He'd describe the unexpected liquid as sticky, sickly, smelly and impure. The blood of a pig; foul in stench, foul in feel. Niall Horan did not expect the wretched and spoiled smelling blood of swine to be the highlight of his night.
"What the hell!" Eleanor said, kicking the decorations closest to her and throwing the flowers at the ground.
Within the mess, the bucket slipped from the unsupported rope, and onto the unsuspecting cranium of the one and only Eleanor Calder, dealing her unconscious. Niall crouched, forcing the pooling tears back into his eyes. His sadness would soon be replaced by rage.
"No, Eleanor, no."
It was easily the fastest transition from hunted to hunting. The faces were tormenting. Some laughing, others shocked. What did it matter? He resented them, all of them. He lurched forward, grabbing the attention of the prom-goers. He watched the devils. They all reacted accordingly, someone snorted a laugh and he snapped.
To the devil with this false modesty.
ESTÁS LEYENDO
Niall |DISCONTINUED|
Fanficand who ever said that prom couldn't get a little bloody. [on both ends] -cc @motherchuckercara
