Betas/practices

Steampunk practice

Smoke billowed out of the tall brick chimneys and filled the sky with a blanket of soot and ash. Atop the bleak houses crows lined in rows, sleeping. It was early morning, all was dark - not that it mattered anyway, it always was. I stood on the concrete ledge of the tallest building I could find, the toes of my torn leather boots hung over the edge. A gust of wind blew which sent the fumes directly into my face, filling my lungs. I breathed deep, the smoke symbolizes the city as a whole; A black abyss of hatred and dissonance masked with the innocent belief of righteousness. That's the last breath I took, bitter and foul.

 I stood, straight; my cloak billowed in the wind. One hand lay atop my black top hat to keep it from soaring off, the other planted firmly on the off-centre of my chest, putting pressure on my heart with a grey rag, black blood leaked from the bottom and dripped at my feet... 

 Withdrawing my hands, I fixed my goggles onto my head - the black-stained rag dropped into the empty streets and my hat flew and spun in the wind until it disappeared into a cloud of thick smoke. The least I could say was that I would go out in style.

 Church bells echoed in the distance, I counted; Four in the morning, the streets would soon fill with busy workers – rushing to get to work on time at the factories – I’d rather not have an audience. One more chance to die...

 I leant forward, closing my eyes. For a second I floated in place but gravity soon took hold and I fell forward towards the street far, far below.