the crimson vigilante was no stranger to the scene. when the nights were cold and the city lights lit up single file he would lean back into the shadows unobserved to the naked eye.

he wasn't paid by the city, his countless achievements were never published by the local paper, but recognition never mattered.

weary of the streams of tears...the agony of heartbreak...and the fear of solitude...the crimson vigilante took it upon himself to shoulder the burdens of millions.

drifting through the night, he would whisper words of hope and serenity to those cowered over in desperation.

yeah i know it sucks. give me a break, i haven't written in a long time. just a practice entry. enjoy.