BENDY X HENRY ONESHOTS *cough*(CLOSED)

Book that won't be published

There's nothing like the sound of a gunshot.

It fills the air, echoes in your head. The feeling vibrates inside of your bones and doesn't leave. And the feel of a gunshot? The bullet shooting inside of you?

That doesn't feel like much. Maybe it does, but it's hard to explain. Hard to describe, because it happens in less than a second. The only words that come to my mind from the sensation are; 'oh' and 'shit'.

How does it feel to experience it through someone else? Does their life really flash before their eyes like a cheesy slideshow with some piano scale playing in the back? Would I get to watch their life?

Would I get to see all of the dumb mistakes they made? Their first kiss, soon followed by baby's first break up? Or getting to see them being the person to watch the events of someone else's flop relationship?

I've killed a lot of people, mostly for fun, sometimes out of spite, but the thing is- I still don't know.

I want to.

I don't think I'll get the chance though.

Because I was just shot.

Shimmering blood and ink. There's lots of it. All over Joey's kitchen floor.

It's splattered against the counter, grimy floor tiles and rotten yellow walls.

Now, I love blood as much as the next guy, don't get me wrong, but if you're shooting me repeatedly, and won't stop your screaming for one second so I can tell you to stop your shit? Not a fan, hon.

I live for when things get spicy and dicey, but if you're literally trying to kill me by shooting metal into me? Yeah, ok buddy, not my taste of violence.

The human- well his corpse I suppose, is on the cold tile floor next to me. He's curled up in a puddle of his own blood. His hands clutch his sides and small streams of blood leak out from between his fingers. His messy brown hair is matted with blood, and his white dress shirt is now a deep crimson.

His face is scrunched up, obviously in pain. He's paler than usual, probably due to his whole losing-more-blood-than-he- probably-has-to-spare issue.

He's the least of my problems right now though.

Joey empties a round of bullets into me as I drag myself across the floor. The bullets sink into my ink, but I just keep going.

I shove the wicker wheelchair to the side with one hand, my razor sharp claws cracking the checkered floor as they dig into it.

I get behind the kitchen counter where Joey is, ink dragging behind me like a veil of death. I reach up and grab the counter top and pull myself up.

Joey's frozen at this point, trying to jam another round of bullets into his gun while staring up at me. His jaw hangs low, and he tries to stutter an empty threat out.

There's fear in his eyes. He knows what I'm going to do. I'm a demon, a fucking freak of nature. The guy's an amature if he thinks he can stop me.

I've been waiting to do this forever, and nobody, and I mean NOBODY can stop me now.

I loom over him, drenching him in shadow.

The calm clink of bullets hit the floor, coated in my thick black substance. He opens his mouth, then closes it and swallows.

I bring my hand up and close it around Joey's neck. I lift him up, and I can practically feel his heart beating in his throat. He squirms, thrashing around in the air.

The sight makes my plastered on grin finally match my emotions, and I'm just about to do the deed--

--Then I'm suddenly not in Joey's kitchen anymore. My hand is around nothing but air.