tw: gunshot wound, blood
It was a simple mistake to make. So very unfitting for a thief with such a high reputation of being meticulous and sly, always slipping through the grasps of police forces and detectives. How ironic, that he couldn't die as himself, but as the elusive white figure so many had adored and chased after. Staring into the black barrel of the revolver, he couldn't help but feel regret for the many things he could have done, or would have done - or needed to be done, but couldn't anymore.
Two shots rang out. Crimson liquid shot out and stained the torn collared shirt instantly, having been freed from the porcelain white skin and tender flesh that relied so much on it. White faded to red as the fabric of his shirt soaked up copious streams of blood from the gaping bullet wounds in the young boy's chest. His malnourished, thin body relaxed from its tense state as his vision slowly faded to black. Consciousness left him almost as quickly as the bullets that had entered his heart, leaving a mess of flesh and bones still bond to the cross
YOU ARE READING
Drabbles of All Kind
बेतरतीबI write wierd scenes when I'm bored :P possible spoiler scenes from some of my other chapts, beware!
