John Marston (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
bornuntotrouble) wrote2012-10-26 01:28 pm
bornuntotrouble) wrote2012-10-26 01:28 pm
Entry tags:
Slendermania
No place is safe, anymore.
That's the one thing John is sure of.
The forest is shrouded in an impenetrable mist, and everywhere he looks he swears he can see that...that thing.
(His eyes turn trees into eldritch monstrosities, he's got a cough that won't go away, and every time he sleeps he has nightmares that make him wake up screaming.)
The Bar is crowded, too crowded - he can feel the walls pressing in on him, forcing him out, back into the forest amidst the tinkle of glass, conversation, and laughter.
He walks along a narrow path, the crunch of bark and grass underneath his boots breaking the silence. One hand is on his Colt, and every so often he stops and looks around.
He thumbs back the hammer to half-cock with a click.
Just in case.
That's the one thing John is sure of.
The forest is shrouded in an impenetrable mist, and everywhere he looks he swears he can see that...that thing.
(His eyes turn trees into eldritch monstrosities, he's got a cough that won't go away, and every time he sleeps he has nightmares that make him wake up screaming.)
The Bar is crowded, too crowded - he can feel the walls pressing in on him, forcing him out, back into the forest amidst the tinkle of glass, conversation, and laughter.
He walks along a narrow path, the crunch of bark and grass underneath his boots breaking the silence. One hand is on his Colt, and every so often he stops and looks around.
He thumbs back the hammer to half-cock with a click.
Just in case.