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[May. 17th, 2005|09:20 pm] |
Wyatt orbed into his bedroom, laying down Excalibur on the floor, still ripe with blood and his ears still wringing with screams and the sound of punctured flesh. He went inside the en suite bathroom at his grandpa's, sliding out of his blood stained suit, unbuttoning his once white shirt and shrugging his pants on to the floor in a bloody heap. He strips his shoes and turns the nob on the shower, slipping into the stream of luke warm water, he pushed his fair hair back out of his eyes, letting the water trickle down his back, washing away the stains that had spattered on him during the violent massacre.
He pushed his head back, letting the water run down his face, like a cleansing ritual, washing with them the tears that came suddenly and his body wracked with sobs, and he knew there was no one else was even in the house. Not yet, anyway. He struggled for breath, letting the tense emotions go as he kicks in the wall because it was easier than dealing them. Wyatt watches as the blood tinted water slides down the drain, clearing the evidence.
He stood in the cooling water for several minutes, till the sobs and hitting subsided and he finished the shower, wiping his body like it would come off. He picks up the shirt and pants, fireballing them and they disintegrate into dust. He splashed some water on the sink up on to his face, catching himself in the mirror when he was done, taking a moment and he didn't know which part of what he was seeing was more disturbing: the frightened child or the psychotic killer.
Then the moment was over and he had things to clean. |
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