xerraire1

One fateful night, a flash of light, and his light was over. Jason, his golden orange hair flopped back lifeless contrary to the usual bounciness. His pale skin and his boyish face shone in the faint life, the dying embers of a fire filling the wooden room. With the last vestiges of consciousness, his mind wandered…

It was a cold September morning, the freezing rain pelted down on the cobbled road, freezing on the surface, a weather that signified the change from autumn to winter. People littered the road, dawdling and floating past the stores as if they were the leaves being blown by the wind itself. Anonymous in the crowd, almost unrecognizable was Jason, battered and bruised beyond recognition in a dark brown trench coat was pushing against the ‘current’ of the people going the other way. To avoid the mid morning rush, Jason went down a side alley.

Darkness enveloped him, fitting him more tightly then his once pantaloons, now skin tight pants, he winced as his petit clothes was loosing the battle against the cold England wind. As he walked down the shortcut, with towering dumpsters the almost monstrous tin cans, he quickened his pace. As he travelled, not only was he running from his mind, but his past deeds, his sins and his pain.

Geneva was her name, her perfumed skin still evident in his mind, fair hair and complexion of a angel. Jason ran, counting the stones as he went. 1 … 2 … was amount of hugs I gave her each day … 3 … 4….5…. 6… was the amount of flowers and wild vegetation always in her hair. Blasting himself for his sentimental weakness, he looked up. He was lost.

Day had quickly turned to dusk, and shadows loomed, as if trying to grab him, the last vestiges of sun was being swallowed by night. Jason stopped moved. The hair on the back of his neck stood up. He had the feeling of being watched. In one swift movement he turned around. Geneva was there.

Jason’s eyes flitted around. His imagination’s vivid image of Geneva had faded, to be replaced, at first glance, a ordinary bystander. At further inspection, he was tall, dark haired, a dominating brow, and had a feeling of unease. But that was not what most scared Jason, it was the khopesh in his hand, the blade gleaming with fresh blood and malice.

With a haughty voice it called one word, the word that had echoed Jason’s mind for the seasons thrice that had passed. And as he uttered that one word, his soul a-fluttering, twisting and mourning like the day of which she had gone. ‘… Geneva’.

Jason ran, and softer then a shadow, his pursuer followed. Like a startled rabbit, the young man lost all control of his mind, his logic had gone, his eyes were darting like roulette ball in his sockets, his mouth dry, he sprinted.

He skidded and crashed into the ground, his cheeks flushed although his forehead pale white. And then Jason heard some murmuring, the crowd was so close! But his stalker was still there. Jason was running, screaming, although over the general murmuring of the crowd he could not be heard.

As he scrambled over the dull rocks, his knees torn from the effort that was needed, his body was pumped with adrenaline. His time was up, he could crawl no further. Moriarty plunged the sharpened gleaming khopesh through Jason’s chest. Jason caught the gleam of the iron before it punctured the lung and the heart.
Jason was in a passionate flurry with his loved one. The barn door opened, a beam of light came through, a tall man waked in. He closed the door, holding his pitchfork.
‘No Daddy, don’t make me Daddy!’ said a beautiful brunette, her beauty shining through oil grease and dirt.
‘Prostitute, whore. You are not my daughter, we are not related. YOU ARE NOT MY DAUGHTER!!! NOW STAND ASIDE!’ said a sickly man, hands callused by hard work, grimy clothes hanging off his body, a shiny cross hung from his neck.
‘Daddy I love him! And no man can take him away.’
Jason stood wordless.
‘Come here young lady, you have sinned against the lord, and only the lord may forgive your sins’
‘Love is not a sin father, and I have chosen.’ She cries and turns to Jason ‘If I could spend a thousand years on Earth or 1 minute with you, my husband, I would choose the later, and in heaven may we meet again’ At that moment she snatched the pitchfork and thrust it through her naked torso. She gasped for air, her eyes dulling, and she said ‘Jason’ for the last time…

As Jason’s life force failed him, and he uttered one more time ‘Geneva’. His last efforts pushed his lithe body into a half circle… and left this world for one of darkness, carried by otherworldly beings into another world to be made whole with his loved one.

Moriarty spat on the pale corpse, ripped his gleaming necklace off and threw it back. As the necklace flew through the air, an almost arcane force insured that it fell into the sinner’s outstretched hand, as if it was still grasping for life.

Moriarty swept up his coat, slid the gleaming khopesh, sharpened by hate and malice, into its’ sheath and disappeared in the shadows…

xerraire1

bump -> same thing... someone read it