Flashback
[OOC - I don't know where this came from. It does not reflect his current state of mind. I guess he was dreaming again...it seems to happen from time to time. This would have been from about two years ago.]
Blood is beautiful as drips, drips, drips, liquid ruby running from my fingertips, stark red against the pale. I can stare at it for hours and hear the voices whispering, asking for more.
They know just what to say. Just what I want to hear in order to want more. More of this luscious warmth. For what it means, for what it can do. It smudges when I rub it, and I need to reach for more.
So plentiful.
And white. It is red against the white. Sterile prison of my memory. Gentle capture for my own protection, huddled in its embrace.
Blood thickens as it cools.
The voices taunt. They love me. They love the blood, the sacrifice of millions, the fault that follows. The empty spaces that remain.
Emptiness.
Awash with ruby violence.
Done it. Did it. Had it. Lost it. Big boys don't cry. Hearts beat blood until blood runs dry.
Mary, Mary, quite contrary, how does your garden bleed?
Shatter, shatter, break down the walls.
Blood is beautiful as it drips, drips, drips, liquid ruby running from my fingertips…
Stop it!
Let it bleed.
And let there be death.
Death, death, death is black not red. Rotted flesh, dried dust, fragile and brittle, where the blood blows away. Can't you hear the screams?
Stop it! Stopit! STOPIT!
Calling my name. They want the blood, blood, warm and moist, to touch their lips, to lick and preen, to taste.
To suckle.
Stains on pale skin.
Please stopit, please.
Bleed…
Blood drips, drips, from my fingertips, tips…
Muse: Michael Knight
Fandom: Knight Rider
Challenge: flash (libraryofwinds)
Word count: 259
Blood is beautiful as drips, drips, drips, liquid ruby running from my fingertips, stark red against the pale. I can stare at it for hours and hear the voices whispering, asking for more.
They know just what to say. Just what I want to hear in order to want more. More of this luscious warmth. For what it means, for what it can do. It smudges when I rub it, and I need to reach for more.
So plentiful.
And white. It is red against the white. Sterile prison of my memory. Gentle capture for my own protection, huddled in its embrace.
Blood thickens as it cools.
The voices taunt. They love me. They love the blood, the sacrifice of millions, the fault that follows. The empty spaces that remain.
Emptiness.
Awash with ruby violence.
Done it. Did it. Had it. Lost it. Big boys don't cry. Hearts beat blood until blood runs dry.
Mary, Mary, quite contrary, how does your garden bleed?
Shatter, shatter, break down the walls.
Blood is beautiful as it drips, drips, drips, liquid ruby running from my fingertips…
Stop it!
Let it bleed.
And let there be death.
Death, death, death is black not red. Rotted flesh, dried dust, fragile and brittle, where the blood blows away. Can't you hear the screams?
Stop it! Stopit! STOPIT!
Calling my name. They want the blood, blood, warm and moist, to touch their lips, to lick and preen, to taste.
To suckle.
Stains on pale skin.
Please stopit, please.
Bleed…
Blood drips, drips, from my fingertips, tips…
Muse: Michael Knight
Fandom: Knight Rider
Challenge: flash (libraryofwinds)
Word count: 259