08-12-2018, 01:22 AM
[align=center][div style="borderwidth=0px; width: 55%; line-height:115%; text-align: justify;font-family: calibri;"][ yeh I have ;; no muse for des anymore I'm afraid so I'm killing him off to further mercy's plan ]
There was no great ending for him.
He had once hoped that he would go... honorably. Perhaps saving someone, perhaps sacrificing himself to make sure someone more worthy would survive in his place. He had imagined it a lot, his death. It was almost normal at this point to assume that at any given moment he was romanticizing the idea, hoping for something greater to end his life...
He never wanted to be just another body. He figured that's what would happen, it was only right that he die in some ditch in the middle of nowhere without anyone even knowing his name enough to care for it. He had been alone in life, as he was in death, and the only thing that he could say was that he went down without any pitiful begging for mercy. Ironic, wasn't it? That the creature who had ended him was called that to begin with.
But the creature had seemed almost as sad as he was during that time. Des had done nothing more than lit a cigarette, stared death right in the eyes, and told them to make it quick.
They did. And, for the first time, Des felt nothing. The darkness took him, and his life was over, body settled carefully near the water of his hut, a makeshift grave made for him by a creature who was experienced enough to know a man who was suicidal.
They didn't want to continue his torture; he had done it enough to himself.
There was no great ending for him.
He had once hoped that he would go... honorably. Perhaps saving someone, perhaps sacrificing himself to make sure someone more worthy would survive in his place. He had imagined it a lot, his death. It was almost normal at this point to assume that at any given moment he was romanticizing the idea, hoping for something greater to end his life...
He never wanted to be just another body. He figured that's what would happen, it was only right that he die in some ditch in the middle of nowhere without anyone even knowing his name enough to care for it. He had been alone in life, as he was in death, and the only thing that he could say was that he went down without any pitiful begging for mercy. Ironic, wasn't it? That the creature who had ended him was called that to begin with.
But the creature had seemed almost as sad as he was during that time. Des had done nothing more than lit a cigarette, stared death right in the eyes, and told them to make it quick.
They did. And, for the first time, Des felt nothing. The darkness took him, and his life was over, body settled carefully near the water of his hut, a makeshift grave made for him by a creature who was experienced enough to know a man who was suicidal.
They didn't want to continue his torture; he had done it enough to himself.
♔ — I want brimstone in my garden