This and That

Told You So

"Burning a bridge takes too long. I prefer explosives." The hat seemed to turn around on it's own, pulling the owner along.

The other man could only stare in hopeless awe at who, no, what, his friend had become. That cold, metallic hand: could it be the same that had beat him an arm wrestling match only a year ago? Oh, and those eyes, those hardened silver eyes, the color of steam pouring off burnt skin: were they still the ones that had looked trustingly into his own all the years of his childhood?

"What did they do to you, Jon?"

"What do you-what are you saying, that I had no control in this?" For an infinitesimally small moment, a glimmer of hurt flashed across his eyes. "You think I would let someone run my life?"

"No, I....No, Jon, of course not, but I know, as your friend, that you would never choose this kind of life, this path. So I know, without a doubt, that they must've forced something onto you. I'm sure you fought bravely, but whatever they threatened you with, I-"

"You know? As my friend? Fitch, you stopped being my...associate when you chose this," he hissed, gesticulating at the crumbling buildings surrounding the two men, "over me. And how dare you speak of 'threatened,' as if I am not strong enough to make my own choices. I pushed aside the ashes and sided with the flame, Fitch. I can't say I'm not disappointed that you have not done the same." The cruelly colored eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Fire? You speak as if it helps, as if it promotes life."

"But it does, Fitch. It clears away a path for new growth."

"How could you think that? It burns, Jonas, fire destroys! How did you fall to this, to destroying everything you ever cared about? Doesn't our friendship mean anything to you? What happened to sticking by each other?"

The dark man stood in the dark street, facing what remained of the light. His mouth parted, then shut into a thin streak across his face.

"I'm not sure what to say, Jon."

This elicited an evil grin from the other man. "You just wait, Fitch. In a few months time I'll give you something that'll drop your jaw for sure."

And that's really where it all began, you know. The good man stood amidst it all, the shadows drawing ever nearer.

..............................................

Fear.

You could see it on their faces and taste it in the air. It was indeed a strange sensation on the tongue-a distasteful mix of salt and darkness. The crowd surrounding the object of interest numbered, thankfully, only a couple dozen. And yet the smell trumped any other scents wafting in from the marketplace.

And this object? Well, simply put, a gallows stood at the center of the throng, its ropes clinging to the post in search of warmth. But any traces of such a thing had long left this place. All ropes remained empty except for one. The good man hung from the post, having lost against the shadows, and their master, Death. The man's mouth hung open.