((Continued from: Mending))
It honestly felt a bit odd.
The coldness of the shower washed itself over pale skin as it hit the moldy tile of the floor. Staring from the bottom up, this was honestly a very plain view, his feet? Far too small, a size six or seven and his toe nails seemed to be horrifically maintained. Moving upwards the various bruised and kicked off pieces of skin from gangly, pale, and almost comically "chicken" legs. Finally, resting upon the goose bumped thighs, manhood shriveled up partly due to stress, partly due to the coldness of the water, and partly due to the rather blatant tension that anyone could attack you at any moment.
Moving upwards to the stomach it was obviously one of a skinny person who had made some effort to be well fed. It wasn't concaved, simply flat, a bellybutton that went inward. Finally reaching the bird chest, a rib cage very visible, small pink nipples, erected by the general coldness mentioned before where covered by what seemed to be a leather belt, of course looking at his back made it clear that it was simply the strap of a sword sheathed. His shoulders lacked any broadness, his biceps lacked almost all muscular definition. His face, his face was now a pinkish color and tightly fitted, no nose. No lips. No features, purely a skull. A skull with black hair that seemed to drip muck and dried blood. This creature was weak, this creature lacked any appealing feature. This boy was naked and vulnerable.
This boy was the top killer on the island.
Four deaths, each of various skill and fitting many social archetypes. Josh Goodman was the valedictorian, a renowned cut throat business type who after one day in the school maintained a vice grip on all activities and sports. Kara Holmes was the captain of the cheerleading team, very attractive and the girlfriend to one of the star football players. Rebecca Bradbury was the archetypical depressed, poetry writing Goth girl. Trey Leyton was the star of the wrestling team and fundamentally a good guy whom nobody could really hate.
They had all died, brutally by his hand.
Yet as one looked at the vacant emerald eyes of the boy who simply washed himself. Groaned in pain as the soap entered the open wounds of his face. You couldn't really view him as anything more than a victim of what seemed to be an assault, a stream of urine reached the floor and it mixed with remnants of the soap, the boy simply let out a gasp as the water rapidly warmed up and he allowed himself to fully engulf himself in the steam, he stared at himself as he sat down next to his bag, his skinny buttocks feeling nice on the grimy tile of the floor. He rested his back against the wall, allowed the hot water to hit his thighs and pulled out his guns and began loading them.
If there was an intruder, they probably would be meeting Blood Boy when he was closest to obtaining inner peace.
The Piano Has Been Drinking
The Piano Has Been Drinking
"My man got too familiar and I’d ended up having to whoop his ass, man, you know. Because he would step across the line. Habitually. He’s a habitual line stepper.” -Charlie Murphy
V8 Relationship Thread
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
In the yearbook, there is not a single picture of Blood Boy. There never has been. He had always been wearing a mask, ever since he was five years old, the mask itself was described as being far too macabre to be put into print. He couldn't help but wonder if they had seen his yearbook picture how things would be? His senior year hadn't been any different, despite being in the top twenty grades wise, the yearbook picture skipped his number. The person who was 21st got their picture taken and Blood Boy didn't have to deal with photographers ignorantly asking him to remove his mask...things some how work better that way.
The truth of the matter was that Blood Boy hated social gatherings. He could've been a social person, maybe if things hadn't occurred the way they did that one evening December, 12th 1997, he was of course only about eight years old and his grandparents where taking him to the mall for whatever reason. His birthday was coming up, though it was never referred to as his birthday and he really didn't know it was his birthday until he started filling out his own paper work, but Christmas was coming and the mall children had gathered around to see Santa Claus. After begging his grandparents they conceded and he went into the line.
The whole ritual astounded him. A child would go to Santa, sit on his lap, selfishly list what they wanted and then everyone would applaud them. Blood Boy waited in line, with his bright yellow plastic happy faced mask. His bright green eyes. His white t-shirt that was far too big and had a mixture of snot and blood on it's sleeves. Jeans held up by shoelaces and shoes with the laces missing. A mishmash of poverty, loneliness, and generally insufficient mirth than the other children, of course he didn't notice this, but everyone in the store did.
"The parents really should have him take off that mask..."
"Fuck that mask, that kid needs to get some meat on his bones!"
"I hope Santa doesn't mind boys jeans filled with dust bunnies, it looks like those pants haven't been washed for days!"
But, he ignored them, practically jumping up in down for his moment of applause. His moment where everyone would say, "Blood Boy! Blood Boy!", cheer for him and give him presents. Bask in the glory of his Christmas wish list! It was supposed to be amazing, as every little Timmy and Jessica finished wishing for something Blood Boy ran up to Santa and jumped on the mans lap, giggling more creepily than anything else. The room grew silent. There was no clapping. Santa didn't 'ho-ho-ho', instead he nervously asked.
"Who are you my boy?", stuttering with every word as Blood Boy beamed and simply said.
"My names, well I don't quite remember my name at the moment! But, my grandparents call me 'you' and everybody else at school calls me Blood Boy, so Blood Boy I guess, anyways Santa I got a big list! It seems you've ignored me every year!"
Santa nervously shook his head and chuckled lightly at the frightening entusiasm of the boy.
"W-What do you want?"
Blood Boy laughed again.
"I just want a new face, see I'm really quite ugly and that's why I need a new face! I say, you just kill a naughty kid, a real cool looking naughty guy, like I dunno, just kill that naughty kid and then gimmie his face! I've been good all year and I really don't think it's fair I look like this!"
And then he lifted his mask and showed Santa Claus how he looked, Santa Claus got up, took off his beard and stormed out. Blood Boy awaited his applause. There was none. Instead only boo's, you see in the eyes of every kid in the room Blood Boy had done the unthinkable: he had killed Santa Claus.
----
Blood Boy awoke quickly with a start as the cold water hit his genitals which now where engorged with what can only be described as 'morning wood', he simply sighed as he turned off the water and went into his back to slip on some boxers and some clothes. A rather simple attire. White long sleeved shirt, dirty jeans, and white briefs, the sword was on his back and he looked at the mask. His green eyes bigger in his skull as he slipped it on. Sheathed his sword. Shoved the Taurus in his pocket and the Viper in his waistband, two or so hours of sleep. He was clean, he was refreshed and as he cracked his neck and began his exit from the showers, one thing became clear.
The time-out he had taken from the game was over and it was time for it's star player to return to the field.
He could only hope he came back home to more applause.
((Continued in Getcher Head in the Game))
The truth of the matter was that Blood Boy hated social gatherings. He could've been a social person, maybe if things hadn't occurred the way they did that one evening December, 12th 1997, he was of course only about eight years old and his grandparents where taking him to the mall for whatever reason. His birthday was coming up, though it was never referred to as his birthday and he really didn't know it was his birthday until he started filling out his own paper work, but Christmas was coming and the mall children had gathered around to see Santa Claus. After begging his grandparents they conceded and he went into the line.
The whole ritual astounded him. A child would go to Santa, sit on his lap, selfishly list what they wanted and then everyone would applaud them. Blood Boy waited in line, with his bright yellow plastic happy faced mask. His bright green eyes. His white t-shirt that was far too big and had a mixture of snot and blood on it's sleeves. Jeans held up by shoelaces and shoes with the laces missing. A mishmash of poverty, loneliness, and generally insufficient mirth than the other children, of course he didn't notice this, but everyone in the store did.
"The parents really should have him take off that mask..."
"Fuck that mask, that kid needs to get some meat on his bones!"
"I hope Santa doesn't mind boys jeans filled with dust bunnies, it looks like those pants haven't been washed for days!"
But, he ignored them, practically jumping up in down for his moment of applause. His moment where everyone would say, "Blood Boy! Blood Boy!", cheer for him and give him presents. Bask in the glory of his Christmas wish list! It was supposed to be amazing, as every little Timmy and Jessica finished wishing for something Blood Boy ran up to Santa and jumped on the mans lap, giggling more creepily than anything else. The room grew silent. There was no clapping. Santa didn't 'ho-ho-ho', instead he nervously asked.
"Who are you my boy?", stuttering with every word as Blood Boy beamed and simply said.
"My names, well I don't quite remember my name at the moment! But, my grandparents call me 'you' and everybody else at school calls me Blood Boy, so Blood Boy I guess, anyways Santa I got a big list! It seems you've ignored me every year!"
Santa nervously shook his head and chuckled lightly at the frightening entusiasm of the boy.
"W-What do you want?"
Blood Boy laughed again.
"I just want a new face, see I'm really quite ugly and that's why I need a new face! I say, you just kill a naughty kid, a real cool looking naughty guy, like I dunno, just kill that naughty kid and then gimmie his face! I've been good all year and I really don't think it's fair I look like this!"
And then he lifted his mask and showed Santa Claus how he looked, Santa Claus got up, took off his beard and stormed out. Blood Boy awaited his applause. There was none. Instead only boo's, you see in the eyes of every kid in the room Blood Boy had done the unthinkable: he had killed Santa Claus.
----
Blood Boy awoke quickly with a start as the cold water hit his genitals which now where engorged with what can only be described as 'morning wood', he simply sighed as he turned off the water and went into his back to slip on some boxers and some clothes. A rather simple attire. White long sleeved shirt, dirty jeans, and white briefs, the sword was on his back and he looked at the mask. His green eyes bigger in his skull as he slipped it on. Sheathed his sword. Shoved the Taurus in his pocket and the Viper in his waistband, two or so hours of sleep. He was clean, he was refreshed and as he cracked his neck and began his exit from the showers, one thing became clear.
The time-out he had taken from the game was over and it was time for it's star player to return to the field.
He could only hope he came back home to more applause.
((Continued in Getcher Head in the Game))
"My man got too familiar and I’d ended up having to whoop his ass, man, you know. Because he would step across the line. Habitually. He’s a habitual line stepper.” -Charlie Murphy
V8 Relationship Thread
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'