I’ve noticed my blog getting a little bit too sensitive and flowery for my taste. There’s nothing wrong with that, but I don’t want to suddenly look down and realize I’ve grown a vagina and I’m crying at daffodil commercials. And so I wrote something to remind us all what I truly am. Enjoy.
BLOOD
There was so much of it, covering him, consuming him. He could not escape its cloying effect upon his skin; its bitter, coppery taste as it gagged him.
And he loved it.
Or at least a part of him did.
Part of him rebelled at the things he had done to people he did not know, but the greater part, the stronger part, quashed what little rebellion remained within his mind to such a point he could barely remember his own name anymore. All he knew was the exultation he felt every time he cut open an artery and the hot, crimson liquid of life flowed out and over him.
They would eventually catch him, of that he had no doubt. The lack of control he had shown had resulted in crime scenes thick with evidence – almost as thick as they were with blood – but he didn’t care. The addiction was too strong, the need to cut and tear, maim and chew… he had no control anymore.
In the start he’d had control, or at least thought he had. He could stop himself back then, in fact he had done so on more than one occasion when the morality he still held within had rebelled at his actions.
But no more.
He could no more control these urges than a fisherman could control the tide, and though he might try to stop himself, each time he knew it was futile. Eventually they would catch him, and he would go peacefully, hoping they put him with other prisoners, but if they didn’t… oh well.
For now, however, he had other things on his mind. He stared at the young man who had tried to terrify him in the bar with bravado, mocking him in front of the young man’s friends and prancing like a peacock. He was no peacock anymore, had no cock at all, in fact. The young man had first been angry, then disbelieving, as they all were, then afraid, and now he was terrified.
The crying had finally stopped, but not before he had threatened to slice the man’s eyelids off completely in order to get to the ducts hidden beneath; this was the only way to stop the crying without blinding or killing the victim, and it wasn’t time for killing… yet. He was enjoying this far too much to end it so soon.
For all his bravado, the fight the young man had put up was pathetic in its incompetence. Versed in various forms of martial arts himself, the fact the young man had been so easy to incapacitate and handcuff had been a true disappointment. He had made up for that by slowly severing the man’s feet and sealing the wounds with duct-tape. It really could fix anything.
Such an action was ultimately messy, but he didn’t mind. The blood contained the life, the soul, of the young man, and to be touched by it was like a special kind of sacrament. In a way, what he was doing to the young man was the greatest compliment; he was worshiping his life in a way no other ever would, but the young man didn’t appreciate that, he merely kept trying to scream around the duct-tape sealing his mouth.
The man kept flopping around on the floor like a fish whenever he made a cut, making things difficult. Several times he had come close to nicking an artery, especially when he was working up near the man’s groin, but that was the price he had to pay for working under these conditions. He brandished the scalpel once more and moved forward, deciding this time to take the legs off at the –
SLAM!!!
The door to his storage shed banged open and before he knew it a dozen bodies were converging on him, smashing him into the ground, cuffing his hands behind him. The young man cried out like a bitch as they tore the duct-tape from his lipless mouth.
Stupid cops.
But they’d been smart enough to catch him, and before he knew it he was sitting in a padded cell, restrained in a nice canvas jacket with leather buckles going all the way up his back as well as one which went between his legs. It was very secure.
He was done.
There was no arguing it; he was going to rot in this cell or one exactly like it for the rest of his life. He might not know much, but he remembered the state he was in didn’t support the death penalty, so this was it forever.
No more blood, no more life, no more joy.
Glancing up at the camera, he turned away from it, sitting with his face pointed towards the corner, his legs pulled up towards his chest. This would be difficult to do without getting caught, but those many sessions of yoga would finally pay off, as would his meticulous dental care.
It took a while of nuzzling and digging, but he finally found it and clamped down hard with his incisors, sawing back and forth at the thick leathery texture. On the cameras it would probably look like he was trying to satisfy himself sexually, but by the time they realized what he was actually doing he would be free.
As he felt it start to sever between his teeth, he heard the door open behind him, but they were too late. Once he was free they wouldn’t be able to stop him, not this time. The rushing of feet sounded and he gave a last, final wrench –
And was loose.
The blood from the severed femoral artery in his thigh sprayed hard against the white padding, and he pushed his face into it, savouring the last time, drinking deeply just before hands grabbed him and pushed his face into the ground. But they were too late; the scene was already fading before him.
The last thing he saw was his own blood congealing on his eyeballs, and he licked his lips, savouring the taste for the final time….
