The roar of the crowd was the only thing I could focus on. There was nothing else that my mind would settle with. A combination of boos and cheers swarmed the arena. A mixed pang of distress and self-consciousness fill my entirety. I knew that each jeer was towards me, and not the opponent. Every single one of these watchers wish for my defeat. My crucial demise. They despise me. And that’s the very reason for me being here, in this coliseum.
Weighted shackles keep my arms drooped and my legs heavy. The silver restraints blare against the sun, causing me to squint. With even the slightest action they clink and clank, the chains creating an annoying noise. Such a sound reverberates through my skull, and constantly reminds me of the fact that I am a prisoner. Around both wrists and ankles, my movements are more than restricted, placing the inevitable fight into the enemy’s favor.
Well, that is, until it happens.
My eyes shift from left to right, absorbing the surroundings. This is my first time in the arena, despite me being a prisoner for nearly ten years now. I truly have lost track of time. But there is absolutely no minute to waste thinking about the past. At the moment, I must focus fully on the task at hand.
A solid ground is composed of what could possibly be concrete with dirt piled on top. I am aware of what is beneath my feet. Hundreds of cells in which the people like me, prisoners like me, live. Surrounding the centered arena are three stories of stands, which form an oval shape. But, just below the stone viewing points are indestructible steel doors. I had come out of the opening behind me. I could still remember the uneven wooden steps that had brought me up here. That musty darkness that encased me along the way. It was all fresh in my memory.
Abruptly, the heavy door that is yards in front of me slides up. The shadows inside seem to creep forward at an attempt to stretch for me. But a figure steps out and the shadows are cut off as the door slams shut. With every step he takes, the earth rumbles and quakes. My attention rests on this man. This opponent. This enemy. This obstacle.
Do you think that Nim is still going to occupy your home so that you can see/feel him/her?. Im sorry my kittycat :,( Best of wishes for the grieving. I have to go slash some tires and kill someone now... Quickest flight to England please.
A glorious sound, one she had never heard before, flooded the room. This noise was that of snowflakes and bells mixed into one impacting combination. She felt the sadness of the music seep into her body slowly and spread throughout her veins. The magic of the melody drew her curiosity and she slowly advanced toward the door, afraid that this was a dream and one wrong step would waver the music. The woman carefully pushes on the door, and with a slight creak of its hinges it opens and she peers inside.
The room is nearly a full white, from the floors to the wall and ceiling. But wonderful cherry wood pillars rest in each corner of the open space. Whether they protruded truly out of the ground or the ceiling, it is unknown. A magnificent ornate light fixture is suspended overhead, having branched supports for a number of lights. The golden chandelier slightly sways from one side to the next, giving the room total luminance.
Placed in the center of the room is a petite girl dressed in a beautiful white nightgown, who was seated at a stool. She is leaning over a big machine of some kind from which the sweet and sad sound emitted. The instrument was like an elegant beast, sent to life by the girl's slender fingers. Keys of ivory white and smaller keys of charcoal black decorated the enchanted object. Smooth brown wood curled delicately underneath the keys in which the girl's fingers were dancing over.
When the girl stops playing, there is silence. It hangs like a thick cloud of smoke, giving the area an atmosphere for suffocation. The woman hadn’t realized that she had wandered completely into the room. But she still kept one hand curled over the golden doorknob. Her hazel eyes follow the little girl’s movements, watching as she slides off the stool. With the delicate right foot moving to touch the marble floor first, the left follows in pursuit. Slowly, she rises to her full height and straightens out the flowing gown.
“H-how old. . . are you?” the woman questions, her voice faint and lost within the surrounding air. But she wasn’t even sure as to why. She takes in a sharp breath, the odd taste of peppermint getting caught in her throat. Yet, the aroma is of lavender.
Without turning around, the child replies in a gentle and innocent voice, “Eight.”
Clearly, the lady is stunned. Her optics widen as she breathes out in repetition, “Eight?”
On the balls of her feet, the girl whirls around. Each strawberry curls rests back into perfect place, swirling around the shoulders and reaching the waist. The gown gently swings about before settling against her elfin body. A face, much like an angel’s, breaks into a brilliant grin. Both rounded cheeks become rosy, the dust of slight red partially hiding freckles. Thin eyebrows curve over large and loving green orbs, which are separated by a short and adorable nose.
“You’re. . .” The woman loses her ability to speak at the sight. She could feel the tears swell in each duct. As time passed and the muteness continued, the light in the room seemed to gradually lessen. Her sweaty palm slips away from the knob and reaches outwards towards the girl.
“Cadence~” She chimes, sounding much like a playful tune.
With a charming giggle, she takes hold of the woman’s hand. The second that contact is made, breathtaking, pure white, wings sprout from the child’s back and spread to each side of the room.
The wings of. . .
“Your guardian angel~”
And a lone tear rolls down the woman’s cheek as the two are engulfed in brilliant light.
We all have a guardian angel. These divine beings have a difficult job. To make sure that time doesn’t run short for their human. They must constantly be alert. Watching without so much as a second’s break. But, there are still moments in which a guardian angel can’t alter.
They are the clock wielders. Every second they follow their human and play a melody. Whether it be with the use of a violin, a flute, a guitar or a harp. The guardian angels’ clock is not an actual device, but instead an instrument. The human ears are incapable of hearing this music. Their very own songs are inaudible. And everyone has a different song from the next person.
It’s the moment in which their tune comes to an end, so does their life. Some are longer than others. There are those out there who only receive two minute pieces. . . or less.
And it’s only after death that the human can confront their guardian angel.
It is then that the human becomes an audience of one.
It is then that the guardian angel for once. . . feels alive. . . being seen. Being loved. Being heard.
The crisp night air is consumed by a full moon. Darkness recedes at its lustrous touch. But, not enough to brighten the entire neighborhood. Such a bleak place this is. With neutrally colored houses and the lifeless people to match.
With every step he takes, there is a leaf to give off his movements. To let everyone know that he has arrived. A warning to the adults. A nightmare to the teenagers. A siren’s song to the children.
Then, a voice.
”Here comes Peter Cottontail,
Hopping' down the bunny trail,
Easter's on its way.”
It’s a childish and innocent sound. One that swings about the atmosphere and passes through houses like dancing thieves. Robbers that will snatch away the kids.
The song continues, and he picks up the pace. No longer walking, he begins to bound. One. Two. One. Two. Step after step he strides and soars.
”Bringing' every girl and boy Baskets full of Easter joy,
Things to make your Easter bright and gay.
He's got jellybeans for Tommy,
Colored eggs for sister Sue,
There's an orchid for your Mommy
And an Easter bonnet, too.”
His big ears flop. His towering form is well over ten feet in height. Dark, matted fur consumes his body. His large feet slam against concrete. Cracks form. Crevices divide the streets. Children skip after him. They look overjoyed. In a trance, their eyes are void of color. Eaten away by a blackness, as though each orb had been filled with ink.
Parents had been hopeless to stop their children from following him.
The sky suddenly shades a dastardly red color. With a bloody shade, clouds of gray abruptly swirl away. The moon itself is even overpowered. There is nothing. What used to be a dreary painting, the canvas has become that of complete red.
That once childish voice becomes a guttural growl as it lowers an octave. A demonic noise is produced as he continues to sing through fangs.
“Oh! here comes Peter Cottontail,
Hopping' down the bunny trail,
Happy Easter day.”
Suddenly, he whirls around and snatches one of the children. He crushes their tiny body within his massive hand. The claws tearing into the child’s fragile figure. Not so much as a scream is released as the trance has done its job. He brings his monstrous face up to the kid’s, and then opens his maw. Ready to feast.
The other 20 children continue to sing his song, swaying from side to side as they do so.
“Here comes Peter Cottontail,
Hopping' down the bunny trail,
Look at him stop, and listen to him say:
"Try to do the things you should."
Maybe if you're extra goo-“
But the sound of a cocking gun reverberates throughout the neighborhood, and then silence. The singing comes to a stop. But what startles him even more is when the sky returns to its original form. He closes his mouth and turns his head to the side.
Standing several yards away is a silhouette. The only things that can be made out are a top hat, a pistol, a billowing scarf, and a trench coat. Every other feature is hidden by the shadows. And when the shape takes a single step forward, the surrounding street lights shatter.
And the only form of light that remains is from the full moon.
the premise would be that there is a guild of supernatural assassins, all lead by the outsider (I will be the outsider) who know one knows his true identity. only the outsider will have all the powers, but he won't be in it much, he is just a character I will use to lead them, he won't be doing much. my real character will be in the ranks with the other assassins.
I really want to make an RP that deals with this song. I sort of have an idea, well more of an image that constantly replays throughout my head. . . but I'm just having problems with converting it into a full out thought.