[Thread - OPEN] No words to say, the worst displayed.
Who: Shikamaru's dead body and anyone who wants to stare at it.
Where: Terra, the corner of a major intersection.
When: Wednesday afternoon, after this and this.
Summary: There's something hanging from a telephone pole. Wait, is that a body?
Rating: R for violence?
Other: Bawww.
It rained all night, only coming to an end just before sunrise. A fog settled over Terra just as the morning light crept into the sky, diffusing the sun's rays into a murky grey-green that left most buildings (and everything else) completely obscured. Because of this, no one noticed what was hanging from the telephone pole even during the thick of rush hour. It wasn't until the early afternoon that the fog slowly began to clear.
Twisted into unnatural angles as if frozen in a struggle to free himself from the grip of many grasping hands, he hung upside-down, ankles caught up somehow in the telephone wires. Suspended in a grotesque display, skin pallid and lips blue around an open-mouthed scream now gone silent. His eyes were still open and they were wide with horror at whatever it was that they last witnessed. Something had pulled his hair out of its usual ponytail and it now hung freely, soaking wet and sticking to his cold cheeks. He still wore his work clothes, respectable black slacks and a white dress shirt, but the humidity had ruined them. Yet not a drop of blood stained them.
A teenage boy, mysteriously dead with no visible cause and strung up above the streets.
Where: Terra, the corner of a major intersection.
When: Wednesday afternoon, after this and this.
Summary: There's something hanging from a telephone pole. Wait, is that a body?
Rating: R for violence?
Other: Bawww.
It rained all night, only coming to an end just before sunrise. A fog settled over Terra just as the morning light crept into the sky, diffusing the sun's rays into a murky grey-green that left most buildings (and everything else) completely obscured. Because of this, no one noticed what was hanging from the telephone pole even during the thick of rush hour. It wasn't until the early afternoon that the fog slowly began to clear.
Twisted into unnatural angles as if frozen in a struggle to free himself from the grip of many grasping hands, he hung upside-down, ankles caught up somehow in the telephone wires. Suspended in a grotesque display, skin pallid and lips blue around an open-mouthed scream now gone silent. His eyes were still open and they were wide with horror at whatever it was that they last witnessed. Something had pulled his hair out of its usual ponytail and it now hung freely, soaking wet and sticking to his cold cheeks. He still wore his work clothes, respectable black slacks and a white dress shirt, but the humidity had ruined them. Yet not a drop of blood stained them.
A teenage boy, mysteriously dead with no visible cause and strung up above the streets.