The Lone Wolve's Song

WHEN NIGHT FALLS

He peered out of the window, it's frame adorned in tattered rags. Rags made tattered and moldy from years of mildew and neglect. The dust settles in the midst of the broken and bloodied bodies.

A man starts coughing blood on the thickly shagged floor.

Fog clouds the streets as a single orange bulb flickers from life on the corner.

"Why?" the man asked, grimacingly. Seeing his freshly cut wounds, he cringed.

"God...Yeah...that's gonna hurt in the morning."

Yelping, he tries to pull himself up and out of the blood pooling around him.

"Steady now," he thought to himself.

"Hold it steady."

He wavered a little, as though he were going to topple, before catching himself on the table set in the middle of the room.

He glanced back at the strange setup lain out before him and shook his head slowly.

Melted wax candles lit up a diamond mirror in the center, drawn on in fresh shining blood.
A vial of which still sat uncapped at the head of the table alongside some Scotch that had tipped over and mostly spilled, mixing to create a foaming red mess that reeked of metal and despair.

"What a waste of good booze,"
He whispered hoarsely.

Spotting a shattered mirror shard, he snags it, seeing how bloodied and bruisen he really was.

Taking a look at his wounds, he inhaled deeply, knowing what came next...

*Crunch* went the bones in his hands as he forced them back into place.

"SHIT," he swore under his breath.

*Hissssss* went boiling flesh as the alcohol he poured ran 'cross his shredded shoulder tendons.

"AGHHHH"
he exclaimed into the foggy night; a lone wolf cry sending shudders down peoples spines.

"GOD DAMN IT."

He'd been doing this job for as long as he could remember. Between the drinks and the beatings, he wasn't sure what that was anymore.

"Sick fucks," he garbled to himself, just now catching his breath.

Swigging whatever was left in the bottle, he started to growl.

"Oh c'mon. Human sacrifice to open a diamond mirror. What the hell were the shitheads expecting? What the fuck are they teaching these damn kids nowadays?"

Clutching his side from the bleeding bullet wound, his muscles clenched in pain and anguish, the collusus collapses.

*thud* One knee down.
*crack* goes the windowsill as his heavy palm crashes through it; splintering both bone and wood.

Slowly his blood drips down the green pinstriped wallpaper, glistening in the darkness, shining bright and devilishly dancing in the pale moonlight.

Suddenly, his demeanor changes. He was no longer the confident creature that had burst into the room. In his eyes was the look of a broken man. The wild animal had been wounded.

"Maria...I can't keep doing this." he chokes.
"Don't make me."
"Maria,"he thought to himself. "Wait who the hell is Maria?"

A name to which he had no face. She's barely a shadow left trapped in his mind, before he learned the truth so long ago.

As he stares back into the darkened room, into the bloodied eye socket of his former...associate...

As he does this he feels nothing...or perhaps...A jolt of twisted pride.

"This world has no place for the likes of them. I'm sure the Morningstar will be pleased to have some new play things."

"Why do I fight for these damn humans?"

*crack* went a bullet through the night-- In the city that hath no name.

Like a jolt of electricity coursing through his veins, his vision flashes to the scene. A ghostly figure watching over as a little girls soul fades to darkness, her body painting the snow red.

"Now. Now I feel."

He choked back a sob.

A tear runs down his cheek as he shudders the answer free.
An answer to the dreaded question he asks himself every night.

The answer to why he fights to save this sickening town.

Vision fading, nighttime waning, he says this.

"I do it all for her. I do it...because this city needs me."

Fade to black.