Silky dark-blue petals twirled gently in a unseen breeze. They brushed past the pale skin of a prone figure upon the floor, a petal or two often getting caught in the dark and mangled coat the figure wore. His face was nearly obscured by the darkness, though dark blue eyes, an almost exact shade of the petals, shone bright. A raspy breath would exit his lips, his chest heaving for another lungful of air, possibly his last.
“He loves me…”
The voice echoed throughout the long hallway, and the figure on the floor convulsed, shouting in pain. The petals surrounding him began to grow less silky, less beautiful, as if they were
no, you are not a 'lowly writer' ... you're far worse ) 'those who take up the sword will perish by the sword' some guy called jesus once told us... ever heard about that guy? then you should fight war instead of fight people.