10-30-2008, 01:33 AM
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Maybe, once upon a time, he would have been an artist. Carving his name into concrete, firing bullets through windows and crying out revolution. He was a madman bum, setting fires to cars and writing his own scripture in blood. It surprised him, sometimes, that this bohemian angel would be his companion, his sister, his lover. Then again, he couldn’t have wished for better company. In the following weeks, when she vanished like the autumn people so often do, her presence would be sorely missed.
He could feel her using the strange smelling substance, and then felt her fingers trailing along his mouth. Then she began playing with his hair, melding it into twisted locks that tumbled around his face unevenly. It was not until she offered him the mirror that he had indication of her results. She had painted him a wicked smile, one that seemed offset by the rest of his pale face. The red was remarkably bright, nearly the same color as his eyes. That color, at least, he could see. “Well, it’s certainly something,” he offered, and cracked a grin. The red jaws made it seem twice (if not more) mad then he had ever imagined. “You think that’s enough?”
Maybe, once upon a time, he would have been an artist. Carving his name into concrete, firing bullets through windows and crying out revolution. He was a madman bum, setting fires to cars and writing his own scripture in blood. It surprised him, sometimes, that this bohemian angel would be his companion, his sister, his lover. Then again, he couldn’t have wished for better company. In the following weeks, when she vanished like the autumn people so often do, her presence would be sorely missed.
He could feel her using the strange smelling substance, and then felt her fingers trailing along his mouth. Then she began playing with his hair, melding it into twisted locks that tumbled around his face unevenly. It was not until she offered him the mirror that he had indication of her results. She had painted him a wicked smile, one that seemed offset by the rest of his pale face. The red was remarkably bright, nearly the same color as his eyes. That color, at least, he could see. “Well, it’s certainly something,” he offered, and cracked a grin. The red jaws made it seem twice (if not more) mad then he had ever imagined. “You think that’s enough?”