In a humble church by the seaside there lived an old man. Seasons changed, people died, families left, and the old man stayed. The old man felt lonely. He loved the lord, he loved carrying out the lord's work, and yet he still felt so cold.
He was never alone. The lord was with him always. He felt so much love within him, and yet there was no one to share that love with. No wayward sheep in need of a Shepard, no great works of faith to be done, all that was left was this crumbling church and the man of god.
His priestly garb was old and worn. These old church benches had collected their fair share of dust. Day after day he upheld his duties. Waiting for the end.
Then the father received a letter. The contents were dark and grave indeed. He was needed and he would be seeing the lord in due time. Those poor children, would he reach them soon enough?
She couldn't dry her eyes. It hurt. This funeral was for family only. Apparently she didn't count. Yet they couldn't take away the time they spent together.
The dead man was a war hero, the dead man had been a good kid, and the dead man had been a son once, too. All this meant something to the pale faced family members. All that she cared about was that her father was being buried today.
A few month's ago they had been happy. They didn't have much except each other. He wanted to adopt her, so she could stay and grow up to be a doctor like she always wanted. That didn't happen.
So here she was, leaning against this cast Iron fence while the only person who cared for her was lowered six feet below. She was getting out of school in a few days, so it didn't really matter. But it still mattered to her.
Underneath the ground below the last bits of hope she had were laid to rest. Upon her beige flesh was the mark of one condemned to fight a war they could not understand. Yes, she indeed was royally screwed.
Chris was really, really freaking out. There was fire, and loud noises. They were on a bus right now. Correction, he was driving a bus right now. His mysterious creepy friend was on top of the bus with a gat shooting at Andrew Jackson who was chasing them on horseback. Oh, and Chris didn't even have his license yet.
"How do I stop this thing!"
"Bit busy", Bang- Bang- Bang, "- get avenger to help".
"Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, No!"
"What is it-", she finally realized that they were speeding to their doom, oh and she was bleeding out. To make matters worse she was starting to slip off the roof of the bus. With a prayer in her heart and a roar of defiance to the world she drew her knife and sank the blade into the roof of the moving vehicle. She could hold on, for now.
"Avenger!"
Nothing happened. Then a semi truck came speeding out of nowhere and slammed Andrew Jackson off of the road.
"Get on!"
"I don't know if I can make it . . .",
Her servant flung the door open and leapt out of the moving Semi. In a blur he was already by her side. With a single motion he threw his master over his shoulder. Blood poured from her bullet wound. Her vision was fading; it was all over, too soon.
She was smiling. This was the first time any one had done anything nice for her. It made her feel warm inside to know some one cared. Even if that some one was a heroic spirit on top of a bus headed towards a flaming bridge. It felt nice.
It was at this point Chris just gave up on steering and slammed on the breaks as hard as he could. The tires screeched in protest as the bus steadily came to a halt. Causing Avenger to tumble forward.
The last thing Chris remembered was two hundred plus pounds of Manliness shattering through the window of the bus. Then everything faded to black.