Hey sup you guys!

Merry Christmas!

This is my Christmas gift to all of you. I know I should be updating Sword of the Immortals...I've given the next chapter's draft to storm-brain already.

So a couple of days ago, I was talking to Ellen 26 (awesome author, go check her works out) on MSN, and she introduced me to a writing site called Write Or Die, by Doctor Wicked. Its a great site that lets you choose a word goal and a time limit, and eats your words if you stop typing for too long (in kamikaze mode). Here's the link: writeordie (DOT) drwicked (DOT) com.

By the way I post all the fics I write on Blue Trident before they are published here, so go and check it out.

Anyways, I gave myself 15 minutes, using the prompt All Hope Is Gone, from the title of Slipknot's latest album. No editing done, sort of AU (alternate universe).

All Hope Is Gone

He stands alone in the corner of the alley, looking around anxiously. His matted hair clings to his head, shining in the pouring rain, soaking him to the bone. He is dressed simply, in clothes that would shame any ordinary person, a thin, dirty T-shirt with an old, faded logo, and shorts that barely reach his knees, ripped from abuse.

He stands alone, shivering in the cold winter, knees bent, trying to salvage heat. His body is thin and emaciated, coming from eating naught but scraps of food, a little here and a little there, rummaging through bins, stealing from houses. In his hands he grips a short, broad-handled knife, contrasting sharply with his thin arms.

"Come out! You can't stay there forever!" A voice yells through the pouring rain at him, chilling him more than the rain ever could. It was he. It was the person who had made his life the way it was.

The child backs closer to the wall of the alley, trying the hide himself. But it is all in vain. The rain may be pouring, true, but he has nowhere to go. The knife is all that stands between him and death. And he knows it is coming...

A moment later, the indistinct figure in the distance solidifies, a shadowy portrayal or death. It comes closer and closer, and the boy's heart beats faster and faster. Clutching the knife in one hand, he staggers forward to meet his fate.

The figure steps closer, and the child sees his oppressor. It wears a long, thick greatcoat, without giving a thing about the person itself. It is tall, a looming darkness, scaring the wits out of the child.

Taking a deep breath, the child sprints forward, his knife clutched in his hands. He would only have one chance, to drive the rudimentary blade in his hands through the black hole called a heart that belonged to the figure. Only one chance.

But his hopes are cut short as a spasm of pain runs through him, causing him the collapse to his knees. Another jolt of shock and he falls onto the ground, banging his chin and ripping his shirt open.

Wounds are etched across his back, whiplashes from his oppressor. The darkness had kept him and tortured him, driving him to the brink of insanity. He had escaped, but it had been futile. He is caught. This is the end of all he knows.

And in that moment, Nico di Angelo knew all hope was gone.

So what did you think? Constructive criticism is welcome, and if you seriously think this sucks, go ahead and flame.

You guys rock!

~Avenger

PS. Oh and one more thing, if you know any good prompts, go ahead and give them to me in your review. I'll see what I can come up with in fifteen minutes on Write Or Die.