Dawn doesn't come, for some...

[DoS Archive]

From: silencerd@aol.com (Silencer D)
Date: 24 Jul 1998 22:27:58 EDT

The clock struck midnight, and the dawn of a new morning refreshed him more than a splash of arctic water in the face on a hot summer’s day. The witching hour was at hand, and this was his time to prowl. Jack "The Ripper" Harley rose from dark vinyl chair, sliding into the black button-down shirt which had hang askew from his bedroom doorknob for some days now. As he exited the room, he glanced back at the cluttered
surroundings. A ring of sweat marked his presence in the swivel-chair, and he wondered if he was as nervous as the sweat suggested.

~ * ~ *

Jack owned the streets, come midnight. He presented an intimidating figure, decked out in black leathers and cottons, symbol of the antichrist hanging just below his breastbone. The loose khakis about his legs rustled as he walked, pockets heavy with various tools of his trade. His illicit trade. His murderous trade. He passed by the RhyDin main tavern, glancing in at a brawl in progress. Most nights, Jack would have taken part of the brawl,
reveled in it, allowed the bloodlust to feed into his veins. Most nights. This night, Jack thought with a sardonic chuckle, was anything but routine. This night...Jack "The Ripper" Harley was out for blood. Fairy blood. Jack ruminated quietly as he strolled the RhyDin streets, his anger expanding like a cloud of noxious gas as he thought about her. Lily Lesprit, the woman who had stolen his property. Jack had been planning to
open a café, but the damnable fairy had gotten there first...and wooed the property owner with her tiny charms. Jack had been ruined. There was no other properties for sale that he could afford, and was forced to live with his parents. Often, Jack would cry at night as the smell of cheap rum and the sound of domestic violence permeated the shady haven he called his room. As he passed by Lily’s domicile, Jack’s heart skipped a beat. Lily was
outside, engaging in some rubbish—star-gazing, Jack thought. The adrenaline flooded his body, set his heartbeat to its limit, allowed him to move without making the sound. His footfalls were akin to a cat’s on a thick carpet, his breathing as shallow as a mockingbird on its death bed. Closer, closer, until her back was but an arm’s length away.