George Weasley is keeping it together (gweasles) wrote in thecityofsin, @ 2009-04-15 22:27:00 |
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Entry tags: | chapter two, character: greggory wessel, character: grigore nicolescu |
CHARACTERS: Greg Wessel & Grigore Nicolescu
SETTING: Abandoned warehouse in the free zone, evening of 6th February
STATUS: ongoing
SUMMARY: It's time to awaken.
Conscious thought flooded his mind in a whirlwind of prayers. Surely the righteous shall give thanks unto thy name: the upright shall dwell in thy presence. They were the pleas of his allies in his last moments of humanity. Their words, their desperate tears wrapped around his mind pulling him back, down into that human flesh. I will fear no evil: For thou art with me; Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me. He heard them all praying for the sinner now and at the hour of his death. Dead. It was what wanted. To enter a place where time and the weight of the world all dissipated into a far reaching nothingness.
How he longed to be nothing. To not have to feel the burden of righteousness pulsing through his veins and feel compelled to fight a battle he would never win. He had been tired of being bitch to some life he never asked for. But Greg felt heavy. He felt the stiffness of muscles screaming after days of misuse and torture. He felt hungover, the dry scratchy feeling in the back of his throat that he couldn't quell no matter how much he swallowed, welling up the little spit he could. No, no, no, no, no.
Dying was never easy. If it were he would have done it right five years ago. But how hard could it be? After all the death at his own hands, how could he not succumb to his own? Now, he would have to deal with his failure.
It seemed only fitting. Destiny wasn't done with him yet. He had his part to play in this, that stinging clarity of his last waking moments told him his piece was coming soon. Greg had heard it calling for him, leading him into the darkness. He had thought that darkness was the long sleep of death, but soon he would realize that the darkness was really just long cast shadows holding the keys. They felt closer now. Even in his failure, some of the weight that plagued him was gone now. There was a levity lingering under the surface, along with that unquenchable burning in his throat.
Slowly one by one his senses reached out beyond his body, hearing the subtle nuances his ears normally missed, smelling the alluring aroma of a skittish large animal (was it human?) not far off. His body involuntarily responded to that, muscles flexing remembering how to move again. Greg flipped to his feet, not met with the expected dizziness of a rush of blood to the head after hours of laying. The weight on his feet felt differently as he exploded off them. All instinct then he tore his new perfect teeth into that flesh and drank until there was nothing left.
Once the animal was drained he dropped it back to the ground with a satisfying thud. He was an infant just learning how to eat, blood smeared on his chin, dribbling down his chest. Greg didn't even bother to wipe it away. His eyes fell to the lifeless human at his feet. (At least it was quick for him.) It was then he realized the full weight of his failure. And all he could do in that moment was let that hollow laughter shake his chest. It was too much, much too much.