Wednesday, 24 August 2016

Dried Crimson



By the time I got there, the blood had dried.

The red droplets mocked me, a spray of life, left behind to taunt me, to make me envision what had happened there, what was done to him.

I tried to piece something, anything together, a clue, a hint, even just a fucking direction to move in. But there was nothing, just the line of dried fluid on the ground. I couldn’t take my eyes off it, my entire being focused solely on the blood of my kin.

So I didn’t realise they were above me until it was too late.

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