The Preacher: Part 1
The preacher stared at him, his eyes dark pits and his skin the same palid green as the rest of this place. For a moment it worried, made him wonder if he'd start moaning and shambling towards him, but there was something in those eyes, something even more terrible than the emptiness of a zombie that stared back at him even as those broken teeth became more visible between chapped gray lips.
A smile, or a rictus that pretended to be one.
He looks down at himself, to see if he was the same, but instead he seems blurred. If he were a different man, he might describe it as a pearly sort of glow, but as it was, it just looked brighter than this place. Different.
He was different.
That made him speak up.
"Oi, you, what're you doing in here? You with the sheep?"
Which is when the Preacher came at him with a great heavy wrench made of blackened steel.
"Fuckin' hell," he swore as he ducted out of the way. The wrench slammed into the door where his head had been but a moment before and he had no time to see what damage it might have done before he had to swoop out of the way of it again.
"What in fuck's the matter with--" another dive and this time a roll that had him thanking whoever might be listening that he knew to keep his head tucked. As inane as the thought was, he didn't want any of the muck on this floor on his hair.
The man made another swing at him, which was when he noticed that all the swings were just a little wide, made not to actually harm but to herd.
Shepherd.
To push him towards the massive hole in the wall.
The walls. He's trying to get me into the wall.
A few things started to make sense as he ducked and dove, spun and shifted. He didn't think he could do anything to the preacher, considering he was pretty sure that he was dead (he, the precher, the sheep... you name it) and he proved his own thought correct.
The man was trying to get him into the wall.
Fuck it.
At which point he swung up and launched his fist into the other man's jaw.
A smile, or a rictus that pretended to be one.
He looks down at himself, to see if he was the same, but instead he seems blurred. If he were a different man, he might describe it as a pearly sort of glow, but as it was, it just looked brighter than this place. Different.
He was different.
That made him speak up.
"Oi, you, what're you doing in here? You with the sheep?"
Which is when the Preacher came at him with a great heavy wrench made of blackened steel.
"Fuckin' hell," he swore as he ducted out of the way. The wrench slammed into the door where his head had been but a moment before and he had no time to see what damage it might have done before he had to swoop out of the way of it again.
"What in fuck's the matter with--" another dive and this time a roll that had him thanking whoever might be listening that he knew to keep his head tucked. As inane as the thought was, he didn't want any of the muck on this floor on his hair.
The man made another swing at him, which was when he noticed that all the swings were just a little wide, made not to actually harm but to herd.
Shepherd.
To push him towards the massive hole in the wall.
The walls. He's trying to get me into the wall.
A few things started to make sense as he ducked and dove, spun and shifted. He didn't think he could do anything to the preacher, considering he was pretty sure that he was dead (he, the precher, the sheep... you name it) and he proved his own thought correct.
The man was trying to get him into the wall.
Fuck it.
At which point he swung up and launched his fist into the other man's jaw.