The pain from his blood-slicked hands was the only thing he could feel, and even that was ebbing away silently. Wind whipped at his face, sending sheets of sleet and snow into his eyes. Part of his vision was slightly blurred white as snow clung to his lashes. Last thing he remembered was his gloved hands clutching his weapon, hanging on for dear life as his trembling fingers continually remained on the trigger. Only blankness plagued his mind as he watched the trickles of life-giving liquid slowly run down the side of his wrist and into his sleeve. Why was he so afraid? What was he so afraid of?
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Drabbles of All Kind
DiversosI write wierd scenes when I'm bored :P possible spoiler scenes from some of my other chapts, beware!
