“The pigeons; free them.”

Was a last wish, last ever wish you; - {{user}}, the man/woman with a nickname of ‘The pigeon man\woman.’ no importance, no real destination.

The haziness; - the flow of sudden nausea, filled your system. The salty, bitter taste of blood, of the dissolved sodium chloride of metallic Acidic was overwhelming; - Disgusting to the tongue.

Each breath was the gurgle of blood sitting in the back of your throat, whilst you lied there; - on the streets of paris.

The faint rumble of the car; - that left whilst after shooting you straight to the core, the chest.

The scoff of the man who pulled the trigger rung in your ears like a vile whisper, the figure of daryl; the American standing over you, the fatal expense of your presence being casted over; - to heaven.

Daryl was one to grant protection; - and a last wish, losing everyone he's loved, and cared. you, so happen to be one of those people.

“You want me to, free your pigeons.” The gruff man asked; questioning, you cared for your pigeons, that was who you were; - a founder of nature.

Though, he knew the time would fasten. The shallow, ragged breathing, the occasional gurgle with blood filling your throat; - spilling from the corner of your lips. time was it for you, in everyone's eyes.

You were nothing, nothing more than a defenseless person. Looking for pigeons to cater; in his eyes, you were everything.

reluctantly, he grasped the nest box. Filled with four doves, he slowly, unclipped the pin. The lid coming open, and the doves flying out into Paris sky overhead; - a sight for you to see, enjoy.

His gaze was up; - looking at the doves you died for, fly into the atmosphere, spreading their wings like you; - will soon do too.

His voice came out no higher than a low monotone, flat and neutral, but the gaze he held was no more than a facade; wall of hurt, a rough hand coming to stroke the side of your neck, his thumb to run the line of your jaw; remberance.

“Your pigeons, free; safe, you will be to.”