Dreams of Blood

Maybe he was drunk. Or perhaps he was just crazy. Either way something was wrong with him. I don't remember why I was there or even why all these people were watching him. All I knew was that it scared me and I seemed to be the only one who was shocked.1

We were in the kitchen and people were cheering him on. Daring him. Handing him the knife. He took the knife and smiled. He seemed to enjoy the pain. He was slicing into his skin over and over again until finally, he had cut every inch of exposed skin that there was on his body. He looked tired like he just ran a 100 km marathon. He looked proud like his daughter just graduated college. He was a madman.2

It was almost as if time skipped forward or went back because I was looking at the same face but not the same body. This body had tattoos all over and he had no cuts on him at all. He still had the same twisted smile and tired eyes. By now I'm sure he must have been drunk, because he was running full force into walls and the sound of bones crunching and blood squirting filled my ears and chilled my blood. 3

He was almost satisfied now. I could tell by looking through the lense of my camera that he was almost done. He fell to the ground and breathed heavily ignoring my presence. There was a black fan behind him. It wasn't on but somehow it looked like it was moving. He laid his head back. Blood squirted. He turned and leaned into the fan. This time it was like all of the blood in his head spilled onto the floor. And as I watched him die, I turned the camera off and silently walked away. 4