Up in the heavens, and in the depths of hell.
In between the two, a man had fell.
With dreams so great that he tried to reached for the stars.
But desires so twisted that the demons pulled him far.
Far away from his fame, far away from his power.
Far away from his home, and far away from his tower.
He fell and fell back into the mortal realm.
The stars that he once reached for now shattered beyond help.
Now the fallen man was nothing but a skelm.
A criminal that had fallen so far, even his demons could only say welp.
Deep in the countryside, past the meadowing greens.
Past the whistling willows and the sounds of the birds and the bees.
Past the crickety building made of black and beige,
A little down the road, you will find the home for the old of age.
There in that building, an old man sat in the middle of his porch.
Sunbathing his old and sickly skin as he sat there seemingly so small and short.
His silver eyes gleamed from his cataracts and age, like a dead flower still on it's plant refusing to wane. The flower had stayed, stayed, stayed.
Despite all the storms and monsters and limitations.
The man had continued to stay strong and be filled with determination.
For the man you see, was a bit of a millenarian.
Who refuses to die off, for this man is a centenarian.
A hundred birthdays, and a hundred cakes. A hundred wishes and a hundred thanks.
A hundred years this man has lived,
And despite his age, the man still stays determined.
Hair of jet black, and eyes of a piercing silver.
Ears covered in piercings, and a name that is similar to that of a boulder.
A man covered in tattoos had entered the centenarians room.
He stood beside the man as they began to watch the flowers bloom.
They spoke so little, yet needed to speak of so much. The quiet and aged centenarian deciding to be ignorant of his delinquent of a Great-Grandson.
Ignorant of his existence, and ignorant of his arrival. Ignorant of his interests, and ignorant of his need for survival. In the end, it was simply ironic.
They were both so similar, yet both so different.
One man who had the kindest of presentations, yet the evilest of intentions.
While the other had the hardest of lives, yet the most pure of determinations.
One mans footsteps only leave trails of ink and blood.
While the other brings destruction, as well as a hope-filled bud.
Which flower will die, it is impossible to say.
For the Grandfather and the Grandson have a gamble that they refuse to let sway.
Who will fall first? is the pairs major question.
Will it be the man that Drew,
Or the man with a Rocky view?
Only time will tell, for soon there will be a bloom.
Maybe not from them, but from somebody that will be involved, which only happens once in a blue moon.
Now it's time to start anew.
A fresh slate for the tired and abused.
And a beast made of ink that will be coming for one of them very very soon.
YOU ARE READING
The Beast Made of Ink
Fanfiction(This is a Bendy x Reader fanfic) Your Great-Uncle Henry Stein passed away a little over a year ago, leaving behind all of his belongings for you, including a mysterious key to a storage facility. Finding yourself at a complete mental loss after so...
