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Description
The street's final murmurs of life died after the first stroke of midnight.
Dead air hung thick over the empty city, air frozen like the chilling breath of a tomb. The frost bitten air tore into his lungs, each gasp a painful stab to the chest. He watched the breaths of life spiral into the air and freeze into a fading cloud. His eyes lingered, watching the wisps of air fade away, before lowering his gaze to the ground. Footprints left by pedestrians that day, left black glistening bruises in the cement, frost crusting over the wounds. The travelers own feet crunched through the icy scars, bare feet numb.
He adjusted the coat recently found in a dumpster, shrugging it forward and pulling the collar up to his face in a vain attempt to block out the cold. He gazed into the darkness. A black fog cast smoky shadows over the little town, it's black veil stretched over the sky, quenching the stars of their glory and twisting their song of hope into a silent, mournful wail. Amidst the fog, silhouettes of cars stood out in the smoky vision, cleaving to sidewalks as black gravestones marking a resting place for the living that laid nestled in their beds, protected by curtains that shut out the cold world outside their window.
Shops lining either side of the street stretched ahead past the residential area. A clock tower hanging over one of the shops ticked a monotonous tune, matching the beat of his steps as he passed by darkened windows, barred in cages, shutting out the unwelcome night prowlers. Bold lettered signs of advertising reached out from the fog to grab his attention, 'Men's Clothing 20% off', 'Organic Meats Now in Stock', 'Electronics Buy one get Another Free.' He halted abruptly and scoffed, shaking his head. Signs enticing him to buy things he couldn't afford, he doubted any shop keeps would stoop down out of the kindness of their hearts and offer him something for free. They wouldn't lift a pinkie for a wanted criminal. A mirthless chuckle escaped into the cold air. The Org did a wonderful job painting him as a half faced, bloodthirsty criminal in the newspapers, composing a long list of crimes he never committed. An orb of light ahead caught his attention. He approached the glow of light that glimmered in a frozen dark world, one solitary street light. A place of rest.

He leaned heavily against the post and caught his breath, staring down at the halo of light that glimmered over the shards of ice, turning it into gold. His hand tightened around the pole, supporting the rest of his body that hung limp against the streetlight, and broke into a hoarse coughing fit. He withdrew the fist covering his mouth, blood sprinkled on the grizzled wool of the homeless man's glove. His glazed eyes stared at the red for a long moment before leaning back against the post and heaving a sigh.The rough fabric of the coat grazed against his shoulder and shot shock waves of pain through his arm. Grimacing, he tore off the coat, letting it hang lopsided against his other shoulder, and pulled off one of the gloves. Fingers ran down the back of his shoulder, dry blood flaking off his fingers, as his hand ran down his back, flinching when he reached the gaping bullet wound. A pressing reminder of the chaotic twist of events last night. The gunshot's blast still rattled in his ears, muddling with the fading voices of commanders barking out their orders. Catch the beast, he's escaped. Escaped. His mind tried to shut out the haunting voices of the past rolling in, the screams of agony, faces twisted in pain, women clawing at soldiers for their children being dragged away, people being clubbed by the end of rifles, bones snapping like twigs. Escaped from the camp. The concentration camp.The straggler's eyes squeezed shut, a hand reaching to graze the left side of his head. Cold metal broke from the hairline, metal coils fading into stiff muscle and bone. His fingers ran to the side of his jaw where all traces of skin was gone. He remembered it all so clearly, the pain so real in his body and mind. He could feel the metal clasps tightening around his wrists, cutting off its circulation, he could taste the metallic traces of blood when that cold blade cut through his mouth. A shiver ran down his spine, remembering the jolts of energy that convulsed his body and tore away the skin of his face, the sadistic grin that curled on his younger brothers face, the glaze of blood that streaked his best friend's stiff body-- His head snapped up, blue eyes wide in terror, he choked. The vivid memories vanished into the blanket of fog, and again, he was left alone. Flakes of ice fluttered down over the streetlight's glow, turning into gold dust that settled on the man's bare shoulder. The ice melted into his pale skin and stung the wounds etched along his back. Trembling hands fumbled for the coat, pulling it over the wounds to hide it from the frost. His chest constricted into another string of coughs, glove muffling the gasps rattling in his chest.

He sunk to the ground, one hand still grasping the pole for support as the coughs became more violent, red sprinkled onto the ice. Sucking in a ragged gasp, he gripped his chest, fingers nearly tearing through the coat, and knelt on the ice. He groaned and turned his head to the glowing light above him, staring numbly at the crystals just beginning to drift from the sky, fallen dreams being laid to rest. They seemed so close. He reached up, hand stretched out as the snow drifted down, into the open palms, melting into little droplets that rolled off his fingertips. Dreams, rolling off his fingertips. The dreams continued to fall, slipping through his scarred fingers, softly mocking his inability to capture them. A scoff puffed into the cold air, and his hands dropped to his lap. All the dreams he conceived, would never come true, they would continue to roll off his hands, and fade into dying embers. He slumped under the street light's halo, eyes staring ahead, blank like a dead man. What purpose did his life hold? What unforgiven sin did he commit to cause so much pain and suffering, not only for him, but for his family. His family. The fact struck him in the chest like the searing bullet that had shot through his shoulder. His family was gone. Killed. The burden of their loss hung heavy over his shoulders. Emotions, something he forgot he still had after 5 years, welled to the surface, twisting around his throat and strangled a choke. Not a sob, not a cry of anguish no tears were spilt onto the ice below, just one suffocating gasp. He couldn't cry, even if he wanted to. After all, what was he but a prisoner, a half-faced beast not worthy of having the title "human." Beasts couldn't show emotion, they had no soul, neither did he. No soul, the very soul in him cried out in desperation for the Truth, to not heed to these lies, but memories rolled over in a foggy haze. Monster, creature, beast, rolled off soldiers's sharp tongues in disgust, horror twisted on pedestrians faces stood out vivid in the fog, children's screams echoed in his mind. Those visions drove him to hide in the dark alleyways, waiting till after midnight, where he could roam freely without being reminded of what he was. His hand reached up to touch a strip of fabric sewn onto his prison clothes under the coat. He knew the numbers printed on the strip without needing to look down. 291. His name, his title, printed in three numbers. The name Fugue meant nothing to him now. He was a number. The area was drenched from the bullet hole that had shot clear through his shoulder and exited below the collar bone. The bullet had torn the numbered strip to shreds, only half of it remained. He withdrew his hand and let it drop to the side. The snow began to fall thicker, chunks of ice slid down his coat and melted into the ground. There was no will for his body to keep moving, where would he go? The empty house he used to call home was miles away from here, states away. He had no wish to go there. What was the purpose of going home, when the people who made that place a home, were gone. His back slouched forward, doubling over, unable to support himself anymore. His forehead pressed against the cold cement. He had no destination, no purpose to live.
Life ebbed away as blood drained from his shoulder and painted the ice red. The orange glow of the street light, the red stained ice, and the patches of forming snow, all blurred into a muddle of colors. Even the labored breaths in his chest sounded far away, something from a dream. He knew he was dying. The thought of death wasn't terrifying, nor was it joyous, it was a simple fact of life. Everything died, some beings sooner than others, if he died now, it wouldn't matter.
As he sunk to the snow, he heard a low rumble, and music, a chorus of voices and music playing faintly in the distance, and standing out among the choir was the most beautiful voice he ever heard. As his vision faded into a white blur, the music and rumble drifted to a lull. He couldn't hear any footsteps approach when a muffled voice called, "…you….okay….?" The voice faded in and out, he could only catch a few words but how sweet a voice it was!
He felt pressure on his shoulder, glazed eyes lifted to meet a blurry silhouette standing over his hunched form. The streetlamp cast light over the figure, brightening the prettiest face he had ever seen. Was this an angel? Concern etched the person's blurry features, and her mouth opened. "….you….bleeding…can…hear….me?"

He felt his body sink, loosing strength, while his eyes struggled to remain open, locked on this angelic figure who's hand stretched out to him. Heaven. He heard himself croak out the word. The angel's wide eyes were the last thing he saw as he collapsed to the ground. He felt his body lift from the ground, the music of a choir growing louder again. Was this….heaven…? The world turned black.

*gaaaasp* Hookay that was longer than I thought. I think. for an art post it is eAe. Some clarification, he did not die. Maybe. The rumble was a chevy truck rolling down the streets with it's speakers vibrating good ol country music at night. A freckled, spindly country gal on her way home to the outskirts of town after a day of grocery shopping. She spotted him under the streetlight. That's how the "angel" came into play. Soupie is hardly graceful and angelic in appearance, more simple and muddy. XD
ANYWAY.
Firstofall God totally helped me with everything. I mean, everything. And it's awesome that He helped meee and I'm reallyreallyhappy. And this is really rare for me, And just gah yaasgh. I was having so much trouble coloring just the other day and Lord willing this is a step in the right direction. Anddd I'm also partially posting this because SOMEONE wanted it eAe. So now it's that SOMEONE'S turn to complete the deal =w= (Yes you know exactly what I'm talking about SOMEONE.) And yeah.
AND thank you stock people for having good stocks to pose reference. Multiple stocks refed but thank you alllll.
Some parts in the story might be weird, that's because I loosely based the TSO song Dreams We Conceive to this. I tried to incorporate the streetlight halo and yeah stuff. Lyrics explain it XD
This is, probably…Fugue's bio all wrapped up in written form. I don't know anymore XD I'm gonna go to sleep and derrrp nao.
This is really a killer post I'M SORRY GUYS REALLY I JUST DONT. Yeah.

Fugue ©

Description
The street's final murmurs of life died after the first stroke of midnight.
Dead air hung thick over the empty city, air frozen like the chilling breath of a tomb. The frost bitten air tore into his lungs, each gasp a painful stab to the chest. He watched the breaths of life spiral into the air and freeze into a fading cloud. His eyes lingered, watching the wisps of air fade away, before lowering his gaze to the ground. Footprints left by pedestrians that day, left black glistening bruises in the cement, frost crusting over the wounds. The travelers own feet crunched through the icy scars, bare feet numb.
He adjusted the coat recently found in a dumpster, shrugging it forward and pulling the collar up to his face in a vain attempt to block out the cold. He gazed into the darkness. A black fog cast smoky shadows over the little town, it's black veil stretched over the sky, quenching the stars of their glory and twisting their song of hope into a silent, mournful wail. Amidst the fog, silhouettes of cars stood out in the smoky vision, cleaving to sidewalks as black gravestones marking a resting place for the living that laid nestled in their beds, protected by curtains that shut out the cold world outside their window.
Shops lining either side of the street stretched ahead past the residential area. A clock tower hanging over one of the shops ticked a monotonous tune, matching the beat of his steps as he passed by darkened windows, barred in cages, shutting out the unwelcome night prowlers. Bold lettered signs of advertising reached out from the fog to grab his attention, 'Men's Clothing 20% off', 'Organic Meats Now in Stock', 'Electronics Buy one get Another Free.' He halted abruptly and scoffed, shaking his head. Signs enticing him to buy things he couldn't afford, he doubted any shop keeps would stoop down out of the kindness of their hearts and offer him something for free. They wouldn't lift a pinkie for a wanted criminal. A mirthless chuckle escaped into the cold air. The Org did a wonderful job painting him as a half faced, bloodthirsty criminal in the newspapers, composing a long list of crimes he never committed. An orb of light ahead caught his attention. He approached the glow of light that glimmered in a frozen dark world, one solitary street light. A place of rest.

He leaned heavily against the post and caught his breath, staring down at the halo of light that glimmered over the shards of ice, turning it into gold. His hand tightened around the pole, supporting the rest of his body that hung limp against the streetlight, and broke into a hoarse coughing fit. He withdrew the fist covering his mouth, blood sprinkled on the grizzled wool of the homeless man's glove. His glazed eyes stared at the red for a long moment before leaning back against the post and heaving a sigh.The rough fabric of the coat grazed against his shoulder and shot shock waves of pain through his arm. Grimacing, he tore off the coat, letting it hang lopsided against his other shoulder, and pulled off one of the gloves. Fingers ran down the back of his shoulder, dry blood flaking off his fingers, as his hand ran down his back, flinching when he reached the gaping bullet wound. A pressing reminder of the chaotic twist of events last night. The gunshot's blast still rattled in his ears, muddling with the fading voices of commanders barking out their orders. Catch the beast, he's escaped. Escaped. His mind tried to shut out the haunting voices of the past rolling in, the screams of agony, faces twisted in pain, women clawing at soldiers for their children being dragged away, people being clubbed by the end of rifles, bones snapping like twigs. Escaped from the camp. The concentration camp.The straggler's eyes squeezed shut, a hand reaching to graze the left side of his head. Cold metal broke from the hairline, metal coils fading into stiff muscle and bone. His fingers ran to the side of his jaw where all traces of skin was gone. He remembered it all so clearly, the pain so real in his body and mind. He could feel the metal clasps tightening around his wrists, cutting off its circulation, he could taste the metallic traces of blood when that cold blade cut through his mouth. A shiver ran down his spine, remembering the jolts of energy that convulsed his body and tore away the skin of his face, the sadistic grin that curled on his younger brothers face, the glaze of blood that streaked his best friend's stiff body-- His head snapped up, blue eyes wide in terror, he choked. The vivid memories vanished into the blanket of fog, and again, he was left alone. Flakes of ice fluttered down over the streetlight's glow, turning into gold dust that settled on the man's bare shoulder. The ice melted into his pale skin and stung the wounds etched along his back. Trembling hands fumbled for the coat, pulling it over the wounds to hide it from the frost. His chest constricted into another string of coughs, glove muffling the gasps rattling in his chest.

He sunk to the ground, one hand still grasping the pole for support as the coughs became more violent, red sprinkled onto the ice. Sucking in a ragged gasp, he gripped his chest, fingers nearly tearing through the coat, and knelt on the ice. He groaned and turned his head to the glowing light above him, staring numbly at the crystals just beginning to drift from the sky, fallen dreams being laid to rest. They seemed so close. He reached up, hand stretched out as the snow drifted down, into the open palms, melting into little droplets that rolled off his fingertips. Dreams, rolling off his fingertips. The dreams continued to fall, slipping through his scarred fingers, softly mocking his inability to capture them. A scoff puffed into the cold air, and his hands dropped to his lap. All the dreams he conceived, would never come true, they would continue to roll off his hands, and fade into dying embers. He slumped under the street light's halo, eyes staring ahead, blank like a dead man. What purpose did his life hold? What unforgiven sin did he commit to cause so much pain and suffering, not only for him, but for his family. His family. The fact struck him in the chest like the searing bullet that had shot through his shoulder. His family was gone. Killed. The burden of their loss hung heavy over his shoulders. Emotions, something he forgot he still had after 5 years, welled to the surface, twisting around his throat and strangled a choke. Not a sob, not a cry of anguish no tears were spilt onto the ice below, just one suffocating gasp. He couldn't cry, even if he wanted to. After all, what was he but a prisoner, a half-faced beast not worthy of having the title "human." Beasts couldn't show emotion, they had no soul, neither did he. No soul, the very soul in him cried out in desperation for the Truth, to not heed to these lies, but memories rolled over in a foggy haze. Monster, creature, beast, rolled off soldiers's sharp tongues in disgust, horror twisted on pedestrians faces stood out vivid in the fog, children's screams echoed in his mind. Those visions drove him to hide in the dark alleyways, waiting till after midnight, where he could roam freely without being reminded of what he was. His hand reached up to touch a strip of fabric sewn onto his prison clothes under the coat. He knew the numbers printed on the strip without needing to look down. 291. His name, his title, printed in three numbers. The name Fugue meant nothing to him now. He was a number. The area was drenched from the bullet hole that had shot clear through his shoulder and exited below the collar bone. The bullet had torn the numbered strip to shreds, only half of it remained. He withdrew his hand and let it drop to the side. The snow began to fall thicker, chunks of ice slid down his coat and melted into the ground. There was no will for his body to keep moving, where would he go? The empty house he used to call home was miles away from here, states away. He had no wish to go there. What was the purpose of going home, when the people who made that place a home, were gone. His back slouched forward, doubling over, unable to support himself anymore. His forehead pressed against the cold cement. He had no destination, no purpose to live.
Life ebbed away as blood drained from his shoulder and painted the ice red. The orange glow of the street light, the red stained ice, and the patches of forming snow, all blurred into a muddle of colors. Even the labored breaths in his chest sounded far away, something from a dream. He knew he was dying. The thought of death wasn't terrifying, nor was it joyous, it was a simple fact of life. Everything died, some beings sooner than others, if he died now, it wouldn't matter.
As he sunk to the snow, he heard a low rumble, and music, a chorus of voices and music playing faintly in the distance, and standing out among the choir was the most beautiful voice he ever heard. As his vision faded into a white blur, the music and rumble drifted to a lull. He couldn't hear any footsteps approach when a muffled voice called, "…you….okay….?" The voice faded in and out, he could only catch a few words but how sweet a voice it was!
He felt pressure on his shoulder, glazed eyes lifted to meet a blurry silhouette standing over his hunched form. The streetlamp cast light over the figure, brightening the prettiest face he had ever seen. Was this an angel? Concern etched the person's blurry features, and her mouth opened. "….you….bleeding…can…hear….me?"

He felt his body sink, loosing strength, while his eyes struggled to remain open, locked on this angelic figure who's hand stretched out to him. Heaven. He heard himself croak out the word. The angel's wide eyes were the last thing he saw as he collapsed to the ground. He felt his body lift from the ground, the music of a choir growing louder again. Was this….heaven…? The world turned black.

*gaaaasp* Hookay that was longer than I thought. I think. for an art post it is eAe. Some clarification, he did not die. Maybe. The rumble was a chevy truck rolling down the streets with it's speakers vibrating good ol country music at night. A freckled, spindly country gal on her way home to the outskirts of town after a day of grocery shopping. She spotted him under the streetlight. That's how the "angel" came into play. Soupie is hardly graceful and angelic in appearance, more simple and muddy. XD
ANYWAY.
Firstofall God totally helped me with everything. I mean, everything. And it's awesome that He helped meee and I'm reallyreallyhappy. And this is really rare for me, And just gah yaasgh. I was having so much trouble coloring just the other day and Lord willing this is a step in the right direction. Anddd I'm also partially posting this because SOMEONE wanted it eAe. So now it's that SOMEONE'S turn to complete the deal =w= (Yes you know exactly what I'm talking about SOMEONE.) And yeah.
AND thank you stock people for having good stocks to pose reference. Multiple stocks refed but thank you alllll.
Some parts in the story might be weird, that's because I loosely based the TSO song Dreams We Conceive to this. I tried to incorporate the streetlight halo and yeah stuff. Lyrics explain it XD
This is, probably…Fugue's bio all wrapped up in written form. I don't know anymore XD I'm gonna go to sleep and derrrp nao.
This is really a killer post I'M SORRY GUYS REALLY I JUST DONT. Yeah.

Fugue ©