How Very Peculiar

What Would It Be To Have Blond Hair Instead of Black

Blood pulsed from her wounds, gushing and Crimson, as she clutched desperately at the gaping hole in her chest.

He approached, stalking towards her like a menace in the shadows, the scythe in his hands glinting in the moonlight.

Panting, she scrambled back, until her hands slipped on something warm and sticky. Daring to turn her head, she paused in horror. There, soaked in blood, was her dear brother. The bones from his ribs stuck out in odd angles, his intestines mangled around his neck. His face was a horrible shade of gray, bloated and swollen, his mouth gaping wide open from his final scream.

There was no use in sobbing and pleading, yet she groveled like a dog, anything to live. Reaching a bone white hand up, the figure grasped the edge of his hood and lowered it.

In the distance, a girl, about the age of four or five sat and watched the horrifying events unfold in front of her. Toying with the hem or her pink, frilly dress, she tilted her head. Her straight, ebony black hair falling over her shoulders in soft strands.

She simply watched unfazed as the hood lifted, and unveiled the face of the devil himself.

Far away, the women's chest caved in, sharp ribs piercing through the very flesh of her heart. Her lungs collapsed and imploded upon themselves. Thick, hot blood bursting out of her in a torrent. There was a strangled look on her face as it was ripped apart.

She had exploded.

The child giggled as the pieces of the women's head came rolling towards the her. There was a chunk of flesh with beautiful blond hair still hanging from it in gentle waves.

The little girl bent and held the piece of flesh to her own head and gazed at the forlorn moon, wondering what it would be like to have blond hair instead of black.

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