(Warning: Gore and Harsh Language)
Tom's fist flew at Tord in a fit of rage. Tord smugly ducked, throwing a punched at the Brit's stomach. The impact made him fall onto the kitchen floor.
"Done already, Jeho-vah!" Tord was cut off by Tom head-butting him, forcing them to topple onto the floor. Tom sat on Tord while laying punch after punch to the communist's dumb face.
Tord pushed Tom off and swapped their position, allowing Tord to punch the alcoholic once, twice, another time. Tom reached up and grabbed Tord's neck, strangling him. The devil reached up to tear his arms off, succeeding in the task but not without claw marks on his neck where his nails used to be.
What were they even fighting over? Neither of them were sane enough to remember, and that would be a question that they would be asked for an eternity, although
Tom ripped his arm away from Tord's cold grip and then punch him in the chin. Tord fell backwards, off of Tom, who stood and scoffed smugly, "Done already, commie?"
"Not even close," Tord replied, coughing slightly.
Tom picked up a knife from the counter. He tapped the sharp end with his finger, feeling the pointedness, "How about now?"
Tord grabbed a convent handgun from his pocket that he always carried around and aimed it up at the eyeless freak towering over him, "How about now?"
Tom's smug look turned into hatred, "I'm not joking, commie."
"Neither am I."
Tord bounced up onto two feet and knocked Tom in the jaw with the gun. Tom yelled and took a step back, shoving the knife forward and slicing an arm of the red hoodie in front of him. The hoodie grew a darker shade of red and Tord clutched the wound, blood seeping out onto his fingers.
"You bastard," Tord growled, aiming the gun at Tom. The Brit shoved Tord's gun away a second before the sound and smell of a gun going off invaded the room. At this point, Edd would have ran into the room and stopped their fight but he and Matt were visiting Edd's parents. Edd had said not to burn the house down, not not to kill each other.
Tom lunged and tried to plunge the bloodied knife into Tord, yet only caught the side of his hoodie. Tord shot again as he fell to the floor under Tom's weight. They were both too enraged to see that one of them could die from this experience.
Tom attempted to grab the gun from Tord with his unoccupied hand while stabbing repeatedly at his arm with the knife. The communist let go of the gun, saying about how insane the Brit was.
Tom laughed, "Done now!?"
"You psychotic bitch!" exclaimed the devil, pushing the brit off of him. The gun skidded across the room in one direction and the knife in the other. They both initially reached for the gun but only one person could grab it, that person being Tord. Tom then took initiative to lunge for the knife.
They then stood, staring at each other. An eyeless Jehovah's witness with an alcohol addiction holding a knife and a communistic Norwegian who looked like the devil holding a gun.
Tom lunges at Tord with the knife, plunging it roughly into his stomach. Blood poured out of the wound, soaking the gunman in red. Pain erupted through him and he hissed.
Tord turned the gun and pressed it against Tom's back. If Tord was going down, he'd take the eyeless male with him. The bang sent a bullet into Tom's body. Tom widened his eyes as adrenaline rushed into his body. He wasn't surprised.
Blood tumbled out of Tom's mouth. He coughed out, "You fucking..." He was about the call the other some sort of name, tell him about how insane he was, but he realized that he too was many of those things. He calmed. "Edd was right. We did end up killing each other."
They collapsed, out of breath, into a sitting position on the floor, as their blood pooled and mixed. Tord groaned, "He'll surely be disappointed." The Norwegian held his wound and sighed.
"Yeah..." Tom said and then flinched in severe pain. His breathing picked up and his vision became blurred. Tom thought it was tears but it was really because of blood loss. "I didn't think it'd ever come to this."
"I sure did," Tord laughed. "We both have anger issues, hate each other, have weapons at our disposal... It was only a matter of time until- Tom!?" Tord was cut off by Tom falling backwards. Tord sighed and scooted over to him, lying down beside him.
"Goodbye, commie. See you on the..." he coughed a few times. "On the other side." His voice was strained.
"See you, Jehovah." Tord said, looking at the Brit.
The Brit looked over at him but his eye sockets were lifeless. His head had just relaxed to the side, he didn't see the commie's smile.
People say that the dead look peaceful. Tom didn't look like that to Tord. He just looked dead. His black eyes droopy yet open, his mouth shut in an eternal frown, his chest that had risen and fallen now stayed down; he was dead.
Tord closed his eyes, a tear trickling down the side of his face in pain. Pain was all that he felt. And envy at Tom for dying first but he knew that he wasn't that far behind. His eyes clamped shut and he breathed slowly.
"C'mon, commie," Tord heard. Opening his eyes, he saw Tom silhouetted in white and blue light. The Jehovah's witness extended his hand.
Tord reached up for it with some difficulty, but when he grabbed it his arm felt ten thousand times lighter. The pain melted away and he stood, leaving his material body behind.
They looked at their bodies and found that Tord's hand fell atop of Tom's. The Norwegian and the Brit laughed together. "Don't we look gay?" Tom said.
"Yeah..." Tord said sadly.
A pause.
"Let's go stalk famous people," Tom suggested.
"Hell yeah," Tord agreed.
