J'aime le sang
(I love blood)

The door clicked shut, robbing the gray room of the only source of light.
It was night, a night without stars, without a moon, without a single glimmer that could fall through the barred windows.
Darkness.
Blackness.
All nights looked the same here.
All the rooms in this house were gray and empty. No colors, no pictures on the walls, no furniture, except for the beds.
A bed for every room, a bed, a steel door and a barred window.
A desolate place, without life, without laughter.
From time to time you could hear a groan echoing through the old hallways, a scream, bloodcurdling and frightening. But mostly everything was quiet.
Everything is quiet except for one room.
My room.
Often I just sat there.
Slumped on my bed
Sometimes I would stand by my window, staring at the wall.
But mostly, mostly, I wasn't here at all.
I was far away, in another place, in another time, in another year. My life, living through my past. Clinging to what I still knew
But the memories slowly slipped away from me.
Slowly, creeping, everything became darker, gloomy, swallowed up by burning spots.
Life at home, life with friends and family, with laughter and love, it disappeared.
Black caves of unfamiliar faces stared at me, grinning maliciously, blurring with what I could still remember.

The door lock clicked again, startling me, driving away my thoughts of the past.
A guard came in, dressed in white, holding a tray with a glass of water and small blue pills. Pills for fear.
I swallowed it; without the water, I didn't need it anymore.
Knowingly, the woman smiled at me, gave me her hand to help me up, to bring me to my bed.
She put the glass on the windowsill for me.
If I got thirsty today, she said.
But that was a lie, glass wasn't allowed in my room.
It wasn't allowed and everyone knew that.
You too.
With a fake smile and feigning "good night" the woman disappeared again, leaving me to tiredness and my dreams.
Dreams that got stronger and stronger.
Dreams that haunted me even during the day, in the hours of my screams.
The hours when I was all alone.
I was alone, alone with my ghosts.

The mirror stared.
Eyes wide open.
White, empty, burnt out.
Red mouth.
Cut crookedly, grinning.
Black hair.
Sticky to the head when wet.
Above me, flicker.
Cold light and darkness.
Smell of metal.
White, brown walls.
Dirt.
Wetness.
A dripping faucet.
Dripping red.
Dripping red from my arm.
Drop, drop.
And the mirror laughed.
Laughed loud and resounding.
Stumble.
Tripped over my feet.
Weak, shaky.
Get out of the bathroom.
Black and white, my room.
Red, wet soil.
Puddles full of me.
The clock struck.
Crashed to the ground crooked.
Laugh.
The mirror didn't stop.
He sang a song.
A song of death and destruction."Death, death, spin me, spin me. Wander on the precipice. Spin me"
Another laugh.
Shrill and high.
Twitch, make it small.
I knelt.
Kneeled in the red and it was dripping.
Dripped from arm, wrist.
Black chasm in the flesh.
Giggle.
Now quietly.
Not from the mirror.
From nowhere.
Just my mouth.
Mouth that moved.
Mouth that grinned.
My mouth grinned.
Formed itself.
Opened up and laughed.
Laughed at joy.
Laughed at me.
Dizziness and red.
Lumpy and runny.
Environment shattered.
And I laughed, laughed on, until the siren sounded.

I woke up screaming.
Panting, sweaty, I sat on the white bed.
My heart was beating fast, too fast, but slowly it calmed down.
Past.
The only past I had left.
The only memory that haunted me, that scared me.
Rattle.
My throat was dry, too dry, so dry it hurt.
I got up and stumbled.
I barely got hold of the windowsill.
I could stand for support.
Slowly, carefully, as if the water were dangerous, I reached for it.
But when I picked it up, laughter.
I winced, looked for the mirror.
The glass slipped through my fingers.
Slipped and shattered on the hard stone floor.
To swallow.
Shards and water lay before me.
Caressed softly.
My gaze caught on it, fixed myself.
Palpitation with excitement.
A grin crossed my mouth.
My eyes stared at the broken glass.
My body sank, sank to my knees, close to the floor.
I picked up a shard, big, noticeable, and laughed.
I haven't felt so free in a long time.
This time it would work.
This time I got the wrong pills.
After all, I always got yellow capsules, always, all the time.
Yellow for hope, or envy, or something.
Yellow against my seizures.
Yellow for fatigue.
And blue for nothing, not even for sleeping.
I raised my left arm, the scarred arm, and laughed again.
Now I would be free, I would be able to live.
All of this will be over.

[i]Sharp pain.
Red wet.
Viscous on my arm.
Then everything went dark.
My mouth formed the last words.
The words that determined my life.

"I love blood."

-End-

(c) caperpri