One Last TimeMature

The dark street rolled out before his tired eyes. Its sleek wet asphalt glimmering in the twilight.

The rain had just stopped a moment ago, it's pounding still resonating through his ears as he walked firmly on the pavement, his steps echoing through the night like the shadows screaming across the desolate cityscape.

The flint hit the steel and for a moment things seemed clear to him, yet surely enough the somber masquerade of reality ensued as the flame quickly lit the wick. His hand brought the lighter to the cigarette dangling from his dry cracked lips and with a tug of breath the flame sucked back into the moist tobacco.

Life was sucked from him as he breathed through the cancer stick. Its red cherry signaled into the night, and all knew that he was here.

They crept from the sewers and the alleys, their thin forms slithering across the bricks like the smoke rising from the cigarette.

He knew it was time. With a quick flick the cinder flew into the street, spreading into a thousand stars of light as it impacted with the black tar.

His head bowed, as if making on perpose not to notice their deadly gaze.

He turned, looking back down that road, a road he had chosen to be on. He was truly afraid to turn around. He knew what was lurking directly behind him, directly between him, and the continuation of his path.

It had grown in him, it had used his body, violated it and tormented it. They had ravaged his skin, eyes and nails... his breath and bones.

Now, as he turned, he took in that deep breath. "The last one" he thought, as his eyes peered over his shoulder into the unkown.

His hand lashed out, striking his chest as it bellowed. It screamed to him, its aching pulse rupturing his will.

His knees gave, and he fell before them.

All they did now was watch.

He tried, several times, to get up and walk foreward, to escape. He knew however, that he had given those chances away, and now he had no choice but to stay.

On his back he lay, as the rain began to fall again. The pockets of water growing in the corners of his eyes spilt over and rolled down his cheeks.

Fate had seen fit, to let a dead man cry, one last time.

The End

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