There's blood pouring from my wound. I look at it, almost shell shocked. My hand reaches down and I feel the dulled pain of touching a shallow wound. Blood poured on my fingers, sticky and red. My fingers move slowly down my leg.
"Far enough"
Up, down, up, down, curve.
Smile, smile.
There it is. A smile made of blood. It cries and bleeds. It's the face of a dying madman.
Just like me.
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My Short Stories/ Ideas
Short StoryThese are my short story/ ideas. I usually come up with them late at night when I'm feeling down or losing control so they might be a bit depressing. Most of these will stem from what's going on in my real life so sorry if I end up ranting or compla...
