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Descriptive Essay: Blood Brothers

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10166520. 21 years, 4 days, 2 hours and 49 minutes. Those numbers are a string that not even the cleverest of minds would bother to remember. It was meaningless, unimportant and frankly aggravating. Except for a rather ordinary man. Arthur Kirkland from birth had been told that string of numbers since his birth. Everyone was told a set, it was only natural to learn the numbers that would reveal your destiny. People had no idea when the system started, some believing it to be the work of aliens, a demon, even God, which was all poppycock according to Arthur. The numbers wee to reveal your soul mate, prefect numbers, design and colour changing for person and spot. Arthur's own Crimson ink in spidery numbers, imprinted on his left wrist. They …show more content…

It's because he's a frog. I'll talk to you tomorrow." Arthur smiled though Kiku couldn't see the unusually friendly gesture through the phone. He hung up with a quick bye, making use of the time to pull out his almost empty pack of cigarettes and his Union Jack lighter (a parting gift from Peter), cupping the small flickering flame away from the fingers of the midnight fog. He ingested the smoke, allowing the calming burn of the nicotine eradicate some of the rage he was feeling before beginning the walk back to his small flat, absentmindedly scratching his left wrist. Just like the smoke trail behind him, that was piece of England that clung to him, thanks to the cramped condition of the island, he hated the prospect of a big house and instead lived in a cheaper flat across town. The Briton sighed, really regretting the decision he made three months earlier at the …show more content…

Arthur wasn't sure why he didn't run now. Whether it was out of fear, some insane bravery or the refusal to leave his now dead soul mate. The man stood, his legs trembling slightly and his hands curling into fists, preparing himself to fight if he had too. The killer laughed at the weak gesture, looking to the gun in his holster on his right knee. "Who the fuck are you?" Arthur spat, his voice suddenly working, his accent growing thicker with every word. The mans dress was curious for a serial killer, what kind of killer where's suspenders. It wad both impractical and rather stupid, he looked like some stereotype, with his black pants and now splattered white button down. The still smiling blonde adjusted his glasses, peering at his arm with a curious look as if Arthur wasn't worth his time. "Hmm, interesting. I think the better question is, who are you?" The Brit swelled with indignation. "I asked the question!" "Yeah and I snapped little miss' neck over there. So how bout you drop the little attitude, princess and answer." He snapped, a threat clear. The killer obviously had some kind of bipolar disorder in Arthur's expert opinion (which was none). "I'm...I'm Arthur Kirkland...I work Bussiness." "You have a family, Athur?" "N-no!" Arthur had the common sense to deny that much, thinking of his siblings and poor

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