The Watcher | D.Clarke |

          It pains one to have to engage in such acts. Seeing this man begging for his life. His palms sweaty, and eyebrows mushed together in a sort of anxious embrace. His lips turned downwards and those same sweaty palms extended towards the Watcher. The one who wields the mighty scythe, standing over this victim of vice. This…. victim unequivocally guilty of the sins marked in the book of life as the most abhorrent. The basest, worthy of what is to befall him. The man offers his cries; pleading with the angel. His cries to not move him though. The Watcher has heard it all before. He has seen the petty humans engage in lust. Four and five at time, subdued by the spirits which alter their judgment and make them act in always contrary to their nature.

         This man was not a lover of lust, but more a student of envy. And one knows the pitfall that await those who partake in this destructive vice. But details at this moment are irrelevant, though the hearts and minds of many would plead for some. Attention is to be turned back to the Watcher. His eyes of the hottest flame; burning a blue; gazing into the widened and frantic brown eyes of his victim. His body fitted with a white vest, which hugged his slim frame, and under that vest, a crimson red dress shirt. The sleeves were rolled up revealing his burnt bronze complexion and exposing a few enochian tattoos upon his forearms. His pants were of the same material, and his shoes matched with his shirt.

“No–no!” The man said.

“No? What have you to say of your acts?”

” You don’t understand—my broth–“

          Before he could utter the last syllable, the Watcher’s hand rested upon the man’s solar plexus. One would think the sinner’s eyes could not widened any further but it managed to; and the spark of life which had been well noted in his pupils, receded. The man took in one final breath, and the hands; his final mediators, his last attempt at redemption, though ineffective, grew limp. His soul was extinguished; cast into a sea of flames, never to be returned to the natural world. For some, reincarnation might be considered but this mans acts were far too egregious to grant him another life.

         Curiosity lives within your mind right now. It sets its table, and sits on the broken stool, uncertain if the stool will offer a mild shifting or if it will completely break and cause you harm. A cat jumps on the table; purring with delight. Please, allow your curiosities to be relieved through the petting of this cat. Allow him to abate the suspense until the next chapter of this story.

Farewell.

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