Chapter 1: Blindfold Fool (Marksmen)
It is known as a fact that many lives were lost during World War II. The guilty, the miserable, and the innocent all perished in this terrible nightmare of a war. Innocence, however, is a rare sight here in Carnate, and there can't be no better judge of it than me. It is rare to see innocence among thieves, murderers, sickos, and mostly the miserable ones. But, even I have to admit that innocence is hidden very well in this forsaken place. Still, I see this monstrosities take hold of what I knew, innocence itself is forsaken.
They were blindfolded, tall things, with a battery of rifles attached to its grotesque back. From the ground they come, tied behind them a wide wooden posts, they soon brake their small 'prison', and then they shoot their bullets of misery. A firing squad from hell. And yet, this beast's are the few innocents(if not), that ever existed in Abbot.
As said before, the war killed many, and even here on Carnate, the war seemed to reach out with its claws to grab and take hold. This monsters remind me of the corpses tied to wooden posts nearby. The story goes that this three men were killed by their own comrades were traitors. An old colonel in charge of the POW camp that Carnate used to be, was convinced that, after a ship of German origin crashed among the island, three men(of German ancestry) were traitors and that they had sent the fallen ship to spy on them. No actual evidence was ever found, and the three men were executed mercilessly by a firing squad. An investigation took place, and when the rogue colonel was found out, the colonel decided to die for his error than to face the crude justice we all face here in Abbot. Could this creatures be the reincarnation of those poor souls executed by a colonel's false mind, or could it just be the image of the miserable truth of Carnate's past? Now, as I write this…life is soon over for me….for here the marksman comes….
-Big Bobby (1968-1999)
Together he comes, the shooting star,
Of the fallen wound, and here he comes,
Again to take, the head of this men,
Pity the shooting star, whose life's to end,
Wooden posts and shooting steel,
Gave it wings and dead in its heels.