Drip. . . Drip. . drip. . . Blood on marble, red on white, hot on cold. No. The blood is cold now, too. I’ve made sure of it. Drip. . . Drip. . . Splattered with it. Jarring red across my bare, white chest. . . Blood. So much blood. Red, white, life, death. . My head is spinning. Madness is clawing up from dark recesses of my heart and I haven’t a clue how to stop it. Yes. Yes I do. I stand from my hard metal chair, whisking a clear glass off the counter. Drip. . . Drip. . . Precious nectar, precious red, wasted, lost in the white abyss of the marble floor. Red on white. . . Life or death? My head’s spinning, whirling, driving me past madness. Utter oblivion. Blackness, darkness.
Until I raise the clear glass- full of red now- to my lips.
Still warm. Still hot on my ice-cold tongue. Red. . .White. . . Drip. . . Drip. . . A spasm down my spine as my heart starts up. Thud. . .Thud. . .Thud drip drip thud. . . So loud, so loud inside my head! A convulsion from the man on the table makes me realize the heartbeat is not my own. Life! Not death! Not the red on the floor! I turn, scalpel glinting in my hand.
“What are you doing awake, precious?” I ask. Have I lost it? Maybe I have. Maybe I’ve slipped again into my madness. . . Red. . . White. . . Drip, drip, drip. . . Yes, yes. I’ve lost it again. I’ve lost myself to the kill. Red. . . So much blood in him!
Another low groan. It’s his pain talking, isn’t it? His pain or his fear, I don’t care which. Life! He’s alive! Why do I care? Why haven’t I killed him? Drip. . . Thud. . . His heart is faster now, that gorgeous red spilling onto the floor. That’s all I see. Red on white. . . Like a peppermint stick. . . Flashes of color, flashes of white. Ever-present red. Gone. . Blackness. . . Drip. . .Drip. . . I cannot seem to make sense of things. That’s the first clear thought that I’ve had. When had I begun? Had I truly lost my sense of time?
Enough!
My skull will split if I don’t end this. It must. And then there would be more red. . .On the walls, ceiling. . . So much red. How much of it is mine? Is it all his? Drip. . . It’s slowing now. Less life. Less precious, abhorrent red. Why haven’t I seen his face? The body seems familiar. . . Scars, bruises. . Why, a missing rib! I’ve a missing rib. . Me! Me, me, me! It’s myself on this gurney! The red, the blood. . . Red on white. . . The marble floor white as my skin. . . No, no! End this! Drip. . . Drip. . .
I’m clawing at the walls now, the door. My nails ripping from their beds, feral snarls caught in my throat. Why does it terrify me so? I’ve seen this before. . My blood. . . Red. . . White. . . Black, blue. . . Life. . . Death. . . My head is splitting open, white hot pain shooting down my side. Drip. . . Trembling, now. Blood streaked across the steel door. Blood on metal. . . Red on silver. . . Agony. . My head rent open, blood pouring from my fingertips. . . Drip. . . Drip. . .
Stop the heart. No heart, no nightmare. . . Thud, thud. . . Still there. Yes, there but not for long. . .Red. . . Glass. Shattered cup. Cut out the heart. . . Drip. . . Drip. . . Thud. . . Drip. . .
SILENCE.
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This is my favorite piece featuring Kaze, without question. This is what he has nightmares about, though this is one of the nicer ones. Expect more of his night terror scenes, they're wonderful fun to write.
