[TM] 17b - gothic street
The smell of gas hung heavily in the air as he walked through the streets, his eyes surveying everything around him as they always did. Tonight would be the night he would show them, tonight he would prove once and for all that he could do it and everyone would know the name of Henry Jekyll.
Hope coursed through his body, adrenaline making him seem invincible. In his hand he held a box, a battered wooden box. In it lay the report that he had spent hours and hours working over placed in perfect order, his speech and the small glass vial with the red liquid inside that held the answer to all the questions he had ever had. Tonight he would find his subject and everything would begin.
The streets were deserted and he preferred it that way - most people would be at home, reading books, talking, living their normal lives day after day without asking “Why…” - he couldn’t live like that, he wouldn’t live like that.
Because there had to be more than what you saw around you everyday, there had to be more than meets the eye, there has to be more than what they told you.
There had to be a way to make life better.
He looked up at the hospital, straightening his hair and his collar before stepping inside.
***************************************
How could they be friends of medicine?! They weren’t even doctors! - power in the hands of fools.
John followed him out, almost dragging him away. He was angry, so very angry. He couldn’t even think of a time he had ever been this angry and it twisted within him; hot and insistent.
“They call themselves friends of science, friends of medicine John. But they’re not, they’re hypocrites, bloody hypocrites, every last one of them.”
“Yes, but they are powerful hypocrites.”
He would do it, he would show them.
He just needed a volunteer.
Hope coursed through his body, adrenaline making him seem invincible. In his hand he held a box, a battered wooden box. In it lay the report that he had spent hours and hours working over placed in perfect order, his speech and the small glass vial with the red liquid inside that held the answer to all the questions he had ever had. Tonight he would find his subject and everything would begin.
The streets were deserted and he preferred it that way - most people would be at home, reading books, talking, living their normal lives day after day without asking “Why…” - he couldn’t live like that, he wouldn’t live like that.
Because there had to be more than what you saw around you everyday, there had to be more than meets the eye, there has to be more than what they told you.
There had to be a way to make life better.
He looked up at the hospital, straightening his hair and his collar before stepping inside.
***************************************
How could they be friends of medicine?! They weren’t even doctors! - power in the hands of fools.
John followed him out, almost dragging him away. He was angry, so very angry. He couldn’t even think of a time he had ever been this angry and it twisted within him; hot and insistent.
“They call themselves friends of science, friends of medicine John. But they’re not, they’re hypocrites, bloody hypocrites, every last one of them.”
“Yes, but they are powerful hypocrites.”
He would do it, he would show them.
He just needed a volunteer.