not me- short story.

1 // whirlwind.

the world was grey, millions of shades mixing together, his jeans a piercing blue in the world of charcoal. a hint of color in the ash ridden world, a reminder of what he was in the past, a lonesome boy in the forest. a long sigh escaped the man's body, taking the cigar to his mouth and puffing soft swirls of smoke. he leaned against the wall, like one of the lowlives you'd find on the corner of the block. but this wasn't a block, it was a bar. he drank his cares away and the pain of his childhood.

truth is, he never truly got over what happened. when you shoot your friends for a living, you have to take a painkiller and let everything disappear. even if it's for a few seconds. his feet hit the ground heavily as he dropped the cigarette butt and stomped the smoke out. tiny, red-orange sparks flew, reminding him of the foxes that snuck around the forest at dusk. their tails were like flames and their eyes were a cool, calming blue.

he frowned. "stupid creatures. may have been cunning but never escaped my gun," he spat. but deep inside he ached to see one run from his powerful man made object, for once before his friends were with foxes.

the man's name was christopher, his face as pale as snow and his eyes were a brown, the color of almonds. his skin was worn with small freckles dancing on his face, messily placed on his cheeks and near his nose. his hair was a dark orange- almost matching his eyes. his hair was planted in a way that it quiffed upwards. even so, it was messily tangled in a way and many would guess he wasn't a stylist at all. he wore a bright white shirt, dirtied from wear in weather, he wore it many times a week.

oh, and you may ask what happened? well, let's just say betrayal isn't easy to live with.