Mystic story, part 1
I'm pretty sure from the lack of responses to this journal, that nobody reads this, but I'm still going to try something anyways. A long-time tradition, a mystery among mystries, and the cold, realistic truth that nothing is ever what you think it is...
Our story starts out with a middle-aged man, 165 pounds, dark hair, thick italian mustache, suit as black as your nightmares, being forced, once again, out from his sanctuary, his stronghold. "You'll never take me alive!" He yelled, not knowing that he will indeed mark those words. With his knife in one hand, his silver and black pistol, with it's blood-red ruby gem in the handle, in the other hand, he held his position as long as he could. Bullets flying everywhere, the man dodged them as he's done many times before. He knew that his chance of survival was non-existant. He was going to die eventually.
As he hid from the bullets from the police, he saw that the doors, walls, and windows weren't going to hold forver. He ran over to the card table that he used to play mahjong with the Yakuza earler, and despite the pieces, money, and the strange wooden talisman that were on the table, he hurriedly knocked it over, before any of the bullets that went through the holes in the walls could hit him. In his haste, everything went flying everywhere, except for the wooden talisman with the strange glowing markings, that had fallen on top of his trusted knife.
He never engaged in any fight without it. It was dulled, and the handle was rusted, but it meant much to him. He didn't know why, but he felt that it was lucky, and it showed. As he went to grab the knife, he had grabbed both the knife and the wooden...thing. Just as he was about to take his knife away, he looked up to find that the police has broken through the door, and it was just seconds before he'd be sent to prison, just like his boss, Al Capone. No way he was going to be sent there.
He had to do something. He had to get out of there. He needed to escape. He didn't care how; he just knew he had to get out of there. As he was lost in panicked thought, the talisman glowed brightly, as did his knife. As did he. The cops barged in, just to see a bright flash of light, then laying on the ground, all alone, was a dulled knife.
Our story starts out with a middle-aged man, 165 pounds, dark hair, thick italian mustache, suit as black as your nightmares, being forced, once again, out from his sanctuary, his stronghold. "You'll never take me alive!" He yelled, not knowing that he will indeed mark those words. With his knife in one hand, his silver and black pistol, with it's blood-red ruby gem in the handle, in the other hand, he held his position as long as he could. Bullets flying everywhere, the man dodged them as he's done many times before. He knew that his chance of survival was non-existant. He was going to die eventually.
As he hid from the bullets from the police, he saw that the doors, walls, and windows weren't going to hold forver. He ran over to the card table that he used to play mahjong with the Yakuza earler, and despite the pieces, money, and the strange wooden talisman that were on the table, he hurriedly knocked it over, before any of the bullets that went through the holes in the walls could hit him. In his haste, everything went flying everywhere, except for the wooden talisman with the strange glowing markings, that had fallen on top of his trusted knife.
He never engaged in any fight without it. It was dulled, and the handle was rusted, but it meant much to him. He didn't know why, but he felt that it was lucky, and it showed. As he went to grab the knife, he had grabbed both the knife and the wooden...thing. Just as he was about to take his knife away, he looked up to find that the police has broken through the door, and it was just seconds before he'd be sent to prison, just like his boss, Al Capone. No way he was going to be sent there.
He had to do something. He had to get out of there. He needed to escape. He didn't care how; he just knew he had to get out of there. As he was lost in panicked thought, the talisman glowed brightly, as did his knife. As did he. The cops barged in, just to see a bright flash of light, then laying on the ground, all alone, was a dulled knife.