bleeding words
This is in response to a close friend's request. I am now going to commit literary bloodletting, à la the original bloodletting practices of medieval European physicians.
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The edge of the razor caught the harsh glare of the orange sodium streetlight nearby, and briefly illuminated his eyes. The thin sliver of metal flashed in a noctural sunburst of brilliance, yet it felt icy cold in-between his fingers. He tightened his fist, and sighed.
The blade met with some initial resistance, but its keen edge never hesitated.
Unclenching his fist, he felt a tiny drop of liquid fall into the basin of water, its crimson tendrils reaching out lazily. He watched it grow larger and paler, till it was utterly indiscernible.
Just like my life, he thought. It's no different from being a walking zombie. I can't be in pain like this any longer, and watching myself die a little every time I look into my reflection. Its indiscernible from being painfully dead.
Grinding his teeth together, he clenched his fist again, and this time, a steady rivulet of warm blood streamed out the thin slash, into the basin. The basin grew an angry dark color, and he watched with fascination, waiting for this infernal mélange to bubble up, to spew white-hot clouds of noxious odors, to groan and moan with a thousand chthonian murmurs...
... nothing but the soft plopping of liquid into liquid issued forth.
The pain came suddenly, a white-hot lancet stabbing into his arm, and he lost his grip on the razor, letting it fall and sink to the bottom of the basin. He bit his lower lip in an effort to stop himself from crying out, wanting to stifle his cry for help, just as he always had to suffocate his pain. The orange glow of the sodium streetlamp never wavered as he watched his lifeforce ebb from his being, and with it, his pain.
The streetlamp, an artificial sun forever trapped within a plastic cell and allowed to shine when it had to, bore witness to his bloodletting, a medieval solution to pain.
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Okay, I know that was morbid, but hey, what can I say? The 'bleeding' part led my imagination on a wild goose chase through terrible woods with unknown cries from the darker depths of the human psyche. I can't help it, I have to let my imagination run loose, because it's an unfettered child.
A ghoulish, ghastly and downright grisly child.
-------------
The edge of the razor caught the harsh glare of the orange sodium streetlight nearby, and briefly illuminated his eyes. The thin sliver of metal flashed in a noctural sunburst of brilliance, yet it felt icy cold in-between his fingers. He tightened his fist, and sighed.
The blade met with some initial resistance, but its keen edge never hesitated.
Unclenching his fist, he felt a tiny drop of liquid fall into the basin of water, its crimson tendrils reaching out lazily. He watched it grow larger and paler, till it was utterly indiscernible.
Just like my life, he thought. It's no different from being a walking zombie. I can't be in pain like this any longer, and watching myself die a little every time I look into my reflection. Its indiscernible from being painfully dead.
Grinding his teeth together, he clenched his fist again, and this time, a steady rivulet of warm blood streamed out the thin slash, into the basin. The basin grew an angry dark color, and he watched with fascination, waiting for this infernal mélange to bubble up, to spew white-hot clouds of noxious odors, to groan and moan with a thousand chthonian murmurs...
... nothing but the soft plopping of liquid into liquid issued forth.
The pain came suddenly, a white-hot lancet stabbing into his arm, and he lost his grip on the razor, letting it fall and sink to the bottom of the basin. He bit his lower lip in an effort to stop himself from crying out, wanting to stifle his cry for help, just as he always had to suffocate his pain. The orange glow of the sodium streetlamp never wavered as he watched his lifeforce ebb from his being, and with it, his pain.
The streetlamp, an artificial sun forever trapped within a plastic cell and allowed to shine when it had to, bore witness to his bloodletting, a medieval solution to pain.
-------------
Okay, I know that was morbid, but hey, what can I say? The 'bleeding' part led my imagination on a wild goose chase through terrible woods with unknown cries from the darker depths of the human psyche. I can't help it, I have to let my imagination run loose, because it's an unfettered child.
A ghoulish, ghastly and downright grisly child.
NIGEL
1:43 PM
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