Creative Writing: Restless Shifting Of Blood Cells

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Restless shifting of bed linens. A trickle of sweat sliding down a pain contorted face. Hand fisted white knuckle in the sheets. Breaths coming in shallow quick pants of pain and fear. His head swiveled and tilted to the sounds coming from down the corridor. A slow inhalation of air through the nose to scent it. Damp earth, death, old blood, panicked fear of a female, a slayer. These where the ones that meant something. The others came and went with the dreams but those, they where all ways there. Always underlying the changing backdrop of images that seamed to be interchangeable. Always a corridor and at its end a group of cells. Three to the right and three to the left and the largest one it dead ended in was lit with a dim hazy gold light. Its front ten inches or more of clear plexiglass. Beyond this a bed large enough for two unlike the six cells lining the wall, a toilet, a sink but nothing for privacy. The female slayer was usually in the bed when he reached the plexiglass wall but not always. He opened his eyes to the shadowy blackness of the corridor that even his enhanced sight couldn't penetrate, but he knew from the damp earth smell that if he lifted his hands over his head that he could lay the palms of his hands flat on the ceiling and he would feel the roots of…show more content…
Only then can he make out something close to the true color and style of the mans garments. Long red duster, dating back at least to the world war two era or later, over a charcoal black suit, leather riding boots, a red cravat, and a red fedora. The orange glow glinted off a pair of round wire-framed sunglasses that had slipped down his nose as he looked over the tops of them directly into Spikes eyes. They where red and amused, Spikes own lips twitched in to a half smirk not backing down from the challenge he found
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