Escape From Hell Asylum
"No you`re wrong." the Butler says by way of reply. No matter how hard you strain your eyes its almost impossible to determine the Butler`s features, he seems to be made out of cast shadows."Um, what,uh yeah its broken I`m pretty sure." "I`ve fixed it" says the Butler somewhat cryptically.(why is there a butler in an asylum anyway?) "What do you mean you`ve fixed it I`ve only just told you about it." you respond getting angry now. "You drive a 93 Ford Avensis, correct?" You nod in the affirmative. "Your car was suffering from a number of mechanical faults the most pressing of which was a faulty fuel intake valve". "Oh you`ve read my mind have you?" "``Now matter how hard you strain you can`t seem to determine the Butler`s features, he seems to be made entirely out of cast shadows``,how cliched sirs thought processes are, you must be a hack writer?". "How could you possibly know that?" you manage."Because sir knows it." "No" you say weakly. Suddenly the Butler seems to come into focus as if he had stepped out of the dark into the light though he remained perfectly still.
What you first think is a sickly pale complexion is actually pan cake make-up of the sort worn by actors in those wig and powder epics. The Butler`s eyes are melancholy, his nose defiant, only subjective terms could fit a face that dances on the edge of reason. The man eyes are dead, not in the way someone will smile with only their mouth but inorganic like two glass eyes, but glass that peered mercilessly. He was a man built out of metaphors and pen strokes not flesh and blood.His dress is a black skin as if stained with the malice of the wearer. He is old, an old death-kissed lizard butler with the power to reach into your mind as you might reach into a cookie jar.
"Death-kissed lizard is it? Well I`ve been called worse" He seems to smile at this, his smile is difficult to describe, its not like he stretched muscles in his face so much as swapped his old face for a new one that looks the same but is smiling, like changing slides on a projector. This butler is a monster, deep down you know this and the butler knows now too, so what will you do?
What you first think is a sickly pale complexion is actually pan cake make-up of the sort worn by actors in those wig and powder epics. The Butler`s eyes are melancholy, his nose defiant, only subjective terms could fit a face that dances on the edge of reason. The man eyes are dead, not in the way someone will smile with only their mouth but inorganic like two glass eyes, but glass that peered mercilessly. He was a man built out of metaphors and pen strokes not flesh and blood.His dress is a black skin as if stained with the malice of the wearer. He is old, an old death-kissed lizard butler with the power to reach into your mind as you might reach into a cookie jar.
"Death-kissed lizard is it? Well I`ve been called worse" He seems to smile at this, his smile is difficult to describe, its not like he stretched muscles in his face so much as swapped his old face for a new one that looks the same but is smiling, like changing slides on a projector. This butler is a monster, deep down you know this and the butler knows now too, so what will you do?