Creative Writing Chapter One: The Whistler

Here's a story brought to you by... me. Far from complete and just sorta leaves off into nothingness, but enjoy just for ****s and giggles.

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The Sheep He Hated ~ Part One of the Bringer of Light series ~

Chapter One
~ The Whistler ~

"Like the coldest Winter chill, Heaven besides you, Hell within
Like the coldest Winter chill, Heaven beside you, Hell within
Like the coldest Winter will, Heaven beside you, Hell within
And you wish you had it still, Heaven inside you."
- Alice In Chains, 'Heaven Beside You'

The rapid fire of droplets striking the shackled roof of the cathedral rung out in thunderous cacophony throughout the haunting silence of the sermon. To the people inside, it was very well reason enough to cringe in fright as if the rain would rip right through the 'House of God' and swallow them up like a snake devouring its prey. Those present shifted nervously from left to right in the hard, wooden pews they were forced to sit in, every soul in the building already praying for the time in which the priest would have them lower themselves to their knees. For such a sweet, sweet release would be paradise, to relieve themselves of the horrid, wretched pain in their rears and kneel on the cushioned pad that was lowered from the back of the pew in front for praying purposes. Knees jumped up and down like a child in fear of the monster beneath his bed that his parents reassured him ceased to exist, yet he feared for his life ever more dearly. Constant bouncing caused the crimson leather-bound books jumped, causing the pages to flow restlessly as if the words were trying to rip themselves right off the pages. In the front of the church stood the priest, an obese man that made some wonder just what in Jesus Christ's name was happening to faith and religion. His robe must've been made to a size that would have classified as labor to the local town seamtress. Although the snickering children found it humorous, kicking their feet to hit the back of the wood of the pew infront of them, their mothers scolded them, sending a swift slap to their hand to stain the once pink-peach flesh a bright red. If the children hadn't been taught at such an early age to respect God and his house, they would've cried out in pain. It might have also been due to the fact that such disobedient kids were used to being hit.
Women fidgeted nervously, smoothing their ankle-length dresses and loose white Sunday blouses, carefully peeking around as if God Himself were looking over their shoulder to see down their blouse. Elder men remained still, paying their respects, while middle-aged men swore as low as they could hoping that it wouldn't reach the ears of the Lord. The teenager boys busily poked fun at the priest's weight and his hair, or in this case, lack there of. Just so that they wouldn't be scolded much like the younger children, they held back their snickers as best they could, sinking their teeth into the flesh under their lowers lips almost to the point in which they would bleed. However, some of the older teens seemed to snicker on purpose, as if to in hopes of being scolded. They had one person in mind for that job; a blonde nun who joined the ministry only weeks ago that all the boys dreamed about when that time came along. She couldn't have been older than her early twenties, they concluded with their thoughts set in stone. Though whatever age she was, woman was enough to make all the boys salivate all over their prayer books and hope that their parents would leave them alone long enough in their rooms. It was just the way that her habit seemed to hug her hips and curves in all the right places. Of course, that wasn't to say that the older men didn't enjoy it either. It was just that they hid it better.
Luminescence of moonlight flooded in as best it could through the stained-glass windows, ripping through into the innards of the church in shades of blues and greens and reds and violets to depict famous and infamous scenes alike from stories in the Bible. As if the dark grey and amethyst clouds were raping the sky, they washed over the moon, giving everything a temporary darkness that even distinguished the candles within the cathedral, which caused women to jump in fright, men to grunt, children to hug their mothers' legs and the boys to go running to everybody's favorite nun. However, it passed like every must pass and once again, they were brought with light from the moon only. That was the case at first, at least. After the moonlight flooded back in, the candles relit themselves and orange and yellow flames continued to dance erotically on the wicks. Women could still feel their heart beating and kids still hugged their legs. Though the boys and men seated themselves and attempted to look as best they could as the priest went on as if nothing had happened at all.
On the outside, the pitter-patter of the ran was no more than excited whispers of children staying up past their bedtime and trying their hardest not to wake their parents. At least that is how it sounded to the strange man who seated himself upon the top of the cathedral. He leaned against the bell for support, sitting patiently upon the inner-landing of the constructed tower that the church-bell hung from the top of. Rain droplets that blew at a tilted angle plummeted to their deaths to strike his shirt, soaking into and through the thin, ivory silken material. Each dotted section of the clouds' tears turned the silk material into a darkened grey color as it clung desperately to the walls of his torso, a lean yet lithe upper body with narrow shoulders and long arms. Rivers ran rampant over the slick sable surface of his leather pants which hugged his legs just as tightly as his shirt, mimicking the shapes of his slender legs to a perfection. While the flat bottom of one of the slick ebony boots rested on the edge of the tower section in which he set, his other leg dangled off the edge, swaying to and fro in the rain. Bleached sapphires contrasted the messily short-cropped onyx-black hair with strands of silver in the front, all that curled outwards towards the edges causing it to only look ever-more unkempt. Though it didn't seem to bother him in the least as a wide smile crossed his lips, though the lack of light that shone through the open parts of the tower from the moon turned into into an impish grin.
His chest rose and fell lightly as the strange man took deep breaths, his eyelids lowering over the drained blue eyes, his slender chin lifting as his head tilted back, slipping out of the inside of the tower to feel the refreshingly cool rain strike his face in the same pitter-patter that they exploded upon the roof. Although his paled lips needed not the moisture, his drained pink tongue slid out, the tip running gingerly just over the surface of his lips before retreating back into his mouth, then puckered his lips. The once flat stomach sunk in as he took a deep breath that caused his chest to lift. Then, as he exhaled, his stomach went back as his chest drop. It was a slow, solemn tune that would seem fit for a funeral, the notes sliding through between his lips as if they were a musical instrument all on their own. A harmony was quite evident in his voice and the song lasted through the volume of the constantly beating rain, the weather seeming to add its own effect into the song and make it seem more depressing and dramatic. He walked along slowly, the bottoms of his boots striking the flat area of the shackled roof-top, each footstep completely drowned out by not only the steadily increasing precipitation, but also his song as well which quickly picked up in beat and rhythm. Not quite something to dance to or even something that would appease most people. It simply made it seem as if death were coming all too soon for those that heard it. If only they knew...
Children were near the point of whining, squirming uncomfortably in their seats and were becoming so impatient that even their mothers' scoldings weren't doing anything to calm them down. The strange whistling reached the ears of those within the building, causing them to glance about with hints of curiousity, attempting to pinpoint an accurate location as to where it was coming from. Some even wondered, if it wasn't coming from inside, how did it seem to just completely drown out the sound of the rain? A sudden rasped breath was heard from the back of the church, in the pew closest to the door. Gasping from the old man became more rapid, his breath labored until his eyes rolled back to only show the whites with string-like crimson veins just barely visible. He rolled out of the pew, his fingers clutching desperately at his chest, right over his heart. Violent twitching ensued, the body curling up into an almost fetal position before it stopped completely. Laying lifeless, white orbs with lines of red stared with emptiness at the others in the church. Soon following the first death was a second, and yet a third. Bodies of elderly men and women hit the ground, one after another, as if it were suddenly a spreading disease. Women cried out in fright, jumping from their seats as the men swore loudly. People began to suddenly rush to get out of the cathedral, as quickly as possible. Though many went tripping over bodies, bashing their skulls against pews on a fall, causing death before they even completely hit the ground. Others that didn't die on the way down were trampled by other frantic men and women. However, the doors slammed shut, seeming to remain bolted in place. Several people tried to ram through the door futilely. Some tried to ram through people, into the doors, causing some to fall and get trampled to death while others suffered horrific head trauma and damage, falling to the ground and killed shortly after.

 

The preacher cried out, running back and trying to get through the back entrance/exit before the door could shut. Upon reaching the door-frame, standing just inside, the door suddenly snapping shut. It breaks upon his body, shooting splinters and sending them ripping through his jugular veins and splattering his blood like paint on the ground behind him, body hitting the ground with a loud thud. Meanwhile, the blonde nun shrieked, hurrying over to check on the priest, kneeling at his side. As the whistling continued, the crucifix on the while right to the side of the nun began to shift, breaking from its bonds and supports. She caught sight of the falling ornament out of the corner of her eye, crying out just as it came crashing down on her skull, shattering it and propelling chipped bone right into her brain. Her body fell, draped over the slain priest. Once high-pitched cries soon died down as only a small fraction of the people were truly left, cowering by the door with fear, sobbing quietly to themselves. Even the grown men were now frightened, seeing the littered, bloodied bodies of men, women, and children alike, a sight lurid enough to make anyone sick to their stomachs. Well, almost anyone...
Swiftly, the doors swung open, the massive wooden doors catching some off guard and slamming into them and sending them flying, face first, into pews to cause a quick yet painful death. The last unfortunate person to get hit by the doors suffered a similiar fate as the priest with the door snapping in half against them, shooting wooden spears through them like fish. Those few that survived suffered a rather strange death of falling to the ground and being impaled through the head or throat by the falling male or female that was shot through with the wood of the door, leaving the once impatiently squirming now lifeless shishkabob. Standing in the door was was the black-haired man from the roof, the fresh rain still rushing down over the ivory silk shirt and obsidian leather pants. His boots left behind foot-prints of vermilion as he carelessly walked through blood, kicking bodies aside as he saw fit, hands resting nonchalantly upon his waist as paled blue eyes glanced about with a hint of approval in his gaze, a broad smirk upon his lips as he nods his head slowly, showing his admiration for his own handiwork. A fully leather-clad hand moved from his waist up to his thick hair, running through the outward-curling strands slowly, pushing silver in with black.
"Hmm. Too easy."
The swirling pools of bleached waters moved from the rivers of blood that ran rampant throughout between the pews, pooling up around the altar and both entrance/exits. In spite of the fact of how easy it was, however, he was still pleased with his work. His eyes soon fell upon the fallen crucifix-statue that had crushed the nun's skull, the deformed and pained face of Christ gazing up at the Heavens with a pleading look in his lifeless eyes. This man could only click his tongue, shaking his head with what might have been pity for even an inanimate object. Leaving a neat trail of more blood, he made a trek towards the statue, crouching down next to it to examine it closely.
"You've lost your touch... shame... I was expecting more."
He rose to a full standing position, his foot suddenly striking out at the head of the statue, shattering it completely, each small chunk of porcelain mimicking bits of skull and brain matter, littered about as carelessly as the nun's true skull fragments and grey, crimson-stained brains. Then as if the whole ordeal had never happened, he made his way back through the aisle of the church. Along each side, right between the very back pews and the doors, were two bird-bath like structures that were filled with the clear holy water. A smirk crossed the lips of the man before he scoffed lightly. With a swift kick to one side, then to the other, both structures were sent to the ground, spilling the liquid over the floor, soaking into the blood that pooled around. As if his satisfaction reached its pique and gave him a renewed vigor, he walked confidently out the church doors, leaving them open for the world to see what he had done. It was evident that the screams and pleas of the people outside were drowned out some how, as any person that wandered about on the streets of the small town went on as if it were any regular night. Rain-drops continued to beat down, beginning to slow into a mere drizzle as once again, the man began to whistle, the same tune he had done before.
Passing one person, the man dragging a sack full of unintelligable items stopped to smile and admire the song. Nodding his approval, he heaved the sack up again. Though the weight seemed to much for him to bear as he fell face first to the ground, the sack landing right on his head and crushing his skull under the weight, splattering blood across the stoned pathway. The next passers as he walked were a woman carrying her newborn child. She, too, stopped to listen to his song for a moment, the child giggling happily as its limbs flailed about. And just like the man before, the woman went on about her business, however tripped over her own feet and falling forth, crying out loudly. A broad smile came across the lips of the man as he heard the woman crying out with a high-pitched squeal, sobbing about her child. This caught the attention of three others; a young couple and an older man with a sturdy walking stick, a makeshift cane. They hurried over to the head of the woman, though the elder man stopped suddenly, starting to cough profusely retching as a ring of crimson surrounded his lips. His eyes rolled back as he continued to cough, choking on his own blood as it tried to flood out of his mouth, his body hitting the ground as the blood poured from his open mouth, his cane clattering to the ground next to him. Tripping over the body, the woman cried out, going face first into the ground which ripped her face open, spilling brain matter and fluids around. Her fluids were the cause of the young man's death, unable to get his footing as his foot slipped through the blood. It almost appeared as if his legs were kicked out from under him as he fell back, the back of his head striking the dropped cane hard, the blow causing the back of his skull to crack, shooting the bone fragments into his brain and out his eyes with his voice ringing out in a death cry.
The black-haired man continued to whistle, turning to look at the woman who had just lost her child. Apparently, it was too much for her, the woman left now banging her head against the pavement until the front of her head struck a rock that was sent right into her brain. Her eyes rolled back as her body fell to the side, lifelessly twitching for several moments before becoming still. With a light nod of his head, he turned back around and continued back down the path, towards the town gates. On night duty were two guards, shoddily armored and wielding only a single spear each. However they seemed to take their job seriously, standing stern and watching the gate. As the black-haired man made his way through the gate, they stormed towards him to stop him, calling out to him.
"Hey!"
"Stop right there!"
"Get back here!"
He continued his whistling, seeming to ignore the guards completely. The first guard dripped on a conveniently misplaced rock falling forward, his spear flying from his hands and piercing easily through the chest of the other guard and the thin leather armor. Choking on blood, the second guard stumbled, turning on his feet slightly as he fell, the head of his own spear coming down and piercing into the back of the skull of the first fallen guard, leaving both of them to wallow in a pool of their mixing blood. Without turning back to admire what had occurred, the man continued down along a well-worn dirt path surrounded by fields of knee-high luscious green grass that was still fresh with dew, the rain coming to a complete halt.

 

well read the first part...
and have to say....gob bless thats long ..thats one point...and good use of adjectives...very descriptive..what not..
very good ..eheh second part got to get a cup of coffee..
hehe i like the part about...the nun ...adn the fat priest

 

i like

Now that I've re-read it, I have to say, I can't wait to read more. I'm serious. You are an excellent writer, hell, you've put me to shame with mine. :>