Walking silently down the alley, no thoughts only spite for everything that lives. Gain is a stranger but loss is his close friend, or fiend.
Walking silently down the alley, his weapon, ancient and rusty, grinds against the cold brick wall that creates the alley; The tool is hungry, and does not like to be kept waiting.
Walking silently down the alley, a conscience, twisted black long ago, feels not for whatever moves.
Walking silently down the alley, his hideous bulk is hidden by the night’s surreal shadows, like a blanket wrapped around the fiend by Beelzebub himself.
Walking patiently down the alley, the fiend identifies a late night’s unlucky traveler.
Walking hungrily down the alley, the fiend wraps the blanket closer, preparing to strike.
Walking hastily down the alley, His eyes widen in a sickening blithe, his tool’s feast has come to him.
Running down the alley, the fiend’s prey realizes too late that he is to be fed to the starving tool.
Leaping down the alley, The tool’s curved blade is like a ***** smile, as it buries itself into innocent flesh.
Standing in the alley, The fiend watches as his tool guides his arm back into the flesh again and again like a ravenous beast until it is sated once again
Walking down the alley, The fiend waits until his tool is hungry again.