Marcus The WhiteBlooded

Chapter One

This world is an evil one. Though it is easy to correct the evilness because it was easy to tell who caused the evil. Not for me. I was in the police officer, the officer cutting my wrists open. That's how you tell. People have started to give their children vaccinations to "evilness." it turned your blood pure white. With every bad deed, you have done your blood turns a shade darker. The darkest blood discovered was the blood of a mass murderer. He killed 90 people alone, injured many more after the fact. His blood was jet black.

"I remember that story on the news?" I tell the officer that drew my blood. They nod, clearly bored and unhappy with his findings. He looks up at me when the blood flows from my veins. I look to my own surprise that my blood was pure white, white as fresh fallen snow. I smile and bite my bottom lip. I killed my wife, strangled her with a jumper cable. I believe I broke her neck. I did hear a noise before her head flopped onto her shoulders. A noise that reminded me of biting through a chicken bone. I look at the officer. He says nothing while covering the wound. I frown to not give away what I've done. The officer stands and pats my back. His gloves making a strange sound against the clothes I was wearing. I look up at the officer, and to make it more believable I say, "please catch whoever did this..." He nods and promises me.

 "We will do whatever we can to bring your wife to justice, Marcus." I walk out of the police station without a sentence. Without a night in jail. I smirked to myself and I pull out a cigarette. I light it and hold it between my lips. I feel the gentle heat close to my face. I breathe in and I feel the smoke fill my lungs. I blow the smoke out and watch it fade out of existence. I walk to my car. My car the color of midnight that my parents gifted to me after I married Nevada; my dead wife. I touch the car's burning roof. without another word, I take the cigarette out of my mouth and I flick it to wherever. I don't look to see where it lands before I unlock my car and get in. The car seat already hot. I put my car in drive and I get onto the highway. I laugh to myself. Then I take a quick peek at my wrist. I can get away with anything. I turn on the AC and let the car cool. I'll get home soon enough.

I get out of my car and lock it quickly. Nevada and I lived in an apartment building close to my college. I breathe in the air, contaminated with years of pumping crap into the sky. Though at that time it felt so clean and clear. Maybe I was losing my mind? I think about the chances of my mind being lost in the oblivion of my consciousness for a moment before I decided I didn't care. I walk to the door I open it easy, the lock broke about two months ago. I remember because I was the one who took a rock to that old rusty lock. It broke with only a few hits. I also remember the sound it made and the sparks that came off the lock, illuminating the door for less than a second then fading out. I smile remembering that. I remember catching one of those sparks, it burned my skin and I winced, but the pain was worth it. I did it, again and again, a few times. It felt good. I walk up the stairs to my door, with the silver 43 in the middle of the door. Now that I look at it my smile fades. It was off-center, slightly to the left. I shake my head and make a mental note to find my screwdriver later to fix that small error. I opened my door, I left it unlocked because it was less conspicuous like that. I remind myself to continue making small slip-ups. Even if I'm alone. I remind myself to spill my coffee in the morning. To overcook my steak and cook for two. I smile and plan ahead. I stare inside my door for a few seconds before I take a step in. The door slowly closes and makes a small click sound when it closes into its proper place.

I look around the small apartment. A wall dividing most of the room. the living room to the kitchen. The living room was the first thing I see. I look at the mess on the floor and I scoul. What a foul sight. I like being organized but I couldn't touch the mess until about a week. That's when I get the bright idea to try and" fix my life" and "put everything back in place." I look at the mess and realize that it's also not enough. I tip a few things off the glass coffee table and I spill a mug onto the glass. Intending to leave it and let it dry. I think of when I'll have to wipe it off and immediately regretted it. I shake my head and I continue on. I brush my hands on the tops of the couches and cross into the kitchen/ dining room. I looked at the fast-food left on the counters and nodded. That was enough. I looked at the floor and I shake my head. There was the good china on the ground. I swipe it up in my hands. It cut me in multiple places on my hands but I enjoyed it. I threw the pieces away. I looked at my hand covered in blood. The china stuck between my skin. I see the small white blades of expensive earth in between two folds of human flesh. I nod and I leave the kitchen and walk to the bathroom, just down the hall from the kitchen. I open the door and I open the drawer to the right. My drawer, clean and perfect. I grab my pair of tweezers and I take the china from my skin. I bite my lip and smile at the pain. I hear the small clink the small pieces make when they fall into the sink. I wash out my hand and I keep pressure on it until it stopped bleeding. I look at the fresh wounds at my hand and remember my wife. That wire cutting into her neck. Not leaving bruises but embedding into her skin. I smile at the thought. Her blood traveling down her collarbone and drifting down her breasts. She was the most beautiful then. The red liquid covering her.