Our Bleak and Dreary world

The Figure in the Long Black Coat

The harsh bite of winter in the tiresome winter months clawed and tore it's way into the heart of the desolate city. It was a savage killing with no remorse, sinking into the hearts of humans like lead, seizing them, never to let them go. Not him though.

Clinging to him was his big black coat, blending in with the shadows surrounding him. He trudged along, the wing tousling his jet black hair, head held high, posture relaxed, hands buried deep in their warm furrows. Only one thing ever moved. His eyes.

Snapping here and there, his emerald eyes stood out like beacons, looking comforting in this alarming place. It was only the way they shifted that let on how anxious he truly was.

Orange lights beckoned to him as he rounded the corner; one of the few decent pubs left in the crumbling city. He wasn't planning to stop though.

Crunching on the ground, the man's feet led him towards food, shelter, a bed for the night, but he didn't need that, not for a long time yet.

A young man, a newcomer, sat with his local companion, sharing conversation while drinking finely brewed ale, and noticed the not so friendly looking man coming towards them. His companion was relaxed, legs crossed with a light smile playing on his lips, but the young man knew when some one was trouble.

Fingers starting to tremble, he watched the man anxiously with his intense blue eyes, like a does watching a predator, watching, waiting for the right time to escape. Escape was not an option, though neither was it necessary, for as the dark figure cam closer, he passed without looking once in their direction, disappearing before their very eyes like a ghost.

The companion had long since sobered and glanced at his friend who looked white as a sheet.

"Who was that?" He asked, his voice cracking; near to fainting. Frowning, his companion studied him for a moment before replying in a chilling voice:

"The figure in the long black coat."