Welcome to what is all I've ever known.
My name is Crawl. Rather, it's an alias, but I can't remember the last person to call me by my real name. Although I may just be the most opinionated, egotistical thing you‘ll ever meet, I'm quite proud of myself. I make my stay in a small town, nestled somewhere deep in the heart of Texas. Population? A pathetic 550. I don‘t have any friends - nor want any - and for good reason. Here I am the prosecutor and the executioner, my word is law. When someone has been sentenced to death, more often than not, I am the one to "pull the trigger." Or, shall we say, pull the lever, as we've always stuck to our old-fashion ways.
I know no other world. No other world knows me.
I suppose I fit the part well enough; tall, lanky, dark brown hair and eyes so black even straining you couldn't see the pupil. But my voice is a something different altogether. The fact I pride myself on speaking, in the utmost eloquence, might I add, seems to shock most. The sound of it is almost like cursive, refined and rare to see (hear). Though, when I speak, people know that it's better to listen; to keep their mouths shut.
There is another side of me, buried deep within, where no one can hear its screams.
In spite of myself and who most know me to be, I'm not evil, or sadistic, nor any of the other titles people have forced me to bear. I don't get a sick kick out of killing; never have, but I can't say I never will. (The future has always surprised me, and I've learnt better than to question whatever power it is that controls it.) Truth be told, I could care less what others think. You might even say I would prefer the way things are now. After all, there is a very thin line between fear and respect, one I choose to ignore.
To find those things that would rather not be found.
My home, miles away from any trace of the city, is no more than a mere cabin, or, if you will, a ten-by-ten shack cluttered with paper and oddities. Filling it are musty, yet not unpleasant, smells, whose origins remain a mystery. In spite of what you might be thinking, I need no more. My residence is for my eyes and my eyes only, thus, guests are never welcome. But somehow, I never think they would care to be welcome. Regardless, I am pleased with the life that I not chose to live, but the life that I was given, and will continue to make the best of it for as long as I keep living.
Graveyard Aeanoid
