I need to get caught up on my writing. My original fiction, if at all possible. But I have such a hard time getting started. So you, the three or four people who read this, are going to inspire me.
The following meme was taken from
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It was funny how simply changing the color of something made it more interesting. The Man in White's suit was not unusual, save for being white, and the bright whiteness of it was enough to catch the eye. Had it had been a more ordinary grey, he would have been beneath notice. As it was, everyone noticed when he entered the nightclub, and everyone saw him draw the knife. Of course, it was a big knife, so they might have noticed it even if he'd been wearing grey. Who could tell?
Chaos reigned. After he stabbed his first victim in the throat, most of the other club-goers scattered. Only a few had the presence of mind to run for the emergency exit. Some went for the main entrance, and those the Man in White cut down first, flickering through the air like a malevolent bird of prey. His knife work was precise and perfect; the kukri moved with the grace lent to it by the hand of a born sabreur. He was done with the people who'd ran towards him before the first of the more thoughtful individuals had reached the emergency exit, and then he was at the emergency exit, gutting a nineteen year-old girl who'd thought she'd escaped. There was more shock in her eyes than pain. The Man in White reflected that no matter how many times he pulled it off, apporting to someone and shanking them before they could react never, ever got old. One man pulled his own knife, and was rewarded with a slashed throat for his efforts.
The last one left alive was the bartender, who'd collapsed in a corner after seeing one of the bouncers get teleshanked. The Man in White sauntered up to the bar and sat down expectantly. When he still hadn't been served after three minutes, he spoke.
"Come on now Lee. I'm your last customer tonight."
Lee got up, walked to the bar slowly, trying not to look at what his "customer" had done to the other thirty people in the club.
"What'll you have?" he asked. His voice sounded strained and wavery.
"Do you have any good whiskey? Bourbon's fine too, but nothing cheap. I have standards."
If he hadn't been on the verge of throwing up, Lee would have laughed. Instead he went for his most expensive whiskey and measured a glass out as quickly as he could with his shaking hands.
Chaos reigned. After he stabbed his first victim in the throat, most of the other club-goers scattered. Only a few had the presence of mind to run for the emergency exit. Some went for the main entrance, and those the Man in White cut down first, flickering through the air like a malevolent bird of prey. His knife work was precise and perfect; the kukri moved with the grace lent to it by the hand of a born sabreur. He was done with the people who'd ran towards him before the first of the more thoughtful individuals had reached the emergency exit, and then he was at the emergency exit, gutting a nineteen year-old girl who'd thought she'd escaped. There was more shock in her eyes than pain. The Man in White reflected that no matter how many times he pulled it off, apporting to someone and shanking them before they could react never, ever got old. One man pulled his own knife, and was rewarded with a slashed throat for his efforts.
The last one left alive was the bartender, who'd collapsed in a corner after seeing one of the bouncers get teleshanked. The Man in White sauntered up to the bar and sat down expectantly. When he still hadn't been served after three minutes, he spoke.
"Come on now Lee. I'm your last customer tonight."
Lee got up, walked to the bar slowly, trying not to look at what his "customer" had done to the other thirty people in the club.
"What'll you have?" he asked. His voice sounded strained and wavery.
"Do you have any good whiskey? Bourbon's fine too, but nothing cheap. I have standards."
If he hadn't been on the verge of throwing up, Lee would have laughed. Instead he went for his most expensive whiskey and measured a glass out as quickly as he could with his shaking hands.
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