Caspian
A week after.
With a cigar stick stuck in between my lips I reached into my jacket's pocket, searching for my lighter. My hands pressed about my chest, searching for my lighter before sudden realization dawned on me.
My lips curled up. I crouched down at the bloodied body lying half-dead on the ground. I grabbed onto the body and pulled him to face me. His face was mangled with claw marks that I could barely recognize it.
He groaned at me. With the way his deformed lips kept suckling, I presumed he was attempting to use them. Ignoring him I glanced down at the ground he'd just lied on. My lighter laid crushed.
Fucker. My hand curled into a fist. The fist rose up at him, but I found myself unable to land the intended blow. My nose twitched.
