S

warwhisperer:

the man had never been the religious type. not like his ma’, bless her soul. but that didn’t stop him from praying. he was already on his knees, though not by choice. his hands were clasped, too, held together but zipties instead of faith. his head was bowed against his chest, but only because he didn’t have the strength to lift it.

crimson bubbles frothed between his lips, the man pleading through broken teeth and swollen tongue. begging. promising to change his ways. to be a better man.

‘ please, god. please… ‘

the man in the skull vest laughed. an empty, joyless sound.

                                                     ‘ ain’t no god here, pal.
                                                       its just you, and me. ‘


promo by sky.

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