rewok
05-28-2009, 02:23 AM
"I wasn't always such a cynical bastard.
And I never planned on being a murderer.
Some things happen on these dark streets... Well... You couldn't predict them if
you tried.
And as the rain falls on my collar, and my boots click slowly on the asphalt, I'm
not even sure I still know myself. So who the hell was supposed to remember
you?"
As his gritty voice faded into the distance, I saw him turn away, coat spiraling
out from behind him. The street lamps gave a soft glow to his shoulders, and
through a final gargle, I feel my eyes start to get heavy... And I can see my
blood in front of me, as they finally close.
If only it was still yesterday...
My life was never what I planned it to be. So what? Who actually lives the
American Dream now a days? With layoffs and depression, I was just glad I
wasn't one of those poor saps.
I pulled my shoe-strings tight, and flicked a cigarette butt while I stood to get
out of the car. The afternoon air smelled like garbage. And you could taste the
coming rain on your skin.
Shutting the door of the black Cadillac... Well, whatever it was... Behind me, I
pulled my coat close around myself. "Slow steps" I told myself. My heart was
pounding two beats too fast.
The man in front of me let his hat cast a shadow over his eyes. It didn't
matter. He leaned against the hood of his car like a lion, perched over his prey.
A predator in a jungle where the wolves were the least of your worries.
I remember wanting to run, to scream and flee. In my lifetime, I learned to
ignore the fear, to swallow it like a painful medicine... But this was different. I
stopped walking, facing him, and felt his hand thump against my shoulder. The
scrape from his glove screamed in my ear.
We talked, and it didn't matter about what. I'm dying, remember? I don't have
time for the petty details. But he was angry. Hell, he earned the right to be.
Disloyalty isn't rewarded with praise and open arms.
I felt my fingers settle on the soft leather grip of the trusty sidearm in my
pocket. The weight was usually a comfort, but today, it felt like a burden
I was ill-equipped to handle.
I don't know who moved first, I just remember hearing God himself roar out
from the heavens, a drop of rain splash on the tip of my nose, and feeling
a burning, punching deep into my chest.
The heel of a boot threw me off my feet, until my head cracked against the
street. And the world looked so far away. I swear, I'd never tasted anything
sweeter than the second of hope I had... That I could still walk away.
I remember the ashes of a cigarette, splitting and crying, inches in front of
my face, before a well-shined shoe stomped the life out of them. I could see
my eyes. And I've never looked so terrified, or peaceful.
He knelt down in front of me, tipping the brim of his hat back, so I saw my
hazel-green eyes, reflected in his. His smile was sad, heavy with the weight
of twenty years, and hundreds of souls.
"You know... I wasn't always such a cynical bastard"
And I never planned on being a murderer.
Some things happen on these dark streets... Well... You couldn't predict them if
you tried.
And as the rain falls on my collar, and my boots click slowly on the asphalt, I'm
not even sure I still know myself. So who the hell was supposed to remember
you?"
As his gritty voice faded into the distance, I saw him turn away, coat spiraling
out from behind him. The street lamps gave a soft glow to his shoulders, and
through a final gargle, I feel my eyes start to get heavy... And I can see my
blood in front of me, as they finally close.
If only it was still yesterday...
My life was never what I planned it to be. So what? Who actually lives the
American Dream now a days? With layoffs and depression, I was just glad I
wasn't one of those poor saps.
I pulled my shoe-strings tight, and flicked a cigarette butt while I stood to get
out of the car. The afternoon air smelled like garbage. And you could taste the
coming rain on your skin.
Shutting the door of the black Cadillac... Well, whatever it was... Behind me, I
pulled my coat close around myself. "Slow steps" I told myself. My heart was
pounding two beats too fast.
The man in front of me let his hat cast a shadow over his eyes. It didn't
matter. He leaned against the hood of his car like a lion, perched over his prey.
A predator in a jungle where the wolves were the least of your worries.
I remember wanting to run, to scream and flee. In my lifetime, I learned to
ignore the fear, to swallow it like a painful medicine... But this was different. I
stopped walking, facing him, and felt his hand thump against my shoulder. The
scrape from his glove screamed in my ear.
We talked, and it didn't matter about what. I'm dying, remember? I don't have
time for the petty details. But he was angry. Hell, he earned the right to be.
Disloyalty isn't rewarded with praise and open arms.
I felt my fingers settle on the soft leather grip of the trusty sidearm in my
pocket. The weight was usually a comfort, but today, it felt like a burden
I was ill-equipped to handle.
I don't know who moved first, I just remember hearing God himself roar out
from the heavens, a drop of rain splash on the tip of my nose, and feeling
a burning, punching deep into my chest.
The heel of a boot threw me off my feet, until my head cracked against the
street. And the world looked so far away. I swear, I'd never tasted anything
sweeter than the second of hope I had... That I could still walk away.
I remember the ashes of a cigarette, splitting and crying, inches in front of
my face, before a well-shined shoe stomped the life out of them. I could see
my eyes. And I've never looked so terrified, or peaceful.
He knelt down in front of me, tipping the brim of his hat back, so I saw my
hazel-green eyes, reflected in his. His smile was sad, heavy with the weight
of twenty years, and hundreds of souls.
"You know... I wasn't always such a cynical bastard"