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Literature Text
As Emily walked around enjoying the breathtaking forest, the birds chirping away, patches of sunlight shining through. Emily was in a great mood. She neared around a corner, and saw a stallion, grazing away on the grass. Shockingly he didn't notice her, so she took this time to watch him. He was a very handsome stallion, a brown dun. She thought to herself, "maybe I can woo him into coming with me" she smiled to herself, challenge accepted. She put her tail slightly up and slowly but yet gracefully, towards the stallion. He finally noticed her and stares at her as she gets closer. He watched her carefully, Incase this was a trap, but when she got close, she stopped and stretched her neck out to sniff him. He did the same, she started to move closer, and work he head down his neck, sniffing.
Suddenly he shyly moved backwards, the mare gazed at him in awe, giving him a slightly confused look. She lowered her head, and softly spoke "my name is Emily" she kept her head low waiting for his response. "Earn my name" he said, that's different, earn my name? She thought to herself a bit taken by that, she sighed to herself, "how should I do that mister?" She said, at this point she looked into his eyes, such a rich shade of brown. She liked the color, and wanted to know more about him, 'but why' she asked herself. Because she was falling for the unknown stallion she has come across. He snorted to get her attention, which succeeded, "follow me" he stated and started to walk away. Not wanting him to get away she trotted up and after him, staying close to the handsome stallion. He lead her around the forest, landing them near a water area. He stopped and looked back to see if Emily had kept up and which she did, when he stopped she came up to him, now standing next to him she looked around. Why has she never noticed this being here? "This is quite beautiful" she said, looking up at him, she noticed he was staring back at her. How long has he been? She suddenly felt nervous and looked away, and trotted towards the water. He watched her, she splashed around in it, like she's never once touched water before. He was still watching her. She looked up at him, "come join me?" He smiled, she loved seeing a smile, mainly because she did something good. He nodded and jumped in, scaring Emily partly she moved quickly out of the way. The splash of the water connected with her face and she laughed. Raising one of her hooves she plopped it into the water, making the splash go towards him. It also hit his face, making her laugh even more, but then she heard something, him chuckling. He was also laughing! Filled with happiness she and him splashed around in the water together for what seemed like hours.
The sun was finally starting to set, Emily was laying in the sun drying herself off, while he was close to her but not to close. That sadden Emily a bit, but she understood why, he didn't know her nor did she know him. But yet they still had fun together. Does this mean she should ask him to stay with her? She started to panic, what if he says no? She looked at him, he was sleeping, she slowly inched her way near him. Taking in a much closer look at his face, he had a little tiny snip on his muzzle. That was adorable, she smiled lightly, she then nudged his cheek. His head bolted up, ears back, and about to get up, but then he realized it was just her. He calmed himself down, and looked at her, "yes?" He said, she was scared, terrified even, she opened her mouth but nothing came out. Shocking herself, she forced the words out, "w-will y-you come" she stopped, why was she stuttering to much? He was still looking at her, he smiled and nuzzled her head. "I'll think about it Emily" he said, huh?! She looked up at him. "Does that mean you knew what I was gonna say?" She said, "I'm going to say, you were going to ask me to stay with you" she blushed slightly and hide her head down, and muttered a yes. He chuckled again, she loved hearing that. That damn chuckle.
He slowly started to stand up, and walk towards the grass, and started grazing. “Can I ask you something?” She said, laying her head down on the ground. “Mm?” He said, as he kept eating away, “why did you bring me here?” She questioned, she hoped he knew what she meant, he looked up at her. “My mother used to bring me here, and tell me, when I find a beautiful mare. To bring her back here, to show her something not even as beautiful as herself.” He looked up at the sky, the stars are starting to appear and the dark blue sky. “She sounds like a nice mare” Emily said, she wanted to ask where she was, or if she was even still alive. But she didn't want to push her luck on this stallion. “Mister-” she started to say, “-thank you”
“You're welcome, beautiful.”
And with that said, the start night filled with smiles, they made jokes, and played together some more. Emily, praying that this stallion will accept her invitation to join her. While he, himself contemplates what he is going to do? Whether he stays with this mare he has now given his heart to or to walk away from the mare. He watches her carefully, as if she was a newborn foal, he was in a mental war with himself. She could tell it was by his eyes, and how sometimes he would stare off into nowhere for a few minutes. This made Emily worry, but she was glad she made a friend but also a possible lover. She wants that. But does he? She and him take a nap together under a tree, him pushed up against the tree while she is a bit away. She dreamt of his answer, for if he stayed or won't. The next morning she eagerly awaited his answer.
Suddenly he shyly moved backwards, the mare gazed at him in awe, giving him a slightly confused look. She lowered her head, and softly spoke "my name is Emily" she kept her head low waiting for his response. "Earn my name" he said, that's different, earn my name? She thought to herself a bit taken by that, she sighed to herself, "how should I do that mister?" She said, at this point she looked into his eyes, such a rich shade of brown. She liked the color, and wanted to know more about him, 'but why' she asked herself. Because she was falling for the unknown stallion she has come across. He snorted to get her attention, which succeeded, "follow me" he stated and started to walk away. Not wanting him to get away she trotted up and after him, staying close to the handsome stallion. He lead her around the forest, landing them near a water area. He stopped and looked back to see if Emily had kept up and which she did, when he stopped she came up to him, now standing next to him she looked around. Why has she never noticed this being here? "This is quite beautiful" she said, looking up at him, she noticed he was staring back at her. How long has he been? She suddenly felt nervous and looked away, and trotted towards the water. He watched her, she splashed around in it, like she's never once touched water before. He was still watching her. She looked up at him, "come join me?" He smiled, she loved seeing a smile, mainly because she did something good. He nodded and jumped in, scaring Emily partly she moved quickly out of the way. The splash of the water connected with her face and she laughed. Raising one of her hooves she plopped it into the water, making the splash go towards him. It also hit his face, making her laugh even more, but then she heard something, him chuckling. He was also laughing! Filled with happiness she and him splashed around in the water together for what seemed like hours.
The sun was finally starting to set, Emily was laying in the sun drying herself off, while he was close to her but not to close. That sadden Emily a bit, but she understood why, he didn't know her nor did she know him. But yet they still had fun together. Does this mean she should ask him to stay with her? She started to panic, what if he says no? She looked at him, he was sleeping, she slowly inched her way near him. Taking in a much closer look at his face, he had a little tiny snip on his muzzle. That was adorable, she smiled lightly, she then nudged his cheek. His head bolted up, ears back, and about to get up, but then he realized it was just her. He calmed himself down, and looked at her, "yes?" He said, she was scared, terrified even, she opened her mouth but nothing came out. Shocking herself, she forced the words out, "w-will y-you come" she stopped, why was she stuttering to much? He was still looking at her, he smiled and nuzzled her head. "I'll think about it Emily" he said, huh?! She looked up at him. "Does that mean you knew what I was gonna say?" She said, "I'm going to say, you were going to ask me to stay with you" she blushed slightly and hide her head down, and muttered a yes. He chuckled again, she loved hearing that. That damn chuckle.
He slowly started to stand up, and walk towards the grass, and started grazing. “Can I ask you something?” She said, laying her head down on the ground. “Mm?” He said, as he kept eating away, “why did you bring me here?” She questioned, she hoped he knew what she meant, he looked up at her. “My mother used to bring me here, and tell me, when I find a beautiful mare. To bring her back here, to show her something not even as beautiful as herself.” He looked up at the sky, the stars are starting to appear and the dark blue sky. “She sounds like a nice mare” Emily said, she wanted to ask where she was, or if she was even still alive. But she didn't want to push her luck on this stallion. “Mister-” she started to say, “-thank you”
“You're welcome, beautiful.”
And with that said, the start night filled with smiles, they made jokes, and played together some more. Emily, praying that this stallion will accept her invitation to join her. While he, himself contemplates what he is going to do? Whether he stays with this mare he has now given his heart to or to walk away from the mare. He watches her carefully, as if she was a newborn foal, he was in a mental war with himself. She could tell it was by his eyes, and how sometimes he would stare off into nowhere for a few minutes. This made Emily worry, but she was glad she made a friend but also a possible lover. She wants that. But does he? She and him take a nap together under a tree, him pushed up against the tree while she is a bit away. She dreamt of his answer, for if he stayed or won't. The next morning she eagerly awaited his answer.
Literature
Cycles of Revenge
Greg McFadden and Alyssa Grady live in a land divided; they live in 1970’s Ulster Northern Ireland. Greg is a Catholic and Alyssa a Protestant, and they are madly in love during a time and in a place, where there couldn’t be more hate. It is the time of The Troubles and Ireland is ripped apart. After they are are murdered, Greg is resurrected by The Crow, and with the help of the bog woman, Macha Mong Raud, he finds their killers. Characters Greg McFadden Alyssa Grady is Greg’s girlfriend The Bog-Woman Plot: William Callahan Tristin Scott Writing: William Callahan Tristin Scott Jack Danya Kemplin Artist: (artist) Lettering: (letterer) Edited by: Jack Danya Kemplin The Crow™ © 2016 James O’Barr (under exclusive license to Top Dollar Comics, Inc and Crowvision, Inc.) The Crow™ and “THE CROW”, The Original Motion Picture © 1994 Crowvision, Inc. All rights reserved. Any similarities between characters, names, and/or institutions, living or dead (or undead) is purely coincidental, but for instances of satire, and should not be inferred. This is a work of fanfiction, no part of it may ever be printed or sold without permission of Crowvision, Inc. PAGE 1 The first three panels seamlessly merged together, side by side, to form a montage. Panel 1: Two cavemen fighting. CAPTION Since the beginning of time mankind has been fighting one another Over petty differences Panel 2: Iron Age Irish armies clash in battle on the moors, one lead by a female queen, Macha Mong Raud. CAPTION Over who has more power over who Panel 3: A dirty, crumbling city in 1970’s Ireland, two opposing neighbourhoods try to take cover behind trash cans, dumpsters, and the steps and windows of their buildings which face each other across the road; they take cover as they also shoot at one another and throw molotov cocktails. CAPTION And even out of ennui Panel 4: Straight-on view: A young man, his body hidden behind a dumpster, has risen his head and rifle, and takes aim; in its sights can be seen two other young men, brothers, across the street, one, the eldest, with his own gun aimed towards this shooter, the younger brother hiding behind a trash can lid, holding a molotov. Panel 5: Side view: The older brother, hit with gunfire, flies backwards into the brick wall of their apartment. The younger brother, tears streaming down his face, his mouth contorted in rage, tosses the molotov cocktail. YOUNGER BROTHER That was my brother, you Orangie! Panel 6: The Molotov shatters behind the dumpster, it’s alcohol dousing and igniting on the shooter and the others crouched with him, their skin boiling as they scream in agony. CAPTION This in return causes others to strike back in endless cycles of revenge PAGE 2 Panel 1: Long horizontal panel: The Crow flies across time, across battles, as the warriors of Macha clashing on the rolling moors becomes the men of the 1970's fighting amongst the rotting city. CAPTION Since time immemorial men have been warring, turning rolling hills and cities into battlefields And always accompanying those battles has been The Crow Panel 2: Close-up: The young brother stands there, both shaking in anger over what was done to his brother, as well as in horror over what he just did, and in fear that he will be next to die; tears still streaming down his face, his mouth still contorted in anger and anguish, and in his eyes can be seen the flaming bloodbath across the street, while behind him lies the dead body of his brother. CAPTION Feasting on the thirst for vengeance Living on the carrion carcasses of the dead. PAGE 3 Panel 1: Birds-Eye-View: The Crow circles above as the battle in the streets continues. On a street cutting across near the top, to the right of the main dividing street, a man (Greg) is walking down the sidewalk, a black car pulling up beside him. CAPTION This time the battle is in Ulster, Ireland, and the year is 1970 It is a time dubbed, “The Troubles” Panel 2: A young man, greg, is running towards the viewer, running in a dark, dirty street, he is almost silhouetted by the bright yellow headlights of the car racing after him. CAPTION when Irishmen kill Irishmen in the streets Panel 3: The black car pulls up to a bog. CAPTION All over what version of Christianity each follows Panel 4: Several men pull out of the trunk of the car, the bloody and broken dead body of greg. CAPTION And over whether they wish to be part of a Panel 5: And throw the body into a bog. CAPTION United Kingdom or an independent Ireland Panel 6: It sinks, slowly getting covered by the brown muck. PAGE 4 Panel 1: Protestants destroying Catholic statues and reliquaries during The Reformation; transitioning into a battle in the Thirty-Year War. CAPTION But then again, is any of this new? For have not Christians fought Christians before Panel 2: A battle in The American Revolution. CAPTION Nations fought for independence before Panel 3: The Iron Age battle of Macha Mong Raud. CAPTION And Irishmen fought Irishmen before Panel 4: An endless landscape of lush, green, marshy bog-lands; in the left foreground stands the young and beautiful figure of the Phantom Queen Macha Mong Raud, The Crow perched on her outstretched hand. CAPTION The Crow remembers For The Crow was always there PAGE 5 Panel 1: An endless landscape of marshy bog-lands; in the left foreground stands the withered brown, wrinkly, half rotted figure of a reanimated Bog-Woman, The Crow perched on her outstretched hand. BOG-WOMAN Fly, oh spirit, and may this tortured soul find its way back Panel 2: The Crow flies deeper into the landscape. Panel 3: It lands on what at first glance should look like a lump of rocks. BOG-WOMAN (Off Panel) What have you found here, my little friend? Panel 4: Close up on the thing which The Crow is standing on, it is in actuality, the mud covered head and shoulder of Greg’s body. Panel 5: Red light shines from Greg’s eye sockets, his mouth opens, his neck twists as his head looks up at the Bog-Woman who now stands before him, and his arm rises out of the mud; The Crow still perched on his head. BOG-WOMAN Yes, yes, rise! You have been blessed with the Eternal Power Of The Crow. PAGE 6 Panel 1: Greg’s corpse strains as he pulls at the quagmire, slowly working himself out of the mud, his eyes still glowing red, his body shaking in agony; The Crow still atop his head. GREG Nooooo!!!!! Alyssa! Panel 2: He strains as he struggles against the water and the peat, strains as he tries to rise; his body slowly starting to heal. GREG Where am I?! Panel 3: Greg has almost completely risen out of the muck, his body still straining against the last sticky bits as he looks more and more alive. The Crow leaps from Greg’s head, into the air. GREG What happened?! Panel 4: The Crow lands back on the arm of The Bog-Woman, as she stands before Greg, his red eyes having faded to their normal colour, his body looking almost alive. BOG-WOMAN Yes, I know, it hurts PAGE 7 Panel 1: Greg’s-Point-of-View: Vision blurred, The Bog-Woman, in all her grotesqueness stands, The Crow and her looking straight at us. THE CROW Welcome to the family, kid. Panel 2: Greg falls backwards in horror, falling back into the bog. GREG Get away from me you hag! Panel 3: The Bog-Woman looks on with a smirk as Greg tries to scurry away on his hands, causing himself to again sink into the muck. BOG-WOMAN Hag? Moments ago you didn’t look much better than me. Look at yourself, boy, remember what happened... Panel 4: Greg stares at his hands. PAGE 8 Panel 1: A young man, greg, is running towards the viewer, running in a dark, dirty street, he is almost silhouetted by the bright yellow headlights of the car racing after him. Panel 2: He is struck by the car. Panel 3: Greg still sits in the bog, still gazing at his hands. GREG They...they killed me... Panel 4: The Crow now sits on the Bog-Woman’s shoulder as she grasps Greg’s hand. THE CROW Bingo, boy. BOG-WOMAN Yes, now here, have a helping hand. PAGE 9 Panel 1: The Bog-Woman now sits on a stump, as Greg sits on a rock across from her; her intently looking at him, as he just looks to the ground in shock. GREG They killed me… BOG-WOMAN Yes, they did. Now deary, tell us what happened? Panel 2: Greg walks down the street in the dark and dirty city, him clutching his trench coat as the cold wind blows against him. GREG I was walking down the street, it was night time. Panel 3: An idealised portrait of Alyssa, shimmering in smoky light. GREG I was going to see my girlfriend...Alyssa… Panel 4: Alyssa looking down in horror from a second floor window. GREG My God, Alyssa! THE CROW Don’t get too hung up on her BOG-WOMAN What happened next? Panel 5: A black car, full of men, ranging from late teens to late 50’s, pulls up next to Greg as he walks. GREG This car pulled up next to me PAGE 10 Panel 1: Description DRIVER You lost, pal? Need a lift? My friends and I could drop you off somewhere. GREG No thanks, I'm almost where I need to be. Panel 2: Description DRIVER Aye, but with all these...Troubles...as of late, you can’t be too careful, y’never know who could be roaming the streets, better to be safe. GREG I’ll be fine Panel 3: Description DRIVER Will ya now? You know, I know everyone in this neighborhood and everyone knows me, and I know that you’re not from around here, and that’s a dangerous thing to be walking around in this neighborhood Panel 4: Description GREG I’m not looking for trouble, sir. Panel 5: Description DRIVER Aye, but troubling times is what we are in, and I’m afraid trouble is what you could find yourself in. Panel 6: Description GREG What’s this about? PAGE # Panel #: Description PASSENGER Come on, let’s show this Taig some manners! Panel #: Description DRIVER You a Taig? GREG Please leave me be Panel #: Description DRIVER I asked if you were Catholic?! Panel #: Description GREG I said, please leave me be! DRIVER Oh, I’m afraid that sounds like a “yes”, lad PASSENGER Why we wasting time?! Let’s kill this Papist! Panel #: Description DRIVER And you know what we do to Taigs in this neighborhood Panel #: Description GREG Please, sir, I have nothing against Protestants Panel #: Description DRIVER Too bad we have something against you The poet makes a break for the alleyway. just as he makes half way the car starts speeding after him and just as he makes it to the outside of the alleyway he is struck down by the car and is pummeled face first to the ground he looks and sees a police officer he weakly extends his hand The poet: (faintly) help... driver: YOU WANT NONE OF THIS CLEAR OFF!!! the officer running away in the reflection of the poet's eyes The driver grabs the poet by the hair a silhouette of the poet getting his throat slit BOG-WOMAN Sounds like those men were looking for a soul to reap, and unfortunately for you my friend, it looks like they found their soul. Too bad for them that Mamma Death found you, and now it is your time to reap. The crow: another soul claimed on the streets of this country divided, so many have been lost to this conflict that no one seems to notice anymore. The slane just fill up space in the obituaries these days. The poet walks out to the street and looks around The poet: wow here it is that same street and it’s almost as if I’m a Spector wandering the same sorrowful spot where his flesh and sole parted ways. And would you looks at that it’s that same car as though it were doomed to haunt these dwellings. Doomed with me a ghost a ghost with unfinished business. The black car pulls up next to the poet and roles its window down it’s the same driver as before but on his driver: well mate you look like you’re on your way to a funeral The poet: I’m just back from one driver: say you look awfully familiar are you from around heir The poet: I’m not I’m lost in fact would you mind giving me a lift driver: I was just about to subject that. Hope right in The poet: thank you sir. (while entering the car) The poet(internal monologue) it was bizarre how the driver didn’t recognize me. Perhaps the idea of a real life revenant was to impossible for his brain to consider, maybe he didn’t actually get a good look at me in such dim light. Or maybe he has done this so often that he forgets faces. The victims of cold blooded killings become so numerous that they just as easily get lost in a sea of victims. driver: so where is it I’m taking you? The poet: at the very end of the street. Turn right then turn left at the end of that street driver: no bar mate it’s a good job I saw you cause these streets.... The poet: art safe to walk about especially If you’re on your own driver: aye it’s not that you would be looking for trouble....... The poet: it’s just that trouble might find you driver: That’s right. You sure I don’t know you you look just like someone I’ve met recently The poet: I depends who it that I look like is driver: can’t say... The poet: huh that’s very interesting. Come to think of it I recognize you The poet notes a gun in the front seat as they drive around he noted the glint of a machete driver: oh is that right where from? The poet: funnily enough this very street driver: (sharply) When? The poet: why just the other night my friend driver: Oh is that right, who are you then The poet: lets see if this can get the gears turning in your head. See I was interested in body modification you see. And your friend let me get one free of charge, though Instead of a piercing (pulling down the scarf on his neck to revel the scar) he gave me a laceration I’m not quite happy with the results could I have a refund. driver: (reaching for the gun) no bother Before he can turn the gun on the poet he stabs through him with the machete through the driver’s seat driver: AHHHH WHAT THE FUCK! The car comes to a screeching halt and the poet picks up the gun. The poet :( pointing gun at his head) tell me where's the others driver: fuck you The poet twists the machete driver: GAHH FUCK! Robinson hangs around the old loyal. The boss iv no idea where he is and what he does. The poet: Well would you look at that. This little slug thrower of yours, why it's the most powerful handgun in the world if I remember correctly, I’d ask if you felt lucky though I’m quite confident its fully loaded so I’d advise you to start answering me or else I'll blow your head clean off. driver: I SWEAR I DON’T KNOW! But Robinson might know he's going to be in the old loyal at 10:30 tomorrow The poet: well thank you for your help, say where are the other bullets for this iron you got, the streets are awfully dangerous. Never know when trouble might find me. The driver gestures to the glove compartment. And the poet leans into the front of the car and grabs bullets from the glove compartment. driver: please don’t kill me I was only doing what the boss was paying me to do. The poet: you think the slaughter of innocents is a reputable profession. Well ser The poet exists the car The poet: your job Is over master of the dead so I give you your wage paid in led The poet fires 3 shots into the car The poet sees a small child who approaches him from behind he crouches down and to speak to the child The poet: What are you doing here. At such an hour. Don’t you see that the streets are ablaze with a cleansing fire. It’s not safe to roam these streets, run along home little one. The poet begins walking to the Scene of the crime and notes that there is a tent covering the crime scene two men exit the tent and a lone police officer is left to guard the scene, he notes it’s the same officer who ran away on the night he was killed. Cut to the officer walking into the tent who is shocked by the arrival of the poet The poet: hello officer why do I see you here you guarding the dead while you fail to guard the living. John finn: members of the public are not otherised on this site of a crime scene you need to leave The poet: im not leaving until I’ve had a quick word with you. John Finn: who on earth do you think you are The poet: look in to my eyes, think back to two nights ago and remember your cowards Cut to a flash where we see the poet reaching out for help John finn: oh my god that’s impossible The poet: impossible is standing right in front of you and judging by the man with a blade and 3 holes Line his chest, impossible is doing a better job at removing the murders from the streets then you are. John finn: you did this? (Reaches for hand cuffs) your coming with me The poet: oh so you cower when you see a man brutally murdered but then you feel the need to slap a pair of handcuffs on a ghost john finn: you don’t understand. The poet: please explain to me because a police officer not stopping criminals does not make a lick of scene. John finn: I could have pulled my gun on those bastered I had every legal right to put them down right then and there. The poet: then why didn’t you? John finn: to protect my family, you never know if your fellow officers are like me or if there in an organization, if they have connections to those Basterds Life i had have shot him there would have been no doubt it would make its way back to them and lord knows what they would do if they knew i shot one of there men. They are already suspicious of me. The poet: whys that John finn: because I'm a Catholic. The poet: then why did you join the RUC? John finn: Because i wanted to look out for my community. i thought that if i joined then there would be someone how was looking out for my community. But unfortunately my own people didn’t see it that way. When I joined up I was viewed as a traitor by Republicans, and with suspicion from my fellow officers. The poet: if that’s the case then why don’t you quit John finn: I don’t know I guess i feel like there's still some good I can do. There are men like me who just want to help in the force but right now were being held back by the ones who aren't interested in being a police officer because they want to protect people. The poet: let me ask you something do you want to see the red hand reapers off the streets John finn: more than anything else I would. Then poet: good then all you have to do is stay out of my way to many people have lost there lives because of them. And im going to get rid of them. For good. john finn: (existing the tent) well I hope you do. The poet: one last question for you Sean Quinn: what’s that? The poet: what’s your name. John finn: My names john finn The poet: look after yourself John The poet exits the tent And begins walking down the road The poet enters a naborhood where the union jacks end and the tri coulrs begin the poet turns a corner and enters a corner shop Shopkeeper: oh for the hero free of charge The poet: what do you mean the hero? Shopkeeper: word spreads fast in this part of town and round heir we have lived in fear of the reapers you so long we’re glad someone’s taking care of them The poet exits the store and walks a little farther till he reaches what was his house in life he lifts the door matt and finds the key he left there and enters the house he looks around to find that most of his belongings have been put in boxes his give a look of sadness he begins rummaging around the boxes in search looks through a couple of boxes and finally finds a radio he takes it out and begins playing music. The poet: I’m gonna miss this place. The poet begins exploring hos house the hole he looks both at peace but confused he is happy to be in the house but he almost doesn’t recognize the house as everything that made the house his has been packed away in boxes save for a the furniture he goose up the stairs and notes the outlines of picture frames that have been taken down he smiles. The poet: the hose has been stripped of everything that made it a home. The outlines of old picture frames the walls bare the ghost of my presence. Walls that used to bare warm memories of the past memories that were supposed to last. Now only to be replaced with someone elses life rearranged as if it was never mine. And the contents of my house to be shared Peace of my past become part of my loved ones present little trinkets and mementos that hold memories of who I was. You don’t see eny of that when you kill a man, its very rare when eny of them ever really get a look at the life they destroyed. The poet looks down with an expression of rage Ill be there harsh reminder. News caster: hello and thank you for tuning in to bbc radio ulster this just in a man in a black car who was murdered late last night has been identified as one of the red hand reapers. witnesses are unsure of the identity of his assailant. The poet (internal monolog) its strange she would congratulate me for killing someone I guess that’s the kind of fear they lived under that there glad one of them is gone. It’s sad whenever it gets to a point when death brings someone joy. The poet (internal monologue) in life I was an artist and a poet rather fitting that that’s the name the media should dub me with this extra time I may as well put out a couple last creative works. Cut to later on in the night when the poet is making his way to the old loyal bar just he stops to spray something on the wall with a stencil. As he is spraying a young boy spots him The poet: hello Seamus: holy shit are you the man that killed one of the red hand reapers? The poet: haha one I plan to kill all of them Seamus: yeah you should kill every last one of those bastered huns The poet looks down with an expression of mild concern The poet: I’m only here for the bad men. here take a look at what iv sprayed on the wall Seamus: um okay The poet: do you read the bible? Seamus: no I’m bored to tears at mass why would I The poet: haha well neither do I but I know of this one passaged I saw in a play once that iv always remembered The buy pulls the stencil off the wall The poet: take away these harts of stone and give us harts of flesh Seamus: what does it mean? The poet: well what do you think it means? Seamus: I don’t know I guess it has something to do with empathy? The poet: exactly! Life has not exactly been kind has it? No so are harts grow hard and cold. We lose empathy become numb. But when you look inside when you find your hart of flesh. you realise that not everyone’s as bad as you think. Seamus: well I hope you get rid of the reapers those men defiantly don’t deserve empathy The poet: no not anyone’s, I give you my word I will get rid of them Cut to 10:30 at night at the old loyal bar John Robinson enters and talks to the bar tender Bartender: well I heard about Jackson sorry for your loss how are you feeling Robinson: surviving, I just hope that the boss finds a replacement, Christ I with him gone its left me with know one. Human to talk to you know that boss of mine hes a not right in the head. Bartender: aye I know im always on edge when that fella comes in, what is it your having? Robenson: erm pint of bas please. Bartender: here this first ones on the house Robenson: cheers. (takes a sip) Robenson: You know what his problem is, Bartender: whats that? Robinson: he likes it to much that’s what, see its not supposed to be a fun job. The whole idea of what we’re doing is to send a message to the republicans show them it’s not safe for them to enter this neighborhood. Bartender: do you think its worked? Robenson: well they haven’t attacked us here yet that’s for sure. Knowing the things I’ve done It makes it hard to sleep at night. But I take a little solace in the fact that my wife and daughter can. A man and a young teen walk into the bar they are unfamiliar to the rest of the customers They walk up to the bar man Older man: well we just need to use your bathroom then we will be out of your hair Bartender: that’s no bother mate go right on ahead. They leave for the bathroom. Robenson: they don’t look like their from around here Bartender: noo they don’t. keep a wee eye on them for me will you Robenson: no bother. The bartender walks out of the bar into the back he sets an empty keg outside and puts it next to other empty kegs he turns to note the poet standing in front of him The poet: hello humble tavern owner Bartender: holly shit you’re the man who killed Jackson The poet: then you will obviously know I’m here to kill john robenson but I wish to talk to him first tell him that death is waiting to have a word with him Cut back to the inside of the bar where we see Robinson contemplating his actions then suddenly the two men that walked in have burst out of the bathroom and are holding revolvers in this moment Robinson jumps over the bar and runs out into the back he bursts out the back door and just as he starts running he is shot in both kneecaps by the poet He pulls him by the back of his coat and sets him up against the wall. Cut to the inside of the bar and the ira have burst in spraying the customers with machine guns Cut back to outside and we see the poet and the bartender note the gun fire The poet looks at robenson The poet: don’t go anywhere. The poet runs inside the bar all the customer’s have either escaped or have been shot dead. One of the ira squamembers note the poet from the news paper articals Ira member1: well look whos here to hel… The poet shoots him before he can finisher The rest of the squad now registering that the poet is not an ally To poet manages to kill one other squad member in the moment the rest are held by shock The other opens fire with a machine gun but the poet ducks under the bar He walks over to cheek if the poet is dead in he points his gun over the bar then the poet grabs onto the barrel pulls him closer and cuts his thought. He vaults over the bar now using the dead cotton face as a human shield the last remaining cotton face holds fires at the meat shield but the poet fires the remaining two shots into the last cotton face. He shoves the remaining cotton faces body to the ground turns around and the teen that had walked in is pointing the revolver in the poets face. Peter: put the gun down The poet smiles The poet: shore thing sheriff I suppose your gona want to be killing me Peter: isn’t that obvious The poet: well you seem to be holding it off you don’t seem like you have the guts to shoot me Peter: I do and I will The poet: then do it already ohh look that guns doing a lot of trembling it’s a good thing you have me at point black rang you would probably miss if you didn’t. (BANG) The poet drops to the floor pretending to be dead The poet;( internal monologue) this is not this boys decision it was the cotton faces they have pushed him into it this. So this shall be a lesson for the young boy Ill get up in a moment, but I want to wait, wait long enough till he realizes what he has done, and that sick feeling reaches the pit of his stomach Peter: (timidly) oh god The poet then gets up and peter looks positively terrified the gun shot wond in hes head heals up and pushes the bullet back out of his foor head. He catches it in his hand and gives it to the boy Peter: (takeing a short moment still in shock) wwwhat are you? The poet: just an eco of a man that some fue people thought they could forget, Now that didn’t feel very good now did it, how do you think you would have felt if I didn’t get back up Peter: I don’t know The poet: why are you heir? Peter: To kill John Robinson The poet: Oh don’t you worry about him he has hell to pay with me and me alone, but I want to know why you are her why you have fallen in with the cotton faces? Peter: my father. My father was killed by the red hand reapers The poet: so you took up arms Peter: I have to do my part to stop people like this The poet: so lets get this strate a boy who’s father was murdered takes up arms and becomes a murderer himself. You ever consider what might happen let’s say the next person you try to kill is a father and then his sun swears a similar vendetta. He kills and another father dies and we then have another vengeful solder, sons killing fathers killing sons the violence is justified as a retaliation to violence which in turns creates more violence. And thus the cycle of vengeance continues untill we all forget why we wanted each other dead. Peter: what do you want me to do The poet: isn’t it obvious? Break the cycle Peter: what if that doesn’t work? The poet: hay its better then then contributing to the problem, when enuff people deside they no longer want to be part of this they will fallow suit. Things will get better Peter: and what do I do unill then The poet: all we can really do is hope. Instilling the same fear you have for your community in there’s is only gona serve to further entrench there views Peter: I guse your right The poet puts his hand on his shoulder The poet: good go get ye home if you care for your mother you will know she doesn’t need a solder, right now she needs a son. Peter: in the interest of breaking the cycle I was supposed to meat an American he was supposed to be selling weapons I was supposed to meet him on the falls road at 1:30 tomarow morning. Look for the car with the registration number M200111 The poet: thanks for telling me ill be having words with him Peter begins to walk out Peter: hay? Switch to a panel with a good veiw of the dead ira men with the poet and peter in frame Peter: do you think eny of these men were fathers The poets face gose blank for a moment And peter walks out of the tavern The poet gets up and goes out the back to where the barman try’s to tend to john Robinsons wounds he pulls a knife on the poet Bartender: listen here you freak you get the fuck away or ill.. Robinson: (interrupting) just get out of here. Its me he wants The bartender looks at the poet and back at robenson Robinson: look there’s nothing that’s gona stop him im already a Deadman SO JUST GO. The bartender looks down, drops the knife and runs away. The poet: now you know what I want to know. And you know what im going to do. Tell me what I need to know and ill make this easy for you. Robinson: my boss his habit’s are irregular but he spends most of his time in his office outside Belfast im supposed to be meeting him on Tuesday there at 5 (as he is talking the poet is reloading his revolver) …. H h how the fuck are you still alive The poet: I guess you could say I live to spite reality Robinson: look I know I know iv done some bad things I just I just need you to know I was only trying to prote…. The poet:(interrupting) no ill not heir this, not from you, I’m so sorry for what the world has made you. But you? you do not have my pity (The poet puts the gun to his for head) Nor will you have my mercy. (bang) the crow then comes and fly’s to the poets shoulder the poet walks back into the old loyal he grabs his knife and walks over to the bodies of the dead cotton face and begins to cut into his chest The poet: ill leave this here as a little message The crow: don’t stray to far from the path boy The poet: don’t be silly of course not we only have one more The crow: that’s right one more and were gone. Don’t get to involved The poet: what do you mean they were killers they had to be put down? The crow: I know but you still need to be carful. The poet: why The crow: because who ever fights monsters sees to it that they don’t become a monster in the process The crow and the poet walk off into the night Cut to Robert comins Just getting up from his bed ancering his phone Robert: what do you want its one in the morning? Phone caller: its robenson hes.. been Robert: they got him to didn’t they FOR FUCK SAKE. Ill fuckin deal with this in the morning Slams the phone down Roberts wife: what was that? Robert: one of the boys got killed again tonight. Now iv to find TWO replacements Roberts wife. Oh im so sorry to heir that ill miss robenson he was a nice man Robert: I didn’t fucken pay him to be nice just go back to bed Roberts wife: oh good night Robert: yeah Roberts wife: Robert? Robert:what now Roberts wife: im worried about you Robert: (turning in his bed to face his wife) the next person to get in my why that’s who should be fucken worried. Robert gose back to sleep and we can see in his head he is dreaming that he is walking down the stars everything is a grey hue almost completely devoid of color. He approaches the front door. They sky is purple it is the early morning darkness. He sees crows flock to his front garden perching on the garden wall and the fences. He sees the dark shroud of the poet his out line is to dark to make out the fetchers other than his signature outfit. Robert: (directed to the dream fantasim) what are you? The poet: I am the repo man iv come for the souls you have stolen. Robert: im not afraid of you. The poet: you should be im coming im an inevitability Robert: you can’t hurt me. This is only a dream. The poet: (walking closer to Robert) To a dream that was dreamed in the heart, and that only the heart could veiw. O wise man, riddle me this: what if the dream comes true? The poet snaps his fingers and Robert is engulfed in flames then is sudenly woken hyperventilating he puts his hand over his face and poses in a manner that invokes Michelangelo's the dammed man he looks to his window and sees a crow perched on his window sill that fly’s away as soon as it catches his notice Cut to the morning after with the police Police officer: well what can we gather from this little art display Detective G ennis: well we know one thing for dam sure, are friend the poet certainly isn’t a ra head Cut to a view of a dead ira man tied to a post with his eyes gauged out and a Chelsea grin cut into his cheeks with the poem etched into his chest that reads "be carful who you cross they could be in any place you could end up gone without a trace if you offend a cotton face" Cut to petter walking down the street when he notes the same kid who was spraying on the walls sat on his doorstep crying Peter: hay Seamus what’s wrong Seamus: my da was killed Peter: oh im soo sorry to hei..... Seamus mother comes to the door tears streaming down her face Seamus mother: come on back inside Seamus. She shoots a look at peter he looks away and just starts walking further down the street He walks further into town and passes an armored vehicle guarded by two British solders the solders start harassing him the walk along the begin to fallow him down the street Solder one: where are you going Peter: none of your business Solder two: yeah it is you could be going anywhere Peter: I'm going home It’s in this moment we see that in the front pocket of his jacket he has a revolver that he is internally threatening to pull out of his pocket Solder one: And where do you live? Peter: that’s non of your business Solder two: oh yes it is what if you’re in the IRA Peter: I’m not Solder one: well we will just have to see about that. Get on the ground were gona halve to do a search Peter continues on his way Solder One: oye I told you to stop Peter stops when he heirs the click of the solders rifle He stops and puts his hand on his head an knees. Solder two: ill search him The solder then begins patting him down Solder one: if you find anything make sure to say so if you find a wepon ill blow his brains out. The solder is almost about to reach down to the poket with the revolver when the poet shows up The poet: Gentlemen! is that really standard procedure Bolth the solders are shocked solder two takes one look at the poet and runs away Solder two: fuck that Solder one: oye get back ere or ill have you cortmarshaled! The solder notes the poet walking towards him and opens fire As the solder continues firing the poet keeps walking seemingly un fazed by the bullets by the time the poet gets all the way up to the solder he is out of bullets he grabs the front grip of his rifle and pulls it off of him The poet then looks down at his waist coat that is riddled with holes and looks up back at the solder with an angry expression The poet: you ruined my waist coat. the solder then runs away The poet: well that was a lucky escape for you ill be taking that iron off you by the way Peter: how the hell did you know… The poet: I wasn’t born yesterday. I assumed you would have the scene to get rid of it by now Peter: well you know what they say assume makes an ass out of you and me. The poet: yeah smart arse now hand it over already. So that’s you done. Peter: yeah I will find justice for my father but another way. The poet: I’m glad to hear that, just don’t go back to the ways of the gun, or else you will have me to ancer to The poet pats peter on the back The poet: you’re a good lad don’t taint yourself like to many already have The poet continues down the street and is suddenly surprised by john finn John: Jesus merry and Saint Joseph you’re the most wanted man in the city and you’re walking around in broad daylight! The poet: I don’t know if you’re aware but it’s not like I can be hurt. John: aye but you still need to watch yourself you’re not exactly the hard to spot when its bright out, anyway I’m glad that I got the chance to speak to you. I wanted to tell you that I was sorry I ran away when I could have helped you. The poet: Hay hay you were right to worry I know your situation must bee hard. I don’t want this to be waying on your conscience so I want you to know that I forgive you. John: thank you, I hope I get the chance to help… He is interrupted by is radio Radio: Yo john look we know your off duty but we could really use a hand with this call were on can you meat us at the station John: aye no bother, ill be 10 mins over and out The poet: That might just be your chance to help ill catch you around sheriff. Cut to a detectives office Second detective: well are you getting anywhere with this poet charictor Detective g Ennis: well iv got one crazy theory Second detective: how crazy? Detective g ennis: you might wanna sit down. The second detective sits down Detective g ennis: Well having a good look at this poet character I and the closest mach I could find was this fella here The second detective gets a closer look Deteciiitive g ennis: only one issue Second detective: whats that Detective g ennis: he’s dead. He was the latest victim of the red hand reapers The second detective says nothing and just gives detective g ennis a funny look Detective g ennis: see you look at me funny but iv been doing I found there’s a fue similar cases all over the place where someone gets brutalized then sometime latter someone shows up and takes out the elged perpetrators. There was even a cace in Detroit where two police officers saw one of these punishers in action and saw him practically absorb bullets from all directions and didn’t even flinch Second detective: (rasses eyebrow) bullet prove vest Detective g Ennis: apparently he wasn’t even wherein a shirt Second detective: awk come-on don’t tell me were dealing with some kind of vampire. Detective g ennis: hay all im saying is it’s a little odd that he looks just like this fella who was killed by the reapers and not even 2 days after he dies a guy who looks just like him takes out 2 of the red hand reapers. Second detective: I think that idea belongs in a shit comic book and not as part of an official investigation. It could be eny number of things it could be a twin brother or just some guy who happens to look similar to this dead guy. Ither way you need to get your head in reality and out of your arse Cut to the poet in his house agein sat on his couch listening to the radio and writing in has note book The poet: one last chance to me creative and I shall use my creativity to write a deceleration The crow fly’s to the windowsill The crow: you’re getting distracted The poet: sorry can’t help but use a little of my extra time to appreciate the stuff I had. The crow: that’s all well and good but while you’re doing this the last tainted soul is still rooming the street The poet: ill put a stop to that don’t you worry The crow: You better The radio: hello and welcome to the news there’s been a tragic bombing on a police car that has claimed the life of police constable John Finn. Members of the Provisional I,R,A, have taken responsibility The poet takes a deep breath He starts pacing back and forth The crow: don’t you dare do what I think you’re going to do. The poet: IM HERE TO KILL KILLERS ARNT I! The poet storms out the door Cut to Peter Sheehan’s house where he’s walking into the living room with a cup of tea for himself and his mother he walks in and his mother is sat on a chair looking through an album of the family. Peter: carful the tea is hot Peters mother: oh thanks love you didn’t put sugar in it did you Peter: no no Peters mother: good lad She points to a photo of peters father teaching him to play football Peters mother: awk look at this one that was this first time you ever played you father came home with a ball and you and him just spent the whole day in the back garden kicking the football around. Peter: aye I remember that. That was a week before I started going to practice. Peter’s mother: aye he took you to training every week and after you would get something from the local chippy as a reward. Peters mother: and then when you finally one a trophy he let you drink coca cola from it like a glass They both laugh then peters mother lets out a sorrowful sigh Peters mother: how are we gona get on without him Peter gives his mother a hug then in that moment there a loud nock at the door They both look with concern Peters mother: that’s not one of those boys is it Peter: ill half to cheek Peter grabs his mother by the hands Peter: I need you to go up the stairs for me Peters mother looks down then looks at her suns eyes Peters mum: if already lost a husband, please don’t deprive me of a son Peter: I won’t mum I promise Peter goes to ancer the door to find the poet drenched in rain water The poet: I need to tell me who your district commander was NOW! Peter: my district commander? I don’t do that anymore The poet: I know you don’t but I need to know who he is he dies tonight Peter: why The poet: where you not listening to the radio a good man was killed tonight Peter: no one can be a good man wherein an ruc uniform The poet: Are you listening to what your saying! Look I know the police have done harm to your community but this man he was he was A catholic just trying to do his bit to help his people. The same as you Peter: he was nothing like me The poet: He was everything like you. He was a man who feared for the wellbeing of his people and took action to protect it the only difference between you and him was the choice of outfit. You can stand her and ague with me over who wheres the right uniform but it won’t change the fact that im going to kill the man who is responsible for this. Peter: his name is his name is martin Collins his address is 129 on the falls road. The poet: dose he live alone Peter: yes The poet: good. Does he have a second in command? Peter: aye hes a man called emon McGreevy he lives in a flat The poet: thank you. I’m so sorry I had to come at this hour this will be the last you see of me out side of the radio and the papers At that moment peters mum comes down the stars to see the poet Peters mum: you.. You’re the man who killed the two of the red hand reapers. Peter: he is and he was just leaving. Peter closes the door on the poet Cut to the house of marten Collins He is sitting at his desk on the desk on the desk he has a breaf case and he is reading a book and heirs a nocking at the door. Martin: hello hose there He heirs no response Martin: hello? No response Martin sighs he gets up to ancer the door opens it but sees nothing but darkens He turns around to see that his windows are wide open And the poets sitting on the desk The poet: commander Marty: wow id almost say it was an honor to meet the man who’s decimating the reapers if it wasn’t for the fact that you have killed a whole squad of my men The poet: well I wouldn’t be saying it’s a pleasure to meet you at all its because of your men that a good man dyed tonight Marten trys to walk forward but the poet pulls a gun on him The poet: that’s far enuff, take a seat Marten: so who is it that iv killed. The poet: an police man called john fin Marten: well boho maby if he hadn’t have joind the police he would still be walking aroud The poet: so apparently we deserved to die Marten: its not my fault he was wherein the wrong uniform The poet: you see that’s the problem with you people. Your trying to kill uniforms when you can only kill people. Marten: oh fuck up it’s a war and people die im sorry but he was on the enamys side and that’s just what happens The poet leans over the desk The poet: well at the very least at least he wore his uniform at least he didn’t need to where a mask he did his job 24/7 and what about you you wore a mask when your not fighting you get to blend into the crowd without anyone knowing any wiser not knowing what you are. The poet stands up and fires 2 rounds into his legs while he is holds the wounds in his legs he screams and the poet walks over and kneels down and is now face to face with martin The poet: do you know what you are? You’re a cotton face wherein a mask of flesh. He grabs his hand and sip ties it to the arm of the chair He walks over to the other arm and dose the same The poet: this this is your true face He slips a balaclava over his face He stands in front of him and reaches into his pocket an grabs a needle and thread The poet: and its this face that will be the one they will find you with. Cut to the poet walking out of the house of martin Collins He walks down the street he pulls another letter out of his pocket and puts it in a letter box The crow flies to his shoulder The crow: what’s that? The poet: an invitation to the party tomorrow night Cut to a man walking towards a car he’s looking around to cheek if anyone is watching him He gets into the car and turns to find the poet sitting in the passenger seat The poet: so judging by the guns and amma in the trunk I dobt you’re here for the golf He freaks out and puts a colt 1911 under his chin American: GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY CAR! The American fires off around but the poet appears un fazed by it The Poet: That wont do you any good lad the American fires off another round it just goose right through the top of his head with seemingly no reaction from the poet The American the begins unloading more rounds into the poet The poet swipes the gun from the American The poet: Christ and 12 apostles! What part of I don’t die do you not understand. You don’t belong here. American looking in dumb founded aw The poet: where do you get off selling guns to terrorists are you just that useless American: I’m just trying to do my part The poet: what the fuck do you mean doing your part American: to free Ireland (he pulls down the sun guard to reveal a black and white photo of a man wherein Easter rising regalia) im fallowing in the footsteps of my great grandfather he fought in the Easter rising. I’m just doing my part to help my people The poet: what the hell do you mean your people? You don’t live here you haven’t a notion of the reality of this place and this struggle it’s not like how it was back then. Back then people knew when to fight and when not to do you know what the people you are selling guns to just did. They just walked into a pub with automatics and sprayed the place they murdered innocent people. Don’t get confused these men are not “freedom fighter’s” there men who are scared for their people who have been misguided into murder. So what you need to do is leave your lucky to have a life now go home and live it. The town has enough solders. American: and what if I decide to stay? The poet: hay you can either go home or I kill you right here you prity much only have one option. American: so what do you want me to do with all the weapons in the trunk The poet: I’ll take them I have a use for some ill dispose of the rest. Please show mw what armorments you have The American and the poet get out of the car and go back to the boot for the poet to look at what weapons the American opens the boot of the car American: this is the armalight ar 180 these wore produced for poorer country’s who couldn’t afford ar 15s the company actually recommended that they buy old screwing machines and gery rig them to make rifle parts iv got about 600 rounds of the armilite bullet The poet: what else have you got? American: well iv got some heavier artillery He lifts a canvas sheet to reveal an m60 machine gun and a flam thrower The poet: where on earth did you get all this American: well a lot of this like the armalights you can buy in a gun store and there completely legal for us citizens. The m60 and the flame thrower… not so much. Sooo now that these weapons aren’t going to the I.R.A there a little issue of payment all together this shipment is… The poet looks with a deathly glare The American claps his hand and points at the poet …free of charge! Is what I was going to say! The poet: now ill be taking this car to you go home home to America. You go and live your life the care free peaceful life you were gifted with and you don’t come back you don’t even for a moment think about here. You’re better off that way. Cut to the poet walking into his house In that moment the crow fly’s to the windowsill The crow: I cant help but notice robert comins is still breathing The poet: look around you do the guns and ammo look like im keeping these for the good of my health The crow: I see your stockpiling but I doubt all this is to kill one man The poet: ooh your very observant arnt you. The crow: well I see my warnings to stick to your mission has fallen on deaf ears, oh well. The poet: you know im getting tired of you talking in my ear bird. The poet slams the window shut. Cut too early in the morning where we see martin Collins body tied to a chair with eemon McGreevy standing holding the letter the poet gave him. He gose behind his desk and picks up the phone Emon: hello we’ve got an operation tonight you meet me in full combat gear ready go. Who says? I fucking says hes dead those derty red hand bastered got him but don’t you worry iv got there address I know where to find them ad we are doing to destroy them tonight you heir, good lad you know where you and the boyz are to rally up. Cut to Robert comins house he walks down to see an unmarked envelope he opens it to find it’s a plain white sheat that has a red crow in the senter that simply reids “this ends tonight” Robert takes in a deep breath Robert: it ends tonight dose it? It ends dose it. Who da fuck do you think you are sending threating letters to my house. ILL TELL YOU WHO FUCKING ENDS (tearing up the letter) IM GONA FUCKING END YOU YOU SLIMY LITTLE FUCKING BASTERED! Robert turns to pick up the phone Robert: that character the poet yeah he’s just sent a fucking threat to my door he is gona try and attack us. So you get everybody down to that warehouse tonight. You see that basterd for a moment and you fill him full of holes you got that! Cut to the poets house Where he continues to write his poem at his desk with copious amounts of ammunition he isn’t wherein his over coat. He turns to grab one of the armalights and unscrews the stock attaching a sling to the back. He slips the sling over his neck so the rifle hangs buy his right side he slips over a second armalight so it hands buy his left he then puts his over coat on so it conseals the bolth of them he grabs them by bolth handles and exstends then bolth out. He slips the rest of the stuff in a big duffel bag the poet:Enuff Enuff another victim crys I will not stand by I will not watch another victim die For these men of perverted morality imposing there nationality With bitter lethality Shall meat force of deadly neutrality The force to show them there subject to there mortality They will all ancer to me for iv got no contry to free iv got no ideology no one to stand beside me but I have a great anger and with one last act of violence they will be silenced so for those who stand in my way sound the alarms for tonight’s the night that the victims take arms the poet drives to Harland and wolf he gets out of his car with the duffel bag. He looks up to harlend and wolf and sees the light on Inside the control cabin Robert is talking with a new recrut Robert: you know what you’re getting into right? Recruit: yeah yeah. Robert: you think you can do then things I’m asking you to do Recrute: yes yes I can Robert: very good. It’s a dirty job and that last thing I need is someone who’s squeamish. Have you ever killed a man Recruit: no ser Robert: have you even seen a man die? Recruit: yes my brother that’s why I’m here Robert: you know they always say taking a man’s life Is one of the worst things you can do. But you will find its not as hard as you think. In that moment banging can be herd outside the control both The poet: ROOBERT! ROOOOBERT! IM HEIR FOR YOU. The poet begins walking to further to the cabin. The poet: look at you men perverse in every way, with every foulness stained, why from the earth are ye not cancelled? Such an one of yours I with romagnas darkest spirit found as for his doings even now in souk is in Cocytus plunged, Robert stands at the door and interrupting the poet Robert: and yet doth seem in body still alive upon the earth. Dante’s inferno The poet: figures you would know it. Robert stabs the poet in the chest The poet: aww Robert that shit doesn’t work on me any more The poet shoots his leg and pushes him back in the cabin And notes the recruit The poet: go home boy you want none of this The recruit runs out The poet: soo you the big leader huh The poet kicks him in the side The poet: what’s your sob story huh The poet kicks him again The poet: who fucking died and made you this The poet shoots him in the other leg Robert: FUUCK The poet grabs him by the shirt screaming at him The poet: go on tell me im all ears make it good I might even cry. Robert replies Robert: because I fucken can that’s why. The poet tilts his head Robert: because every time I’d see them leave mass id see those Catholics and id nearly puke in my mouth you made me that sick The poet looks middy stunned before he shoots him in both elbows Robert: AHHHHH YOU FILTHY CATHOLIC BASTERED! The poet picks him put and sits him on the chare He ties him to the chair And walks over to the duffel back he brought up and Robert: oh what no more little rhymes not even a little limerick? The poet: no absolutely nothing. I have no more breath in my lungs for a man like you He pulls out two Molotov cocktails and lights them and throws both of them and walks out of the control room listening to Roberts screams The poet stands at the edge of the Crain and looks at the ware house below he sees a van pull up and a squad full of cotton faces get out. And charge the building. The poet pulls the m60 out of his bag and loads the ammunition into in. takes a run up and jumps down into the building and crashes into the skylight and lands on the highest stack of crates in the warehouse for a moment the ira men and uvf men look at what’s just happened. The poet gets up and cracks all his joints picks up the m60 and rack the charging handle The poet: gentlemen! You’re just in time for the shootout. The poet opens fire indiscriminately at everyone in there where house at masked men and unmasked he mows down 15 men in his first spray he stands on top of the crates and takes shots in the arm and in the chest not flinching once The poet: NO ONE LEAVE HERE ALIVE DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME! The poet continues to mow down uvf and ira men alike they both stop shooting at each other to concentrate fire on the poet. The poet keeps his finger pressed on the trigger till the barrel starts glowing red the belt of ammunition already half its length he keeps shooting a sees that soom men running away and without thinking he mows them down finishing off the belt The poet throws the empty weapon to the floor And pulls out both armalights that were concealed in his coat and continues the fire fight The crow flies to his shoulder The crow: you have finished your mission its time to stop The poet: NOO! NOT til everyone in this building is dead The crow: boy you need to stop. The poet: do you not understand what I am! I am the chalice that holds every drop of innocent blood they have spilled I am the eco form the obituaries they have filled I’m every victim animated for their moment of revenge The ama lights run out of bullets and he throws them away and pulls out two knives …so come and get me you curs CUT ME TO PEACES MEN AND LADS STAIN ALL YOUR EDGES ON ME He started wildly stabbing the small remaining number of men in the room, …for if you write your annles true let it be known that I like a eagle in a doves cot fluttered your toy soldiers. ALONE I DID IT. The poet grabs the last man and stabs him over and over and over He stands up takes a breath notes one more men. Sees one last man standing. And points to him The poet: A plague on both your houses. Go, let them know what you saw here. The poet slowly walks out of the building to his car. The crow: so what now, solder? The poet: now, now it’s time to go. The poet goes to get into his car and begins to drive toward Belfast city cemetery. As we see him. Get into his car we see a car drive after him. Apon his arrival he gets a shovel out of the care and careys It over his shoulder he walks towards his own grave. He walks towards it. Kneels down for a moment to touch the head stone The poet: you know, I don’t feel like the man who this tombstone is dedicated to is the same man standing in front of it The poet begins digging his grave up we see the condensed progress of his digging. Once he gets to the coven he prizes the lit open. And at the sight he is greeted with he stands up and looks in pure confusion of what he is looking at The poet: what the fuck? The camera pans down and we see that in the coffin is a bags of sand arranged in the shape of a person with s smiley face drawn on the bag that’s its head. As the poet is throwing them out of the coffin The crow perches on the tomb stone The crow: you know I feel like its my fault, what just happened. I could have picked someone else for this job, someone who would have just done the job and not get lost in vengeance. The poet: oh come on I no one died in there that didn’t deserve it The crow: boy, that was a place of work you were bound to get some people who weren’t your enemy. The crow fly’s away. The poet finally realizes what he has done. From behind we heir detective g enis G enis: no don’t you dare think you get to just shuffle off after what you just did. The poet: its over boy there nothing that can be done now G enis: oh no all I need from you is for you to listen. After all the monologeing you have done I think its time for you to listen to someone else. You know iv done my research most people who get resurrected like you kill the ones who wronged them but you no. you weren’t satisfied with just righting a wrong. You had to go on a venerable killing spree. You know how people respond in this situation. After your actions do you know just how mennny retaliatory attack on bolts sides that have taken place. More than I can count. Iv herd the story’s you went around monologeing to people about how violence is a dead end but you couldn’t exactly practice what you perched could you. The violence is justified as a retaliation for more violence.. The poet just looks to the ground mournfully The poet: until we forget why we wanted each other dead. G enis: well mister poet have you eny eloquent words to go out on. The poet: (takes deep breath) And now I have become the master of death so its down to you to remove me of my final breath. So many have died what’s one more death. I have become the advisory of the light so put me to sleep. To endless night. The poet pulls the detectives revolver to his forehead The poet: one more request, can you tuck me in? The poet closes his eyes and whispers The poet: take away these harts of stone and give us harts of flesh The detective fires a single round into the poets forehead his business is over so he falls back dead. The detective looks to the shovel and begins re filling the grave. THE END PAGE # Panel #: Description CHARACTER Dialogue Panel #: Description CHARACTER Dialogue Panel #: Description CHARACTER Dialogue
Literature
SSB Famicom/NES Newcomers
Here is some Newcomers for Famicom/NES Characters (Tell me what you think in the comments below): Imajin His On-Screen appearance is popping out of a book His Default Down Special is Vegetable His Custom Down Special is Giant Vegetable His Custom Down Special is Sprouts Shy Guy Its On-Screen appearance is popping out of a Jar Its Default Neutral Special is Snifit Its Custom Neutral Special is Electricity Its Default Up Special is Fly Guy Its Default Down Special is Lantern Stun Its Default Side Special is Mace Its Forward Smash has it stabbing with a spear Its Final Smash is Tank (based on General Guy) Its Alternate Costumes are Pink, Green, Blue, and Yellow Bob-Omb Its On-Screen appearance is popping out of a cannon Has arms like it's appearance in Doki Doki Panic and Super Mario Bros 2 to differentiate it from the Bob-omb item Its Default Neutral Special is Bomb Toss (which are average bombs) Its Default Up Special is Albatoss Its Custom Up Special is Cannon and Parachute Its Default
Literature
DiRPG | The lost filly | SQ 3 part 2
Despite the hot and thick air the afternoon heat brought, once they hit the cool shade of the small thicket it all seemed to blow away in the fleeting winds. The pair of worried horses stood idle as the small foal wailed her statement through rolling tears, flicking her small tail in an obviously agitated manner. “ How can you say it's ok!? “ Her voice broke as she yelled with frustration, pinning her ears at the mare who was only trying to offer sweet and calm words. Fae arched her head and neck a bit at the sudden outburst, her long pale tail swishing back and forth in a very similar pattern. She opened her mouth as if to say something, a small bit of annoyance plainly expressed on her facial features, but she quickly stopped herself. Lefyr let out a worried snort, ears slightly pinned as he lifted his head up into the low blowing winds. Blood. A very familiar scent, yet almost hidden by the mixing smells of the conjoined herd under the thicket canopy. “ My leg is caught…I found
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Lead Horse : fav.me/dbjew7x
Claimable Horse : sleipnir-admins.deviantart.com…
Bonus : N/A
Lead Horse : fav.me/dbjew7x
Activity : Claiming Attempt
Featuring : sleipnir-admins.deviantart.com… - Claimable Stallion # 127
Current Kingdom : Holt
Bonus: N/A
Word-count : 1060
Let's see if Emily won him.
Claimable Horse : sleipnir-admins.deviantart.com…
Bonus : N/A
Lead Horse : fav.me/dbjew7x
Activity : Claiming Attempt
Featuring : sleipnir-admins.deviantart.com… - Claimable Stallion # 127
Current Kingdom : Holt
Bonus: N/A
Word-count : 1060
Let's see if Emily won him.
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Comments1
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CLAIM ATTEMPT
After some thought, and a few hours sleep, come morn the stallion would give you his answer. While he thought you were a nice mare, he wasn't.. quite ready to commit. He leaves you with a score of 769.
Try again for bumped odds of 200/1000?
After some thought, and a few hours sleep, come morn the stallion would give you his answer. While he thought you were a nice mare, he wasn't.. quite ready to commit. He leaves you with a score of 769.
Try again for bumped odds of 200/1000?