The darkness swirls and twirls around itself, its thin esque emanating its grotesque appearance.
The man moves it, in the corner of the station.
Light flicks of his wrist tells it what to do.
He whispers, yet he is aware of his surroundings.
But he says what he has to anyways.
He tells the blackness his plan and exactly when and how to act.
It twirls and swirls in graceful patterns. It may break...soon.
It slumps and flows over her and when she senses something it is too late.
She is gone.
Engulfed by it.
The man plasters on a wet old grin.
He is happy...
The darkness rushes toward the man eager to make its next move.
The man just sits and basks in what he has done
In what is done.
The darkness stares and waits...
It penetrates through him.
The man tilts his head upward but it doesn't turn the way he expects.
His head is being pulled from his neck.
Then he awakes.
Sitting on the bench in the station.
Silently and consciously waiting for the next train.