I can feel the tension of the coming dawn, the blackened sky watches silently overhead. What awaits the rounding of the next corner? A wooden grip grasped tightly, metallic shaft holding two red and gold shells.
Dust whirls in circles about the desserted street, the scent of looming chaos lingers. Sharp, bloodshot eyes watch closely for sudden movement.
The mind wanders, trudging through the thought of impending doom. What awaits? What fate could possibly be hiding? All fears aside, the day must close, danger is expected, and shall be properly dealt with.
Whether a new day or the end waits ahead is not clear. But destiny calls, and the will to succeed overrides rationalization. Darkness pours fourth with every coming step, the time is now.
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Shallow Tome Of Depression
Racked in the mental anguish of the un-worthy.
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