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Jul. 28th, 2009 10:50 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mcityIt is nine o'clock, monday morning. There is a madman sitting in your living room. He killed your dog, and is ranting about "the grey". Your parents have him stuck in the living room, and he doesn't try to escape, just keeps talking about how it was "dirty" and "infected". Well, yes, it hadn't had a bath recently, but murder was uncalled for. And he's one to talk; his own clothes are matted with urine and sweat. Your family is going to have to burn the chair he's in.
It is eleven o'clock, monday morning. The police have taken the lunatic's statement, and taken him into custody, leaving the body's disposal to you. As you leave for work, you take one last look at the girl; the edges of the wound are covered in red, with a few tendrils of silver material. You warn your family about possible mercury poisoning and leave for work.
It is eleven oh-five, monday morning. You look along the road to see if the bus is coming, and see a dog that looks a lot like yours darting behind a bush. Of course, there are a lot of brown dogs around, and you've been fooled before. You dismiss it.
It is three o'clock, tuesday morning. The adrenaline can't keep you up forever, and you think about asking Miller if you guys should organize some sort of watch. You've never fired anything more lethal than a slingshot before, but you are already too familiar with the pump-action shotgun in your hands. In the early-morning outside, silver-covered wraiths, creatures once human, move gracelessly through the streets. You scratch nervously at a gash on your hand, one that won't stop itching.
It is eight o'clock, monday. I wake up.
It is eleven o'clock, monday morning. The police have taken the lunatic's statement, and taken him into custody, leaving the body's disposal to you. As you leave for work, you take one last look at the girl; the edges of the wound are covered in red, with a few tendrils of silver material. You warn your family about possible mercury poisoning and leave for work.
It is eleven oh-five, monday morning. You look along the road to see if the bus is coming, and see a dog that looks a lot like yours darting behind a bush. Of course, there are a lot of brown dogs around, and you've been fooled before. You dismiss it.
It is three o'clock, tuesday morning. The adrenaline can't keep you up forever, and you think about asking Miller if you guys should organize some sort of watch. You've never fired anything more lethal than a slingshot before, but you are already too familiar with the pump-action shotgun in your hands. In the early-morning outside, silver-covered wraiths, creatures once human, move gracelessly through the streets. You scratch nervously at a gash on your hand, one that won't stop itching.
It is eight o'clock, monday. I wake up.
