Post by Hal on Sept 7, 2012 23:24:44 GMT -5
Nights seemed to pass like quick minutes, watching as the moon slowly grew in the darkened sky above washed in hues of blues, violets, and small smidges of crimson and yellow. Those Dutch features of his friend twisted over time into something that was simply not him, sweating and bellowing like a drunk, other times apologizing up and down for things he clearly did not do. And that moon in the sky did soon reach its grand size one night, and what Hal was welcomed with were the broken screams of his friend locked down in the basement, ready for whatever was in store for him. But the Irishman sitting outside that door, hearing what was muffled but still loud and horrid, didn’t know what to do, how to deal, and if there was anything he could even do. Seemed there wasn’t.
And not long into that night were the screams replaced with gurgled, disgusting noises, soon enough silenced entirely. What lay behind that door for Hal was a twisted dead thing that no longer resembled his friend at all. His friend was gone, replaced with this mutated, twisted… whatever it was, that resembled neither human nor animal. Limbs twisted in unnatural directions, mouth agape in a silent, dead scream, hair here and there, but whatever it was, it couldn’t be brought outside - couldn't be seen.
Equipped with a match box and lighter fluid, he wrapped his mutated dead friend up in an old damaged quilt and set out to burn what was left of him. And so he did, throwing down that match that lit the dampened cloth into crackling flames that engulfed Anthony’s form. And what soon painted Hal’s hands in the deep sanguine that was his blood.
A jolt upwards, a yelp passing his lips. Eyes blinked – once, twice – several times until he registered where he exactly was. Raising his hands to his eyes and rubbing before seeing the few faces in the coffee shop had turned to him. A quiet roll of his shoulders and a turn of his head to look out of the window to his right as a shaking hand went to grasp the coffee on his left. Cold. Boston’s residences were scurrying about, some dressed in suits and ties, others in baggy shirts and jeans – like him.
When had he fallen asleep? How long had he been out?
It was his day off but it was beginning to feel like it wasn’t going to be a good one. Plagued with the awful nights where he couldn’t sleep, he kept seeing his friend’s face. And then that thing he had become and died as. And remembering he was the one that burned him, knowing that everyone thought him as missing instead of dead. If only the real nightmares were so easy to say, maybe then he wouldn’t be up all those dreaded nights with Anthony haunting his dreams.
And not long into that night were the screams replaced with gurgled, disgusting noises, soon enough silenced entirely. What lay behind that door for Hal was a twisted dead thing that no longer resembled his friend at all. His friend was gone, replaced with this mutated, twisted… whatever it was, that resembled neither human nor animal. Limbs twisted in unnatural directions, mouth agape in a silent, dead scream, hair here and there, but whatever it was, it couldn’t be brought outside - couldn't be seen.
Equipped with a match box and lighter fluid, he wrapped his mutated dead friend up in an old damaged quilt and set out to burn what was left of him. And so he did, throwing down that match that lit the dampened cloth into crackling flames that engulfed Anthony’s form. And what soon painted Hal’s hands in the deep sanguine that was his blood.
A jolt upwards, a yelp passing his lips. Eyes blinked – once, twice – several times until he registered where he exactly was. Raising his hands to his eyes and rubbing before seeing the few faces in the coffee shop had turned to him. A quiet roll of his shoulders and a turn of his head to look out of the window to his right as a shaking hand went to grasp the coffee on his left. Cold. Boston’s residences were scurrying about, some dressed in suits and ties, others in baggy shirts and jeans – like him.
When had he fallen asleep? How long had he been out?
It was his day off but it was beginning to feel like it wasn’t going to be a good one. Plagued with the awful nights where he couldn’t sleep, he kept seeing his friend’s face. And then that thing he had become and died as. And remembering he was the one that burned him, knowing that everyone thought him as missing instead of dead. If only the real nightmares were so easy to say, maybe then he wouldn’t be up all those dreaded nights with Anthony haunting his dreams.