There was no doubt in my mind when I said I hated you. There was no pain, no anguish, just how much I wish for your demise. If not by my hand, it's for naught. For only your blood slipping through my fingers like blades of grass will my hunger for your soul be sated. I wish for nothing but to tear out your still beating heart and crush it between my fingers. To let it fall like a dead snake from my grasp and slither in fear for whatever blood it still guards. I would slam my borrowed boots down because I don't own boots, much less would I have liked your unpure blood staining my shoes. Your blood shall stain my walls instead as the paint. The primer being your tears. I cared not of your family, as they carry the blood of one that I hate the most. I care not of my body, the authorities can have it. Once you die well, my purpose has been fulfilled. Without your empty threats and dark gaze I can be free. I can let my mind wander without restriction. I can let my mind grow. Grow so much that it lets me escape, as I have previously. Why am I writing to a dead man?
Because soon I join you too.
The rest of the paper is covered in crude, bloody writing.
MY BLOOD TASTES LIKE YOURS
MY BLOOD CAME FROM YOURS
BUT I GIVE NOT A CARE
AS LONG AS THE SOURCE OF YOUR TAINT IS GONE
I
CARE
NOT
YOU ARE READING
One Shots and Drabbles!
RandomSo, one shots. Suggest only on the first chapter! Thanks! Some lemons, mainly not.
