YourNewDoorman

The story of The Slave is a complicated one, for it has never been told first hand. If you talk to him you would never know he was the Slave whose torture was the springboard to our civilization. His wounds are healed, but when I knew him he covered up the scars. You couldn't tell that he was bled, stabbed, lacerated and burned so often that a lesser man would go mad. He bore it all in quiet silence, accepting it as his last fate to the people he loved. I am ahead of myself though, and his story starts at the beginning, where all good stories must eventually get to. In the beginning, it was the night before the full moon and he was heaving i

I once lived the life most men have: a wife, a child, a nice house, a steady, well paying job, a safety net in savings. The world was wonderful, and when it wasn't, we would all go up to the hidden safety room in our bedroom and wait for danger to pass. We weren't rich, but we weren't poor. It was a happy life. Nowadays, I can't remember how we lived like that. It was a dream and I can't imagine how we lived in that world when the one we, Alice and I, live in now is filled with so much evil. Given the circumstances, I never really could have done anything besides hunting these foul monsters and saving the countless lives they would take. I'm

I tore into the bitch's throat and licked the blood out of the air as it sprayed from her arteries. It was a delectable Christmas snow of life and health. The fat under her delicate skin lay open, its yellow hue muddled and faint under the exposed tissues and raging torrents of blood. She stared at me in horror, confused at her present situation. Her pretty little world and carefully built walls hadn't been able to keep me out. She would have screamed, but you can't scream without vocal cords, which were severed and exposed little strands, just hanging out. The scream was there in her eyes though, and I could hear her lungs decompress as she