Blood, Blood, Blood.

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Never did he think blood would be on his hands...Brendon stared blankly out into the night sky past the top of the trees as crickets chirped, the humid air smelled of summer and blood. Placing the palm of his bloody hand on the top of his knee he lifted himself up. The knife in his hand sticky and wet of blood...

"Blood, Blood, Blood" His mine echoed the word in his mind. He looked down at his almost dead prey it gurgled up blood as it struggled to speak, move and think. Brendon slowly lifted his foot up, pressing it onto his prey's chest slowly he added his body weight. The prey gurgled a grunt, Brendon chuckled and bent down pressing harder onto its chest.

"Mine all mine" Brendon whispered in a low hiss as he dragged the knife's blade across his prey's neck. 


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