Comment log;
*He lies on the floor, motionless. His glasses are a few meters away from him, broken, the fridge having handprints made of blood, as the place all around him.
The same blood that fills the floor around him, that taints his green hair red. His shirt is thorn and ripped open, his own back presenting deep wounds made with a blade, the tattoo cut, ugly.
His arms and legs too hold several wounds, as well as his chest, the deepest one on his belly.
He is breathing still, slowly, eyes closed a wound above one of them. Chest moving, up and down, as that of a weak animal, slowly dying.
The kitchen was cold, the smell almost unbearable.
Would someone ever find him there like that?*
The same blood that fills the floor around him, that taints his green hair red. His shirt is thorn and ripped open, his own back presenting deep wounds made with a blade, the tattoo cut, ugly.
His arms and legs too hold several wounds, as well as his chest, the deepest one on his belly.
He is breathing still, slowly, eyes closed a wound above one of them. Chest moving, up and down, as that of a weak animal, slowly dying.
The kitchen was cold, the smell almost unbearable.
Would someone ever find him there like that?*