Faces I walked listening to the sound of my own heels tapping the sidewalk. My skin was cold under my fur coat. The coat was large on me. It did nothing to protect my wholly net stocking legs from the city winds. My hair still held that Veronica Lake curl despite the dampness.
I walked passed the crowds of people looking at the every unique face. Every face tells a story. A old man's with mustache and crocked smile tells a story of a poor family man kind to every soul and the story of a man who worked hard his entire life. A man who will die when he stops working. A woman's face with a sharp nose and too much make up to cover her former beauty tells the story of a ex-hooker who got beat up to many times from crazy costumers. A young child's faces holds the story of an innocent world not yet soiled by adluts. So many people. So many faces. So many stories.
I walk on further and I sward I can hear the down beat of a horn blowing in my ear. I look around but there's no bar
Shadow I huddled in my corner watching shadow cress the walls and damp ground. I glared at them protecting myself from the Gothic elements. I grip the fabric rapped handle on the dragger. The flat iron rested on my skin the edges bitting my arm.The black shadow possessed jagged edges that stabbed closer to my corner. They played a game of cat and mouse teasing each other. The shadow came closer about to strike then retreated its ground falling back into a pone position. I stood my ground not about to give in to the noir intruder. My eyes fell on another shadow. This one was not as threatening. It held gentle curving circle shaping a something beautiful. It glided smoothly as if preforming a feather dance, just for me.
Just mine I liked the thought of that. Just mine and no one else. The dance flirted. Moving with the wind that I couldn't feel. Moving toward me slowly. I re-gripped the dagger not about to let something pretty kill me out of carelessness. The tantalizing shadow moved
The Funeral It was reverently draped over the smooth wooden box, held on by an elastic rubber band. The red and stars jumped out on the sea of black coats and pinked checked faces. The air was winded, fridge holding the silent sound of Black Death. The silence was for a detective, someone who looked at a corpse mutilated with their blood dried to a crusty brown and felt the supernatural presence in a room know poetically as death and called it his work. When you're a cop you don't look at poetry as what writers use to make thing appealing, you take it as an ironic twist to fact instead of fiction.
I hate funerals. Detective/3rd grade David Copper was the one in the box. He was one of our own, a lousy cop. The cop that everyone hates alive but stunningly enough the processional brought forth half the city not a dry eye among them. He was new in squad eight-seven only with us for a couple of years. He wasn't a good cop he was a great cop. Knowing cop like that there's enough time to g
Lover's GoodBye Don’t be afraid
Close your eyes
Lay it all down
Don’t you cry
I’m here close to your heart, close to your thoughts, in your mind, take a deep breath and know that I’m with you. The tears that stain your cheeks do nothing, be close and know that I’m here with you.
Can’t you see I’m going
Were I can see the sun rise
I’ve been talking to my angel
And he said that it’s alright
I climb for a better view of the world a view blessed by god and his angels of light.Though I will miss you while I am there, know that a friend protects me. My heart will ach and long for your presents but in my soul know I’m were I belong. I was destine for here form that start. Know that I love you, know that it will
Blood- 100 Theme Challenge Age: twenty-one. Height: 5’4”. Weight: 130 I would say. Time of death: somewhere in between the martinis and the gasoline coffee. Sex: female and god was she good looking. Attractiveness will get you nowhere dead except giving the morgue boys a thrill. Her hair was black just like the night. Her face smooth, tanned, and broken. Her head was tilted at an unnatural angle swimming in a pool of her own blood. The hair stuck to her face from the sticky red liquid. Her mouth was parted with her front teeth peeking out from behind perfectly shaped painted lips. Her well rounded breasts rudely revealing themselves through her low cut sweater. The woman's right arm was bent underneath her voluptuous torso with the left falling behind her back stretched across the floor. The girl's hands had evenly painted black nails that were blood crusted. Her fingers were daintily curled around a no longer white handkerchief. Most of the blood had seeped out of her ripped open stomach.