Thirst (TW for blood)
Posted September 8th, 2023 by BohemianRhapsod...
September 8th, 2023
He was young. Barely five when he saw blood the first time.
"Mommy, why is this red liquid coming out of me?"
His mother ran over to him and looked at the huge gash on his arm. He wasn't crying, but looking at it out of curiosity.
"Dear, it's because you're hurt."
"I think I like being hurt!"
"No, it's bad! Don't you feel the pain?"
"I don't feel anything. It's just red. It looks cool! I wanna be hurt again!"
His mother didn't know what to do. He took him to the therapist, the doctor, his grandparents, anything that would help with this strange thing.
Eventually, his mother gave up, and told him not to hurt himself. The young child didn't know why, but he went with it anyways.
His life hadn't even started yet when he drew blood the first time.
He was only a teenager when he, out of rage, threw a knife at someone and killed them. He saw how red it was. He saw what he had done. Not that he had killed them, but that others had this strange, red substance too.
"I think I'll hurt others, too."
He never really knew how much suffering he caused. He was too busy indulging in the crimson heaven of blood.
He was thirty years old. He picked fights often, rarely killing, but never leaving them fully normal. He would scar them, whether it was mental or physical, but he would never leave then unharmed. Why would he? Blood was beautiful.
And then he got the news.
The news that his sister was killed after walking near a gunfight.
His beautiful older sister who had helped him through many hard times in life, had died.
He got angry.
He wanted to avenge her.
He picked more fights, and washed his hands in even more of the vermillion stuff.
He was dragged to court for 'homicide,' 'assault,' and a bunch of other random crap he didn't know or care about. It was all the same to him, anyways. Just the punishment for doing what he loved.
He was thrown into a cell with no one near him, like the others. It was barred. He was stuck here, and he didn't quite know how long, either.
Well, since there wasn't anyone around to get blood from, he had to get it from himself.
The next day, the guards came over to the prisoner. But all they could see was a pile of gore, self-inflicted, after checking the cameras. But why? He wasn't suicidal, and when they had asked him about why he commited so many heinous crimes, he was too busy doing something else.
They never could put the pieces together.
All they had left was blood.
And blood can't tell you everything.
See more stories by The Time Lord Victorious (Connor)