Immortal.
— adj
not subject to death or decay; having perpetual life
The movies make it seem so glorious. You get shot? You get right back up and crack a one-liner as your wound(s) close(s) right back up. You get stabbed? The same. You get set on fire? You use the opportunity to light a cigar and do a slow motion walk while heavy metal music blares around you. You get thrown off a building? Not even worth a yawn as you shrug it right off and your bones pop right back into place perfectly as you dust that dirt off your shoulders. Let me tell you something boys and girls: It's all bunk. Immortality hurts like a mother. Oh sure, you'll survive anything that the world can give you, your injuries will close up and that the pain will subside eventually. The key word is, eventually. In the meantime? You're left in utter agony.
A female shape slouches against the far wall of a dark warehouse. The woman has a metal pole through her torso. Blood is dripping down on her mouth. The woman takes off her shoe and places it in her mouth and bites down on it as she grabs onto the pole, struggling not to scream in utter agony as she slowly pulls it out of her, one hand over the other until with a tearing noise and the sound of blood splattering onto her lap and pouring down her stomach as she pulls it away and throws it away. She spits out her shoe and falls down and cries as she rolls on the ground as the organs and her stomach heals up. The girl coughs off and pulls out a small bottle of pain killer pills and shoves them into her mouth, downing them all at once. The girl takes several deep breaths and crawls over to the wall, grabs onto it and pulled herself up. She is a young woman, in her late teens at least. She turns to the pole and picks it up. "I really need to start wearing body armor. A lot of body armor. Like....a tank's worth. With a forcefield." She continued muttering to herself as she walked out of the warehouse to go find the gang of punks that did her in.
Yeeeaaahhh, see that? That is what I'm talking about. THAT is my immortality at work. It hurts. It hurts when things go in, it hurts when they come out, it hurts when everything closes back up. Don't get me started on headshots. Oh God how I hate those. It hurts....but it's necessary. It's the edge I need. I'm going to need this power when I find that smiling monster. The monster that took everything from me. Who am I? I'm Faustine and this is my story.
— adj
not subject to death or decay; having perpetual life
The movies make it seem so glorious. You get shot? You get right back up and crack a one-liner as your wound(s) close(s) right back up. You get stabbed? The same. You get set on fire? You use the opportunity to light a cigar and do a slow motion walk while heavy metal music blares around you. You get thrown off a building? Not even worth a yawn as you shrug it right off and your bones pop right back into place perfectly as you dust that dirt off your shoulders. Let me tell you something boys and girls: It's all bunk. Immortality hurts like a mother. Oh sure, you'll survive anything that the world can give you, your injuries will close up and that the pain will subside eventually. The key word is, eventually. In the meantime? You're left in utter agony.
A female shape slouches against the far wall of a dark warehouse. The woman has a metal pole through her torso. Blood is dripping down on her mouth. The woman takes off her shoe and places it in her mouth and bites down on it as she grabs onto the pole, struggling not to scream in utter agony as she slowly pulls it out of her, one hand over the other until with a tearing noise and the sound of blood splattering onto her lap and pouring down her stomach as she pulls it away and throws it away. She spits out her shoe and falls down and cries as she rolls on the ground as the organs and her stomach heals up. The girl coughs off and pulls out a small bottle of pain killer pills and shoves them into her mouth, downing them all at once. The girl takes several deep breaths and crawls over to the wall, grabs onto it and pulled herself up. She is a young woman, in her late teens at least. She turns to the pole and picks it up. "I really need to start wearing body armor. A lot of body armor. Like....a tank's worth. With a forcefield." She continued muttering to herself as she walked out of the warehouse to go find the gang of punks that did her in.
Yeeeaaahhh, see that? That is what I'm talking about. THAT is my immortality at work. It hurts. It hurts when things go in, it hurts when they come out, it hurts when everything closes back up. Don't get me started on headshots. Oh God how I hate those. It hurts....but it's necessary. It's the edge I need. I'm going to need this power when I find that smiling monster. The monster that took everything from me. Who am I? I'm Faustine and this is my story.