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Written by Ally Taylor
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Blood is a fluid that stains a colour of crimson red
when dried. My fingers, covered in blood, clench a
knife tightly against my chest. I had never used a
knife in such a manner before. The boy stares up at
me with a whimper. I coldly glance beyond him. I can
not bear to look at his pathetic face. The crimson
fluid trickles past his hands. He clutches his chest
to prevent the blood from falling onto the white
carpet. Mother will be rather unpleased, I thought.
I turn towards the mirror behind me. Touching the
details of the plated gold that bordered it, my eyes
meet with the reflection. In horror, I gaze at my
face. Blue, purple and red painted it like a canvas
painted by Picasso. The blood had hardened by the
corner of my lip. I wipe it away. I close my eyes.
My hand lessens it's grip on the knife. It falls to
the floor. My hand clenches itself again. My fist
connects with the mirror violently. Glass shatters
around me as I fall to my knees. My tears mix with
the blood on my hands.
Moments pass like a torturous death.
