Reflection [Hellion J. Demsworth]

Door SharSjar gepubliceerd op Wednesday 08 April 23:47

And again he was suffering from a restless night, woken up from a nightmare, his back, chest and head covered in sweat, his eyes filled with sorrow as the images slowly came back to him. He placed his hands next to him and with the strength of his arms and back he pushed himself up in sitting position. He was scanning his hotel room, since he was confused with where he truly was, his dream was so real that it had messed him up for a couple of minutes.

But eventually his current location came back to him, he was in a hotel room for one person only, a small double bed, covered with antique white sheets, the material where the mattress was resting on was made out of light pine wood, just like the rest of the furniture of the room, the walls were painted with a misty rose kind of color, the carpet was peachy and the curtains were a slightly more orange then the carpet. But in Hellion’s opinion, it could be explained in one word, HIDEOUS!

Hellion would have preferred a more darker style, old, more vintage, but he wouldn't be hanging around here for long, it was just a place he would pass before he would reach his destination. 

After he took the time to wake up and take everything back in, he shove his legs to the side and over the edge, placing his feet on the ground, feeling the soft carpet under his feet and between his bare toes, a few moments later he pushed himself on his own legs and headed towards the tall mirror that was attached to an empty closet standing against the wall of the bedroom. Hellion never bothered unpacking, he knew he would leave before he could consider it ‘home’ or feel at place, but then again, there was no place on earth he could feel safe or a residence to call home.

When he stared at himself in the mirror, he saw a slim male, yet slightly muscular, though he was quite strong, he was mostly build on speed and being able to sneak like the best. A body scarred with tattoo’s and flaws of the past. He had a crow on the back of his neck, the wings reaching out to each shoulder blade and the tale slightly running down his spine. And another tattoo on his left arm, one that covers his lower arm, a skull with a wing and a rose. And scars? Well too many to remember how he all got them, shot wound scars, cuts, burning's, all covered over his back, chest, arms, legs and hands. He had been fighting for 16 years and the battle was far from over.


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