Just how it happens in the comic books, The S slithered his way up to me, looking like horizontal lighting for the brief second that he traversed the ground. He stood eye to eye with me (from about a foot away, no less) after having been outside of the warehouse not a blink of an eye beforehand.
His eyes weren't slits, but his pupils were. It reminded me of looking down at a kitten, whose eyes - now that I think about it - were just as lifeless as this reptiles; it was the fur and the size of a kitten that gave it its playfulness. Apart those unmoving, lifeless eyes, The S had an intensity about his face. A slight snarl that looked as if it was out of any conscious control, nostrils that were obviously flaring, and a trembling of each individual scale, although I'm sure The S was an entity to never be taken as anything but one who has complete control of the situation. There seemed to be an unsettling element about him, but he must've been fully aware of that as well. How else would he have caught me red-handed in a perfectly planned homicide attempt?
He remained speechless as he raised his left hand slowly to meet my right, disarming me with a calmness only a stone could counter. I'm very glad that I knew what he was to do next, as I've heard those who fall prey to his preferred means of transport to the jail encounter experiences of hysteria and horror should they not expect what I did. He quickly unsheathed a fang from his mouth and planted it in my shoulder, wriggled free, and returned to his position of intense watchfulness. Without worry, I drifted off into unconsciousness, expecting a subtle, unseen journey to a prison hospital.
No comments:
Post a Comment