"Think more of a puppeteer." She grinned, mimicking playing with puppets. Slowly, two of them appeared in her hands, dancing along. "We can make you do stuff by your own accord, or so it seems." One of the boys stopped. The girl pulled a string, cau...
The things you see They can make you bare the questions of curiosity They can swallow the purpose of fantasy And overtake your consciousness of thoughts Thoughts that can escape to a new world Or become the start of something new Or maybe even weave themselves together as one night and one day... Life is a plain reality that is to force you to be alert and at one with yourself... Life is a gift to be able to comprehend or to even make with your own gentle hands, maybe to even just have the thought of being apart of it... The Illusion of life is like a sadistic dream that showers constant realities of desires...
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Bustling cars flashed under building lights and signboards, screeching under stoplights and signs. Tall skyscrapers stretched up high, blinking with reflecting windows and billboards. People roamed about, jogging across sidewalks and streets, shouting greetings or language at others. Cars honked, sirens wailed, and here or there animals barked or squealed. Gangs hid in the shadows of alleyways, waiting for a victim. Men and women bustled out of restaurants, talking and laughing, oblivious to the man in a sleek, black limousine. Some stopped and stared at the vehicle, admiring the car brand and chattering among themselves. Others merely shrugged and went on with their business, ignoring and soon forgetting about the car.
The man inside smiled at the people's ignorance. A tall figure with chiseled, sharp features, he lazily leaned back, observing his partner behind sunglasses. Both were dressed in classic black suits and ties, polished shoes and pressed pants. The man in sunglasses also wore a long, black designer coat, made more for show than to keep the wearer actually warm. A silver and gold watch flashed the time on his wrist, again, more for show than use. Black hair was slicked back, peppered heavily with silver. A neatly trimmed beard shadowed his face, more black than grey. He smiled, showing off perfectly straight, white teeth.
"Have we come to an agreement then, Mr. Rachelle?" He asked, crossing his legs and settling back, dark eyes wary behind his sunglasses.
Mr. Rachelle swallowed, regretting coming into this business. He nodded, shakily. "Yes, we have." He whispered, staring down at his clasped hands.
The man smiled wider. "Come now, Rachelle, no need to be so sober. This is a cause for celebration. You have just successfully bought my products."
"Illegally," He muttered, squeezing his eyes shut.
The man frowned, shifting forwards. "I do not like how you use that word, Mr. Rachelle. I prefer...unauthorized weapons done for the greater good." He sat back, studying the nervous man. "You will not go back, I understand?" It was more of a threat than a promise.
He nodded. "Yes, sir."
"Good." The car slid to a stop beside an old house in a broken neighborhood. One streetlight shone above them, illuminating the cracked sidewalk and dead grass. Garbage littered the street, crunching under tires. A few stray animals yapped and whined, yellow eyes reflecting in the light. "You are no longer needed."
