Post by beaumont94 on Jan 26, 2014 0:42:40 GMT -5
Too easy.
The mobster was morbidly unhealthy; ungainly weight, mixed with heart issues. Joey Giordano lived the life of affluence, paid for by a block of slums, and cocaine peddling.
He didn't suffer, but everyone else did...until now.
His enforcers, dead, pooled red at the lip of the narrow alley he was running down. They hadn't the chance to draw arms really when they died; this mistake would not be repeated by Joey, who, already had his piece brandished, aiming it behind himself.
He looked forward and back repeatedly, eyes wide with fear and panic.
Too easy.
Joey hanged a right; another narrow alley ahead of him. The alley lamps were guttering or out completely, and a rickety strip of fencing slowly rotting away waited, blocking his path to the street.
Panic had driven him to act hastily; when he found his guys dead, he should have stayed in the street. He knew better, but terror and shock didn't. terror and shock had made his decision for him.
Joey also knew that his weight would carry him through the remains of the fence; he just had to reach it.
Too easy?
Joey clutched his chest, it seemed to be beating and spiking into his mind; his breath grew short, and he couldn't seem to replenish it. His foot falls slowed, and five feet from the fence, he dropped to his knees.
His body poured sweat and his brown eyes bulged bloodshot as he gasped for air that seemed to refuse him comfort. he couldn't breath as he glanced over his shoulder and aimed his automatic.
Nothing...?
Smoke curled and caressed around him, coming from behind. His body seemed to burn up until then, when he felt a cold chill race through his veins and down his spine.
Too easy.
"Joey Giordano. Your Angel of Death is nigh..." the voice was ghastly, a woman's...a banshee's, and it emanated with a haunting resonance from the beyond the bit of fencing.
Joey shrieked and tossed himself on his back; with shaky hands he aimed his automatic, squeezing off half the clip with abandon.
The rotted fence practically crumbled, revealing nothing beyond it but the residuals of smoke. Joey wasn't breathing any sighs, in fact, he couldn't really breath at all.
"You must pay for your sins, Joey Giordano..." the voice echoed.
Another shriek, and the other half of his clip emptied at every patch of darkness, and Joey found himself now completely helpless; the cops didn't come to this area, this slice of hell he'd made and cut out for himself. if bullets sounded, the beat he paid off simply kept driving, or took their sweet time to "Investigate".
"Find your peace, Joey Giordano, for I have come for you SOUL!" the voice keened from some place out of sight.
The slum lord and drug pusher began to weep uncontrollably; he had come undone.
"You have killed fathers...mothers...children; you have made those innocent to suffer, Joey Giordano..." the voice, and the figure it was attached to, emerge from the darkness of the alley. Joey recoils, but hardly moves despite his terror.
The image of black and grey, ragged cloak and shawl billowed and trembled in the night air; the smoke seemed to issued from within the black beyond the outer holocaust cloak, spewed from an unseen, silent blast furnace. Beneath a tattered, trail grey hood were burning yellow slits for eyes and a skull like visage beneath it.
Joey screamed but it came out as a wheeze.
Pulling the trigger, the pitiful tick of an empty pistol sounds; Joey, in his agog panic, fling the gun at the apparition before him.
WHOOSH!
A wall of dark smoke, and then the form seemed to walk out from it's impromptu cloud, summoned from within itself; it plods, undaunted, towards Joey.
"Make your peace, Joey Giordano!" the voice commanded Joey, the Phantasm now hovered over him, a sharp blade and gloved hand reaching for his chest.
His eyes rolled back into his head, his clenched hand at his chest slackens after a couple sporadic twitches. His mouth lulled wide at the specter, that, slowly retreats away and into the shadows once more.
Joey Giordano was dead.
Too easy.
"Rest in Peace, Joey Giordano, may God have mercy on your SOUL..." the Phantasm, and her nightmare voice drifted away into the night. Wisps of smoke, and Joey's still corpse are all that remained of the moment of horror.
The mobster was morbidly unhealthy; ungainly weight, mixed with heart issues. Joey Giordano lived the life of affluence, paid for by a block of slums, and cocaine peddling.
He didn't suffer, but everyone else did...until now.
His enforcers, dead, pooled red at the lip of the narrow alley he was running down. They hadn't the chance to draw arms really when they died; this mistake would not be repeated by Joey, who, already had his piece brandished, aiming it behind himself.
He looked forward and back repeatedly, eyes wide with fear and panic.
Too easy.
Joey hanged a right; another narrow alley ahead of him. The alley lamps were guttering or out completely, and a rickety strip of fencing slowly rotting away waited, blocking his path to the street.
Panic had driven him to act hastily; when he found his guys dead, he should have stayed in the street. He knew better, but terror and shock didn't. terror and shock had made his decision for him.
Joey also knew that his weight would carry him through the remains of the fence; he just had to reach it.
Too easy?
Joey clutched his chest, it seemed to be beating and spiking into his mind; his breath grew short, and he couldn't seem to replenish it. His foot falls slowed, and five feet from the fence, he dropped to his knees.
His body poured sweat and his brown eyes bulged bloodshot as he gasped for air that seemed to refuse him comfort. he couldn't breath as he glanced over his shoulder and aimed his automatic.
Nothing...?
Smoke curled and caressed around him, coming from behind. His body seemed to burn up until then, when he felt a cold chill race through his veins and down his spine.
Too easy.
"Joey Giordano. Your Angel of Death is nigh..." the voice was ghastly, a woman's...a banshee's, and it emanated with a haunting resonance from the beyond the bit of fencing.
Joey shrieked and tossed himself on his back; with shaky hands he aimed his automatic, squeezing off half the clip with abandon.
The rotted fence practically crumbled, revealing nothing beyond it but the residuals of smoke. Joey wasn't breathing any sighs, in fact, he couldn't really breath at all.
"You must pay for your sins, Joey Giordano..." the voice echoed.
Another shriek, and the other half of his clip emptied at every patch of darkness, and Joey found himself now completely helpless; the cops didn't come to this area, this slice of hell he'd made and cut out for himself. if bullets sounded, the beat he paid off simply kept driving, or took their sweet time to "Investigate".
"Find your peace, Joey Giordano, for I have come for you SOUL!" the voice keened from some place out of sight.
The slum lord and drug pusher began to weep uncontrollably; he had come undone.
"You have killed fathers...mothers...children; you have made those innocent to suffer, Joey Giordano..." the voice, and the figure it was attached to, emerge from the darkness of the alley. Joey recoils, but hardly moves despite his terror.
The image of black and grey, ragged cloak and shawl billowed and trembled in the night air; the smoke seemed to issued from within the black beyond the outer holocaust cloak, spewed from an unseen, silent blast furnace. Beneath a tattered, trail grey hood were burning yellow slits for eyes and a skull like visage beneath it.
Joey screamed but it came out as a wheeze.
Pulling the trigger, the pitiful tick of an empty pistol sounds; Joey, in his agog panic, fling the gun at the apparition before him.
WHOOSH!
A wall of dark smoke, and then the form seemed to walk out from it's impromptu cloud, summoned from within itself; it plods, undaunted, towards Joey.
"Make your peace, Joey Giordano!" the voice commanded Joey, the Phantasm now hovered over him, a sharp blade and gloved hand reaching for his chest.
His eyes rolled back into his head, his clenched hand at his chest slackens after a couple sporadic twitches. His mouth lulled wide at the specter, that, slowly retreats away and into the shadows once more.
Joey Giordano was dead.
Too easy.
"Rest in Peace, Joey Giordano, may God have mercy on your SOUL..." the Phantasm, and her nightmare voice drifted away into the night. Wisps of smoke, and Joey's still corpse are all that remained of the moment of horror.