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The images in his mind twisted and turned in black and white, creating the waxing of his anger, culminating slowly into the silent rage, and the creature that lurks deep within. But the aftermath of his pain was only evident by the chased lines that coursed horizontally across his forehead. Desmond gripped the Webley revolver with a sweaty palm as he ran the cold steel barrel along his cheek, then inserted it into his mouth, holding it firmly with his teeth…………Guiding it into a degree of angle where he thought would do the most damage. He imagined the .45 caliber bullet entering the soft matter of his brains, traveling in its spiral path until exiting though the top of his skull. The exit wound taking half of his gray matter intermingled with blood and white porcelain bone, and splattering it against the nearby wall. The thought pleased him………….
He closed his eyes hard as his thumb pulled the hammer back, hearing the first click, then the second………"What is it Desmond? Is there still a small amount of humanity that travels along your tormented soul, searching for an escape which you will never realize." Her hand closed around his as she eased the hammer back onto the frame, her black lips kissed his fingers as he slowly opened his bloodshot eyes. Her tongue traveled along the blue steel until it met his lips, then she removed the pistol, and smelled the gun oil that still lingered on his mouth. " My dark reaper." She whispered near his ear, " so you grow tired of the harvest……..No longer hungering for the souls of the lost ones." Her black eyes looked into his, and he thought for a moment that a small amount of compassion edged along the soft white corners, but it was only her deception. A certain death had spoken to him, but he realized then, that is was not a road traveled to a horizon of peace from his eternal suffering………Because he was already dead, and a living hell materialized and evolved into his existence. Here within this layer of human degradation, becoming the conduit for their atrocities of rotting decadence. All he saw before him was a sudden flash of light, and he hit hard on the back of couch, his head moved from side to side in a white blur as visions began to move through his mind like a run away train………….The small man sat in his darkened cell hunched over a wooden table, his eyes looked up from his papers periodically as he gazed into space, then he would lower his head and once again set pen to paper. Landsberg prison surrounded Desmond within its cold chamber as he stood and watched the man at his table from a distance, a little light beside him illuminated the dull white paper, and written inside a header were the words, "My Struggle." Desmond spoke the words as the flashes then became visions of a vast landscape of white corpses laying one on top of the other in deep dark pits, their silent screams began to speak to him, but soon disappeared as the visions turned back into the eyes of the demon angel before him……………" You see my dark reaper……………There is much to harvest into the millennia." She smiled as she spoke, as if the visions set forth were the beginnings of a certain Armageddon. He brought his hands to his face and began to drag his black fingernails down the pale flesh, drawing deep red blood along the wounds, " What have we wrought?" he spoke softly, then he stood and walked towards the hearth, the wood inside its ornate iron encasement now only smoldered…….. Its gray smoke curled and sputtered as it rose, and Desmond related its slow death as his scenario in life, rekindled only by the fires of the dominion, while his heart becomes one of the forsaken. Growing ever so cold……….. |