darkbishop

"There was no honor in this," she thought to herself with disgust as her boots crunched the islands of snow between the rivers of blood. These men killed each other with weapons of cowardice. They had never seen the eye of the enemy to know their soul before it was taken from them. Instead they stood behind the iron serpents that shot flames of lead. The deaths were meaningless, a waste of the fragile mortal beauty that Bishop had shown her every man held within them. Saddened by the sight she turned from the battlefield and across the open unmarked snows of the plains, her hair cast about her by the wind in a scarlet reflection of the pools

The side streets were quiet and cool as she moved towards her destination. Other than the occasional person reflecting her own huddled posture the road was shared only by cars, the occasional piece of blowing trash and a scampering rat or two. She came this way on purpose, not out of some self destructive urge to find out if these streets really did claim the lives of the innocent, for she knew this to be true enough, but because it gave her chance to focus before going on stage. Later there would be plenty of other music carrying her voice to all those who cared to listen, but for now the only instruments were those of the car alarm sound s

The murmur of the crowd washed against her with the familiarity of the tides cresting upon harbor rocks. The passing glances she spared for the faces before her showed most were new or just unmemorable, still there were still a few she knew. It was another night behind the microphone and lights weaving the spell of her voice to the bustle of small talk and the clink of glasses. Her body swayed with the melody as a smile quirked the corners of her singing lips, the hem of her gown whispering just above her ankles as the sides of the nearly hip high slit caressing her thighs with a lover's fingers. Before her the patrons swooned beneath the wei

Funny thing life, Michael thought to himself as he watched the late autumn rain drip from the barrel of the 9 mm dangling from his nearly numb hand. Never would did he think he would be perched on a billboard in the rain with an officer's side arm, an officer he had killed, looking nearly fifty stories down at the busy street gripped by indecision. Not indecision whether he should end it tonight under the new moon surrounded by a rain as cold as the one who stalked him, but whether or not to shoot himself before he hurled himself to the pavement or to do it on the way down. Decisions¸ he thought, they're never easy. Breathing in the oily ste