(no subject)
The eerie red of the emergency light made the impenetrable shadows even blacker than they ought to be. He couldn't see -- it was all distorted. The walls were warped, shaking and heaving, caving in on themselves and steadily closing in around him, choking him. Dark figures taunted him; urged him to jump head-first into the chaos that raged in front of him, but he couldn't move.
He was too afraid.
It all had to go. The figures, the walls, the shadows, that horrifying light that was red like blood -- he had to make it all go away.
The gun was in his hand and he was aiming into the heart of the maelstrom.
The shot was deafening.
One shot.
The chaos was gone...the red light remained.
Now the light came from him. The blood splattered over his skin was blinding him, and as he lowered the gun, lifting a hand to shield his eyes, he began to laugh. He realized that he'd been mistaken. Terribly, gruesomely mistaken.
His shot hadn't missed its target.
His aim had been dead on.
He'd lied to all of them.
He'd killed him.
He'd killed his father.
Purposefully.
He was too afraid.
It all had to go. The figures, the walls, the shadows, that horrifying light that was red like blood -- he had to make it all go away.
The gun was in his hand and he was aiming into the heart of the maelstrom.
The shot was deafening.
One shot.
The chaos was gone...the red light remained.
Now the light came from him. The blood splattered over his skin was blinding him, and as he lowered the gun, lifting a hand to shield his eyes, he began to laugh. He realized that he'd been mistaken. Terribly, gruesomely mistaken.
His shot hadn't missed its target.
His aim had been dead on.
He'd lied to all of them.
He'd killed him.
He'd killed his father.
Purposefully.