Paleface swings down from the rooftops, scraping sky. His head a skull, all exposed teeth and sunken eyes. Paleface swings down, inky cape bringing the night down with. Pasleface swings down, his skull gleaming in the moonlight. See his skull and his large fists, and know what’s coming. Paleface swings down from the rooftops full of promises. Promises of justice and judgment. Paleface swings down and keeps every damn one.

Paleface swings down surrounded by a sea of near-truths. He’s death himself. He’s a man in a mask. He’s got a halo, wings, horns and a tail. Paleface is a thunderclap, a lightning bolt, the darkness itself. Paleface swings down, questions and legends tugging at his cape. Pulling him down, swinging him down.

Paleface swings down, Paleface swings down. Paleface swings down from the rooftops, scraping sky, his moon-white skull grinning amongst the stars. Paleface swings down to keep his promises. Paleface swings down into the filth and danger, keeping his promises close to the chest, as always. Paleface swings down because he can’t look up, not through that mask of bone. The brow’s too heavy, the eyes too dark. Paleface swings down from the rooftops, scraping sky and anything else in the way.

Paleface swings down further and further, ‘till he reaches the bottom.

Born Of An Atom Bomb is a daily warm-up piece, where I base a character around a random word or phrase. Today’s word: pale