kold_as_ice92
New member
Threads pluck and skin tears with gashy, gushy surface exposing as a bullet rip the flesh of its own standing as the lone man goes speechless and his throat locks like a steel-vault. his guts tighten and eyes bulge so much that it magnifies the retinas. A cold tear runs across the slick eyelid of his left eye, but the man does not bother to consider the water gloss his face. His jaw hangs low as saliva slides past his gums and fingers slowly approach the hole in his shuddering chest. "Gibb.....I'm hit."
The co-pilot stares at the spidered hole in the windshield of the airplane and then back at his close chum with a rush-degree of vacancy in his eyes. Blood slowly flows from the wound in the pilot's chest as he utters small vowels....not even considering the immense pain that could be circulating within his gut.
A smell of fresh Mahogany flows and flutters across the pilots nostrils as a pair of lips approach his left ear and speaks, "Too much iron in your diet, Carl? Try the Olive Garden." The icy pilot utters the words "W-why? You....you....muh...muhh...monster." Blood slowly oozes from the corners of his mouth as he gurgles words in his derailing train of thought. His body-control slowly becomes clammy, and his skin rolls pale within minutes. "MONSTER??", the nearly-bald man replies,"Dracula was a monster. WOLFman was a monster. I.......I am a GOD. Just a big gammel with a big court-room to send people to any hell they wish. Monsters scare people. I KILL. I RULE. I DEFY." The pilot begins to lose all control of his body as he chokes on his own fatal speech. Then his eyes enhance into large golf-balls and his chest lunges forward as a shank slides through his seat and into his chest, summering immense pain-shocks through his spine and rib-cage ends. Blood spits in a short burst and runs down his mouth, sending crimson spots to the windshield. The shank is removed and fuz puffs from the seat-back as the man whipes his blade clean of blood, not to cause any un-professional stains for this mad-man. He seems like a professional, yet with a bit of his brain jumping the fence.
"You know, Carl, if you want to looks like a pro, you've got to DRESS like a pro--ACT like a pro--BREATH like a pro. But, I'm sure none of this will be any use to you now." The pilot slowly rolls his eyes to the back of his head and reveals the retinas as his jaw hangs forever in a cold, stony presence. The shakey hands fall to his sides as he fades out of all existence. "My, what a shame, Gibb. Your only friend here dies. What a shame indeed. now FLY! Over to the mountains. the icey areas! this money is taking a new turn....and you are NOT going to screw this up, because you are the only one with experience. NOW!" The pilot switches the Auto-Pilot function off and starts toward the mountainous areas across the border, into the Great White North. New boundaries, new laws, and fresh crime-worlds to inherit along the stretched road of glory.
The co-pilot stares at the spidered hole in the windshield of the airplane and then back at his close chum with a rush-degree of vacancy in his eyes. Blood slowly flows from the wound in the pilot's chest as he utters small vowels....not even considering the immense pain that could be circulating within his gut.
A smell of fresh Mahogany flows and flutters across the pilots nostrils as a pair of lips approach his left ear and speaks, "Too much iron in your diet, Carl? Try the Olive Garden." The icy pilot utters the words "W-why? You....you....muh...muhh...monster." Blood slowly oozes from the corners of his mouth as he gurgles words in his derailing train of thought. His body-control slowly becomes clammy, and his skin rolls pale within minutes. "MONSTER??", the nearly-bald man replies,"Dracula was a monster. WOLFman was a monster. I.......I am a GOD. Just a big gammel with a big court-room to send people to any hell they wish. Monsters scare people. I KILL. I RULE. I DEFY." The pilot begins to lose all control of his body as he chokes on his own fatal speech. Then his eyes enhance into large golf-balls and his chest lunges forward as a shank slides through his seat and into his chest, summering immense pain-shocks through his spine and rib-cage ends. Blood spits in a short burst and runs down his mouth, sending crimson spots to the windshield. The shank is removed and fuz puffs from the seat-back as the man whipes his blade clean of blood, not to cause any un-professional stains for this mad-man. He seems like a professional, yet with a bit of his brain jumping the fence.
"You know, Carl, if you want to looks like a pro, you've got to DRESS like a pro--ACT like a pro--BREATH like a pro. But, I'm sure none of this will be any use to you now." The pilot slowly rolls his eyes to the back of his head and reveals the retinas as his jaw hangs forever in a cold, stony presence. The shakey hands fall to his sides as he fades out of all existence. "My, what a shame, Gibb. Your only friend here dies. What a shame indeed. now FLY! Over to the mountains. the icey areas! this money is taking a new turn....and you are NOT going to screw this up, because you are the only one with experience. NOW!" The pilot switches the Auto-Pilot function off and starts toward the mountainous areas across the border, into the Great White North. New boundaries, new laws, and fresh crime-worlds to inherit along the stretched road of glory.
