I had him move what was once untouched, I kept him calm as he fret and such, his face ran pale as the shape gave form, I tried yet again as he begin to mourn, almost finished I realized his shock, unfortunate events he had seemed to unlock, as I watch him fall into the hole he had dug, I couldnt help notice I had shot him in the lung, perfectly placed and wretched in pain, buried alive left to choke on the rain, and as it was a lonely return, a pretty sight from a match to a forest that burns, I find it hard you havent a clue, as to which details here rang as true, so provided inside a tool you will need, in hopes you will find before he stops to bleed, for he lays beyond the pale cloudy mist, and as before a thousand shall enlist, and once again their heads shall be bent, as nor he or them can conceive what was really meant, a torturous death on top of a hopeless search, This Is Hell or at least the opposite the church, and all this was found on a note on the ground, in the middle of a forest that was vacant of sound, I begin to leave and shockingly find, the man in which I had recently left behind, and yet not a word was said, nor even the thought that he was once which dead, feeling compelled I began to dig, and as I had his turn to live, he shot me once and I fell down in, this being a cycle which cease to end, maybe once ill venture far enough, and escape this mist that tortures the both of us. -Salazar Kane Tales of no meaning
Posted on: Fri, 21 Mar 2014 08:47:36 +0000
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