06-20-2019, 01:24 AM
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This was becoming another one of his bad habits, wasn't it? Disappearing with little more than a whimper, then poking his head out the front door once in a blue moon only to wrinkle his nose at the awfully-sunny weather and retreat indoors. How long had he been binging his favorite movies? When was the last time he went out and caught an actual meal for Audrey III? The monstrous plant had taken a penchant to the stale junk food amassed by the wishful ghost over the years, ravaging through the supply even now as Beck numbly stared at the flickering end credits of -- he forgot which movie he had been watching. Frames of excessive gore, bad acting, and massacred teens meshed together in his memory as the television's rolling display fractured into earsplitting static before fizzing out. A harsh whine emitted from his throat. What was he supposed to do without his T.V.?
Slumping further into his nest of ratty blankets, the poltergeist was forced to turn his attention elsewhere. Without the blue glow of a film, the cramped room was swallowed by darkness. Only the sounds of Audrey struggling to free a twinkie from its cellophane prison and the throaty birdsong outside were left. Beck forced himself to stand, legs wobbly from days of disuse. Frustration sizzled deep in his chest, threatening to bubble up into his throat and slip out his mouth with snarling ire. Boredom would return soon, and whose fault was that? Obviously, the blame could only be pinned on the leader of this ghost town -- heh. The boy's delusional mind locked onto Crow; the sniveling coward was responsible for him even loitering around the poisoned swamp and therefore, his misery.
The disheveled feline scrambled from his blankets, an old glint of mischief replacing the glaze that settled over bloodshot eyes. Directly attacking Crow wasn't an option unless he wanted to look like a complete idiot. As Beck skulked through the wilted bracken, honeycomb eyes narrowed at the sight of the town's outskirts. He could remember when it wasn't teeming with sickening life. His unscathed lips pulled back into a grimace as he failed to recognize many of the new scents drifting from the silent homes. Dawn would be encroaching soon, stirring the sleeping town and ruining his fun.
For a creature of his rank, Crow's dwelling was rather unimpressive. Constructed years ago with wood and cement, the reclaimed home unsurprisingly appeared identical to its neighbors, save for added decorations here and there. Not for long. Beck circled the building with a devilish grin splitting his snout until he halted in his tracks at one of the side walls. Scowling up at his empty canvas in thought for a moment, the poltergeist unraveled the bandages binding one of his forearms before dragging a tooth along a closed gash line. Tar-colored blood seeped from the opened vein, beads rolling down to drip from his inner arm as he dipped his other paw into the wound. Paint cans were a luxury when in the wilderness, after all. Paw slick with oily blood, Beck reared onto his hind legs and reached as far as he could stretch to scrawl out the first letter with a sloppy swoop he needed to repeat three more times for the black blood to stain the plywood. The viscous fluid seemed to sizzle when it was slathered on the wall, reminiscent of acid beginning to burn a discolored scar into a surface.
Five more letters, fifteen more dips into the inky gash along his forearm -- he stumbled back onto all four paws to admire his work. In dark, angry letters, a single word glared back at him, droplets of its ink sliding down the wall and disfiguring the writing: C O W A R D.
Slumping further into his nest of ratty blankets, the poltergeist was forced to turn his attention elsewhere. Without the blue glow of a film, the cramped room was swallowed by darkness. Only the sounds of Audrey struggling to free a twinkie from its cellophane prison and the throaty birdsong outside were left. Beck forced himself to stand, legs wobbly from days of disuse. Frustration sizzled deep in his chest, threatening to bubble up into his throat and slip out his mouth with snarling ire. Boredom would return soon, and whose fault was that? Obviously, the blame could only be pinned on the leader of this ghost town -- heh. The boy's delusional mind locked onto Crow; the sniveling coward was responsible for him even loitering around the poisoned swamp and therefore, his misery.
The disheveled feline scrambled from his blankets, an old glint of mischief replacing the glaze that settled over bloodshot eyes. Directly attacking Crow wasn't an option unless he wanted to look like a complete idiot. As Beck skulked through the wilted bracken, honeycomb eyes narrowed at the sight of the town's outskirts. He could remember when it wasn't teeming with sickening life. His unscathed lips pulled back into a grimace as he failed to recognize many of the new scents drifting from the silent homes. Dawn would be encroaching soon, stirring the sleeping town and ruining his fun.
For a creature of his rank, Crow's dwelling was rather unimpressive. Constructed years ago with wood and cement, the reclaimed home unsurprisingly appeared identical to its neighbors, save for added decorations here and there. Not for long. Beck circled the building with a devilish grin splitting his snout until he halted in his tracks at one of the side walls. Scowling up at his empty canvas in thought for a moment, the poltergeist unraveled the bandages binding one of his forearms before dragging a tooth along a closed gash line. Tar-colored blood seeped from the opened vein, beads rolling down to drip from his inner arm as he dipped his other paw into the wound. Paint cans were a luxury when in the wilderness, after all. Paw slick with oily blood, Beck reared onto his hind legs and reached as far as he could stretch to scrawl out the first letter with a sloppy swoop he needed to repeat three more times for the black blood to stain the plywood. The viscous fluid seemed to sizzle when it was slathered on the wall, reminiscent of acid beginning to burn a discolored scar into a surface.
Five more letters, fifteen more dips into the inky gash along his forearm -- he stumbled back onto all four paws to admire his work. In dark, angry letters, a single word glared back at him, droplets of its ink sliding down the wall and disfiguring the writing: C O W A R D.