the leaf that no longer rustled in the wind
Nov 16, 2015 21:01:36 GMT -8
Post by hass on Nov 16, 2015 21:01:36 GMT -8
What he spoke was nothing more than a lie; Rudolph just did not know the woman well enough. The steady stream of smoke continued to float, occasionally pushed away to allow for a superior cloud. His cigarette was nearing its filter, the third one tonight. A sigh had been audible, his silvery orbs shifted to observe the woman’s countenance. What he had uttered may have been displeasing to her, because she outwardly took pride in their comrades’ efforts. He did too. Would he be so blatant about it? Most likely not.
Opinions were dangerous, during these times.
He had been playing it clever, he presumed. Don’t allow your true colors to sparkle, especially to those you were not familiar with. However, this woman came off as unalike to the rest of them.
With a grunt, the male continued to hollow out the grave. More space was needed, just in case this Samurai should even attempt to dig himself up – or someone with sensory capabilities were able to distinguish what was active or lifeless beneath the topsoil. Then, the memories came to him; those of the children he monitored, taught, and lived with. Resentment amplified within him once more and what had been a great opportunity of retribution presented itself just before his feet, how opportune.
“Rudolph,” he answered.
“Whether you’ll tell them of me or not, I am doing it.” His resolve was absolute; nothing was stopping him from doing something he may come to regret. Anyhow, the thoughts were cleared from his mind and he made a descent to his knees. A hand was dropped over the Samurai’s muzzle, cutting off any notes that may desperately flee his mouth. “Suffer like I did,” mumbled the Konohagakuran, as he hovered over the man’s face. His cigarette was pinched betwixt two digits and then lowered to an unsuspecting eyeball.
What happened subsequently was only momentary; all the fluids in the Samurai’s eye bubbled and began to distort. What the man could do had been done, weak thrashing and muffled shouts were foreseeable. Rudolph oddly grinned; having gained pleasure from torturing another was fresh to him. Though, there was no time to waste. The fellow had been pushed face-down into the dirt hole. The cigarette joined him; he hadn’t a use for it any longer. Straightaway, the shovel was snatched and engaged into the dune of earth.
Numerous clusters had been released over the man, who had writhed with a great deal of torment, starting with his upper-body. ‘If this is the first step to retribution,’ the boy began to ponder, as dark clumps continued to conceal the Samurai, ‘so be it.’
Opinions were dangerous, during these times.
He had been playing it clever, he presumed. Don’t allow your true colors to sparkle, especially to those you were not familiar with. However, this woman came off as unalike to the rest of them.
With a grunt, the male continued to hollow out the grave. More space was needed, just in case this Samurai should even attempt to dig himself up – or someone with sensory capabilities were able to distinguish what was active or lifeless beneath the topsoil. Then, the memories came to him; those of the children he monitored, taught, and lived with. Resentment amplified within him once more and what had been a great opportunity of retribution presented itself just before his feet, how opportune.
“Rudolph,” he answered.
“Whether you’ll tell them of me or not, I am doing it.” His resolve was absolute; nothing was stopping him from doing something he may come to regret. Anyhow, the thoughts were cleared from his mind and he made a descent to his knees. A hand was dropped over the Samurai’s muzzle, cutting off any notes that may desperately flee his mouth. “Suffer like I did,” mumbled the Konohagakuran, as he hovered over the man’s face. His cigarette was pinched betwixt two digits and then lowered to an unsuspecting eyeball.
What happened subsequently was only momentary; all the fluids in the Samurai’s eye bubbled and began to distort. What the man could do had been done, weak thrashing and muffled shouts were foreseeable. Rudolph oddly grinned; having gained pleasure from torturing another was fresh to him. Though, there was no time to waste. The fellow had been pushed face-down into the dirt hole. The cigarette joined him; he hadn’t a use for it any longer. Straightaway, the shovel was snatched and engaged into the dune of earth.
Numerous clusters had been released over the man, who had writhed with a great deal of torment, starting with his upper-body. ‘If this is the first step to retribution,’ the boy began to ponder, as dark clumps continued to conceal the Samurai, ‘so be it.’
