Ooh, i like that.
Me, alone in the night, adorned in a black silk cape and hood. A knife rests in my hand, hidden from the moons light beneath my cape. I stock a nearby bar, watching, waiting. A women walks out from the depths of the dank bar into the misty night that blankets the street. Her walk is awkward, her demeanor is intoxicated. Behind her walks a gentleman adorned in his most generic of white wife-beaters. His hand grasps her breast. POW! She smacks him across the jaw with her half broken purse, makeup containers shower the street. She walks off, angry and drunk.
The man stumbles toward the curb to tend to his wounds, empty beer bottle in hand, his eyes red, is speech slurred. He mumbles softly to himself for a moment whereupon he realizes that a cloaked presence has perched itself behind him. In one foul, murderous motion, the figure, the figure that is i, plunges his knife deep, deep into the mans heart from behind. Blood spills forth from the wound, splattering the still rolling containers of makeup. I pull my knife slowly from the newly formed cavity in the mans back. He falls, face first, into his victims long forgotten belongings. Lipstick intermingled with blood, blood intermingled with eye-shadow.
"wha-" the man moans
"vengeance..." i say softly to my latest victim, "... vengeance"
Written by Moopig66, story and characters by Moopig66, edited by Micheal Bay for some reason
Darkmantle said:
And that makes misandry okay because? Are you one of these vengeance feminists?