Punisher

A flash of light, a ringing in the ears. A gun dropped to the floor. The light bounced off a silver skull with a long and sharp-edged jawbone. The skull that adorned his large chest. The sound waves of the gunshot ricocheted off the slate walls. The glaring, silver bullets fell, hitting the hard ground with a clang. Thick red streams rushed around the seemingly lifeless body. Staining the ground with the pith of death. Contorted across the ground, in a position of uncanniness. The bullets punctured holes through the chest of the body, blood pooled up, it hid the wounds from sight.

Frank’s darkened hazel pupils dilated. If the eyes were the gateway to the soul, what did people see in Frank’s? A pained, remorseful soul that seeked the death of those that seized his happiness? Or a cold-blooded killer, brutally executing anyone who got in the way of his plans, and forcing information out of those he deemed important? Even Frank consistently questioned his morals, his own reasoning. The silence began, and with it, the bitter cold of midnight.

A sharp gust of wind rushed through the room, forcing Frank back to his senses. It wasn’t until now that he realized the cold was almost unbearable. He clutched his gun, looking down at his bruised, and bloodied knuckles. He raised his hand and felt the rough bruises and scrapes that painted his face. Slowly brushing his fingers across them. He didn’t wince, he became numb to certain pain, embracing it. He felt the blood rush to his face, his temple throbbed. A groan escaped his lips, the frosty air manifested smoke curling from his mouth.

His eyes closed, flashing images of amusement parks, carnival rides, and the smell of sugar. Sounds of laughter filled the air; his laughter… A sound he hadn’t heard in too long. His daughter’s face, his son’s face, his wife’s face. Blood splatters, gunshots, screams. A face of a man whose name didn’t deserve to be said. A name he’d rather not remember. He flung his eyes open, and they scanned the room with a panicked pace. Blood, a gun, slate, a body, and silence.

Frank looked down at his chest. He noticed the bullet holes in his shoulders. Blood stained his black vest. He chuckled to himself, grasping just how desensitized he was. He breathed in, the metallic smell of blood filled his nostrils and grabbed onto his mind. Sirens screamed in the distance. That breath he’d been holding in let out through his mouth, smoked spiraled once more. Frank turned his head slowing, dreading the sight behind him. Bright red flashed across the corners and buildings. Flickering to blue, and continuing in a pattern. A car screeched across the corner, and it’s doors opened. Two police officers burst out of the vehicle. If it were logical, a trail of smoke would’ve followed behind Frank.

He ran as fast as his body could muster. He hopped over barbed fences, gates, walls, and roofs. Sliding past corners, up, down, right, left. He ran for what seemed like forever. He ran until he couldn’t hear the blaring sirens. He ran until the beating of his heart echoed through his bones. Until his legs ached, and his stomach muscles turned. His calves tightened like rope. Frank heaved, pressing his hands against his legs and leaning his body forward. The wounds in his shoulders shot bolts of pain through his nerves. He growled in pain and shot up.

“Damn, i’m good at this.” He muttered to himself and smirked.
He wrapped the beige bandages across his musclar shoulders, after a painful extraction of the bullets. Frank leaned back, and breathed out when his back laid against the wall. He looked up at the sky. Clusters of stars filled the dark curtain that was, the vast expanse of space. He shut his eyes, painful memories were replaced with nothing. He could finally rest, for the time being.

(its midnight and i have a project to present tomorrow morning h elp)
by me!