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Uncle Fisty ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() Group: Admin Posts: 13,891 Joined: 3-January 05 From: Next To Her Member No.: 6,928 ![]() |
St. Michael's Church, Redmond Seattle - Tues, Oct 23rd - 2072
The night's air is cool as Haze walks out onto the steps of Saint Michael's, the old church with the small orphanage that he's called home all his life. It's not an easy life certainly, but a worthy one. He smiles wondering where his own thoughts stop and Father Michael's begin. Sayings like that are so common that he can hardly tell the difference any more. Breathing in the Autumn air, he smells the familiar tinge in the air, the acrid smells that are omnipresent in the barrens. The strongest is the acid like tang, like sniffing a battery. To Father Michael, it's the smell of hard work left to do. To Haze, it just smell's like home. Tuedsay, blessed Tuesday. Nothing ever happens on a Tuesday. Haze tries not to think the thought, knowing what a jinx it will be. Father Michael says, never tempt the devil. Haze closes his eyes and tries to will the words out of existance, wishing he could take them back. The first gun shot rings out. Two more follow in rapid succession. They're so close there's a startling moment of wondering if his sin was so great he deserved to die for it. After a moment, Haze realizes he's not dead, and looks around. People are running away. Everyone runs from gunshots. Damn Tuesdays |
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Lo-Fi Version | Time is now: 2nd March 2025 - 02:51 AM |
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