
Carnate has always been the center of many unforgiving crimes. From small to big, any crime is returned to haunt the person responsible for those crimes.
And like every inmate, many thought that the C.O.s deserved what they got. The man in charge of protecting them deserved to be hanged, and skinned, too. They were alive, screaming in agony, as those that were there prisoners were torturing them in the same way they had probably tortured others. It was the silent justice that is cold and unheard of in prison. Silent justice which only inmates can see before they are sent to their last resting place.
Since the apocalypse, I have seen many things. From mummified corpses sprouting from the hard yet cold ground, and strange mutilated creatures, held together with bandages and deadly blades, but what I see now, truly takes the price. These things, these creatures, are like something I have never seen before, at least heard of, as the things from a man made tale, when an inmate felt bored with the need of storytelling.
It caught me by surprise, only once. I had not noticed the faint growing smell of blood dripping from the ceilings, I was, at that time, more concerned with getting out of my cell block alive. I had lived that one time; the creature appeared from the prison's ceiling and threatened to grab whatever he could reach of my head. Not as agile as I once was, I was lucky to noticed on time, and quickly ducked and covered, and then I saw it…the half of a human body, skinned, smelling just like the decomposing bodies of the inmates in the cell block. Tied around its delicate and bloody neck was a rope, which seemed to sprout from the bloody spot of the ceiling. Like a skilled acrobat, it grabbed the rope with its skinny and bare hands, and went up again, deep within the pool of blood.
It was a strange sight…as if the C.O.'s spirits themselves were preventing from any inmate leaving their cell block, but their allies are on the ground, too…perhaps blaming them for that accident that happened so long ago.
-Clem
Hangman, hangman,
where is it you go?
Hangman, hangman,
hanging up with you!
Hangman, hangman,
dying as they go…