Sleuth Home - Message Boards - Role Playing Stage

0 0
The Darkness Of Today
  <<First Page  |  <Previous  

M. Lacrimosa
M. Lacrimosa

May-23-2010 09:30

Every second that is wasted on the battlefield in a war, is every second that a wounded soldier is bleeding to death. Every chance a medic got to save a life, they got killed. As I sit in a bar and reminisce about the days in the war, I realized just how much my life changed.

I watched in horror as people died. I held people as they died in my arms. I came home from the war. And no one, not one person, knew the horrors that me and my fellow brothers in arms saw. No one even thanked us for serving our country when we came home. So here I sit, inside this bar with my flask in my hand drowning myself with pure alcohol flashing back to the war.

I start to feel the alcohol taking affect as it runs through my body. Someone comes in and sits down next to me. It is a scum bag of the streets; a scam artist who steels what little money the poor and those in poverty have and keeps it for himself.

"How 'bout it?" He says as he sits down next to me. I merely stare at him and look away. He orders a drink. Gin. He orders shot after shot as I gulp the whiskey from my flask.

"You might want to slow down there, chief." The bartender says.

"Oh shut up!" I snap. I can't even remember his name or the name of the bar I'm in. I then look over at the dirt-bag next to me. How neatly dressed he is. With his crisp hat and pressed suit. I compare myself to him and realize I am dressed no different and smile to myself. But as I sit and stare at him, something in me changes. I become angry. A little voice in my head starts to talk in a dark, deep whisper.

"Do it," it says to me.

"No," I say to it. "I can't do it."

"Yes, you can," it says to me, "you know you want to. He's scum. He won't be missed."

An argument starts in my mind. My pure thoughts fighting that little voice. The small whisper wins.

Something in me snaps and I crack my neck with the turn of my head.

"Hey buddy, you okay?" the scum bag asks.

"I'm fine," I snap.


Louise Cornwallis
Louise Cornwallis

Jul-7-2010 09:00

*I'm posting here as Lyra's twin*

Louise burst into the room. "Where's Lyra? I thought she was going to come -" She broke off, looking at Jack Billings.

Jack managed to raise himself into a sitting position. He did not say anything for while, but just looked at Louise, who was standing near the door, gaping.
"She went," was all he said.

"Went? Went where?" Louise looked around wildly.

"No idea, but I don't think she's here right now," Jack replied.

"What about you? How did you get into this state?"

"Turn around and look down," he said, without directly answering the question. Louise raised her eyebrows and turned around, not expecting what she saw at all: there were two people, both dead, on the floor. Her hand flew to her mouth.

"But... are they the people who shot you? How are they dead?" she managed to speak, still looking quite shocked.

"Think they got hit by a bullet themselves," Jack muttered. "Do you know where Marc is?"

Louise nodded. "Yeah, he was outside, it looked like he was being attacked by two people - must be these, or someone else. Maybe he's still there." They went outside, Jack clutching his arm, because it was very painful. There were very few people outside now, most of them had fled. But Marc was nowhere in sight.

They stood there a few minutes, staring. Suddenly they heard a voice calling them. "Jack! Louise! Marc!"

Nothing but the sound of Marc's name made Louise turn around. Lyra was there. "Marc!" she repeated.

"Where can you see him?" Louise asked her. Lyra pointed to her sister's left - Marc was sitting down under a tree with his hands on the ground.

The three of them hurried over towards him. "Wounded?" Jack asked Marc.
"No, but look at this," Marc said.

They looked down. It was the body of a dead man, with a single word scrawled on the ground. Lyra read it out aloud: "Revenge."

M. Lacrimosa
M. Lacrimosa

Jul-7-2010 09:28

Marc was bracing himself for the shot to the head. But it never came. Instead Lyra Cornwallis had burst into the room. Maybe it was a sign of God that all things can be forgiven. Marc unsure. But his death never came. Instead Jack Billings was shot in the arm and shortly after, Marc found himself standing over a corpse next to Lyra, her sister Louise, and his enemy Jack.

"This just keeps getting better and better," Marc thought to himself. He kept quiet not saying anything, hoping the end of his time was near. Someone spoke up asking a question but Marc ignored it. He slowly turned around fighting back the anger that raged in his mind and body. He walked away. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his pipe and let it fall to the ground. The ceramic stone bowl shattered like glass, falling into hundreds of pieces spilling ashes from the tobacco.

Marc pulled out his tobacco as he walked. He held the bag upside down, and the dried, long cut leaves, fluttered away in the wind. The detective made his way deep into the city. Staring at the ground as he walked. He loosend up his tie and unbuttoned his coat, then shoved his hands in his pockets. He had walked out by The Tricky Mister Bar and was making his way next to the alley, when someone grabbed him and pulled him into the darkness.

Marc fell like a rock when he was thrown into the pile of trash bags. It was the same spot that he had killed Molly's brother.

"You son of a bitch!" Riza screamed at him. "I trusted you and you left me for dead! What the hell?!"

M. Lacrimosa
M. Lacrimosa

Jul-7-2010 09:44

((That should say Marc WAS unsure. Not Marc unsure.))

Riza Hawkeye
Riza Hawkeye
First Nomad

Jul-27-2010 19:37

Riza stood in the alleyway, in the long shadow cast by the yellowish light over the bar sign, her ears perking up as soon as she heard heavy approaching footsteps. She watched bits of tobacco fly by through the cool dark air and allowed herself a small smile. Unmistakably, Marc was finally coming.

As a look of pure hatred flashed momentarily on her face, she watched as the dark figure slowly approached the bar. As he crossed directly in front of her, in a split second she seized both of his arms with a death grip and with a yell, half-launched him into the air to land on a pile of trash bags nearby with a loud “Oomph!”

Riza felt anger rapidly welling up inside her, and before she knew it, her legs moved towards him of their own accord and the words were already out. "You son of a bitch!" she screamed at him. "I trusted you and you left me for dead! What the hell?!" She grabbed him by the collar of his suit and pulled him to his feet, slamming him against the hard brick wall of the bar repeatedly as he got the breath knocked out of him.

“Riz-aghhh!!!” he cried out as he was punched in the stomach, surprised at who he was seeing. This man, this scum, didn’t deserve to walk the earth. Who would leave a friend to die in the street, after all she had done for him? Riza suddenly stopped, struck by memories of their shared past. She winced. It was happening again; her weakness was showing. In the half second she let her guard down, she instantly regretted it. Marc’s shoe came flying through the air and caught her in the chest, knocking her backwards, stumbling, into the opposite wall.

“Stop it, Riza, please! I had no other choice, I wasn’t thinking, I had to get away from there as soon as possible--” “What you mean is you were only thinking about yourself!” Riza screamed. The air fell silent for a moment as the truth thickened the tension. The scuttling of rats in the alleyway was the only sound besides the chatter coming from inside the bar.

Riza Hawkeye
Riza Hawkeye
First Nomad

Jul-27-2010 19:38

“You’re sick, Marc. I saw you kill that man right here, so I waited here just for you. How does it feel, Marc? You killed him. Tell me, what right do you have to play God, to choose who lives and who dies?” Riza said quietly.

“Shut up!” Marc demanded forcefully. “Just shut up!”

Riza began to chuckle, then stopped. “At this point, I'm beyond helping you. But don’t worry, I’ll make sure that the man who murders innocents and dares to betray me doesn’t live to make that same mistake again!” Resolute, Riza swiftly ran towards Marc, raised her right leg high into the air, and poised to slam her heel down as hard as she could on his skull.

Before she could do that, however, she heard someone’s--Molly’s?--voice cutting through the air. “Riza! No!” Before Riza knew it, a sharp pain hit her in her left side and she went flying sideways, landing and scraping against the dirty ground. She tasted blood.

Molly Maltese
Molly Maltese
Old Shoe

Aug-4-2010 16:39

"Riza! No!" Molly cried out, swinging a board into Riza's side with all her might. Thrown off balance, Riza went down and Molly tossed the board aside, noting grimly the familiarity of the alleyway they stood in.

"You've no leave to play God either, Riza." she said quietly, her eyes full of sympathy rather than anger. But when she looked at Marc it was with cold indifference.

"Perhaps if Marc here has any sort of conscience," she spoke calmly and clearly, "he'll turn himself into the authorities for the crimes he has committed. But as he has shown himself shockingly lacking in conscience even where his dearest friends are involved, I imagine that one will be left entirely in Gods hands as well."

M. Lacrimosa
M. Lacrimosa

Aug-10-2010 21:13

"Perhaps," Marc said helping himself up. "I leave for a while, and sort some things out."

Marc stood up and faced the two women. It was getting dark outside. Marc looked at them and they stared back. Their intimidating looks didn't frighten Marc. They had every right to hate him. He hung his head down in shame. He walked past them and disappeared into the night. He stuffed his hands in his pockets. Things will change, he thought to himself. One day, things will get better.

M. Lacrimosa
M. Lacrimosa

Aug-10-2010 21:21

The doors echoed when the shut inside the large chapel. And Marc found himself a seat near the front. It was quiet. No one was there. Except for Father Manfred Gesling, who came and sat next to Marc.

"Something troubling you, my son?" asked the old man.

"Father.." Marc began. He hesitated but only for a second. "I've hurt some people."

"No one is perfect-" began the priest.

"I've killed one person, and lost three friends, one is buried six feet under...I don't know what to do."

"My son," Manfred, began, "we are all human, and we sin everyday. But that is why the good lord above, has forgiven us. Yes, what you did was wrong, but, it is not unforgivable. God has promised to forgive us of our wrong doings."

"Father, you know me and my reputation around this city, and as far as I know, its a good one. But now that I've killed someone, yes he was scum that should have been turned in, what will the people say about that if they find out?"

"I assure you, know one will tell anyone about this. And if your two friends still care about you, they won't go to the media and ruin you."

"How can you be so sure?"

"God works in mysterious ways. It was him who guided you here to talk to me."

M. Lacrimosa
M. Lacrimosa

Aug-10-2010 21:31

Manfred reached into his robe's pocket and pulled out a book and set it down in the pew next to Marc.

"This is the Holy Bible. I cannot force you to take it and read it. And I cannot force you to pray to God. But Marc, I CAN ask you to take that. And I can ENCOURAGE you to pray. Maybe if you do it and show it, your friends will see what goodness lies in your heart. And you will be forgiven by them, just as the lord forgives you, Marc."

Marc listened as the priest spoke. Every word that was said, every sentence that was completed tore away at Marc's insides. Every word echoed in his mind and Marc couldn't take it. Once more, he choked up and cried. He had really screwed up this time. But the preacher was right. If he could change and show it, maybe he would be forgiven.

Marc grabbed the book and stared at it. Manfred sat next to Marc quietly. For almost ten minutes no one spoke. Marc choked up yet again and wiped a tear from his eye.

"Thank you, father." Marc said to Manfred who smiled at him.

The two men stood up and shook hands.

"Marc, remember these words," Manfred said. "History cannot be undone. But it can be erased."

Marc walked out of the chapel holding his new bible in his hands. He reached into this upper coat pocket and pulled out a cigarette and lit it. He took a long drag of it. The smoked burned his lungs as the filled up with the toxic chemicals. Marc exhaled blowing smoke into the air of the night sky. He had a lot of searching to to do. And as he walked into the night, 9 words echoed in his mind.

"History cannot be undone, but it can be erased."

M. Lacrimosa
M. Lacrimosa

Aug-10-2010 21:32

(And that was my final post.)

  <<First Page  |  <Previous  

[ You must login to reply ]