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Son of April
#WritcoStoryChallenge
I blinked as I regained consciousness. I had hit my head hard, or had someone hit me? Then I realised I was holding a bloody knife in my hand.
All was dark and blurry. My head felt like water was filling my brain and my ears. My chest felt like the world's weight was crushing my lungs. I try my best to gain ground and stand, only to have my balance defeated by the blood soaked floor below me. Coughing, gasping for breath, I grabbed my chest. Rubbing my palm against it, I felt what seemed to be ragged and mangled material. A startling realization came over me when I looked down at my chest. What I thought to be material from my undershirt, was flesh from my chest, torn as if slashed by claws. Taking deep, short breaths, the sting of my wounds began to accompany me along with my moans and whimpers.
Reality of my situation came into fruition as my hearing and sight began to deteriorate. I was dying and knew that if I didn't get up, this bloody floor was going to be my last resting place. I was not going to die! Not like this! Not this way! With every ounce of my will, I managed to pick myself up from that floor. Upon gaining my footing, I could feel my life slipping from me. I could feel my heart slowing down. I could feel my body growing colder. The bloody knife in my hand fell from my grasp. I began to see my entire life flash before my eyes "No Godammit!" "Not now!" "Not here!" I shouted, desperately. Just when I thought I was done for, miraculously, I regained consciousness. I could hear the normal beat of my heart and could see the lighting in my dining room.
I look down upon the bloody knife that laid next to its victim, as he laid slipping away into a permanent slumber. Along side my blade laid my other tools I use for "my work" my hammer and scalpel. I firmly placed my blade back into my palm. I must finish what I've started. He gave quite a fight, this one. "You should be proud of your efforts, my dear boy!" "No one has never gotten this close to capturing me!" "A little advice for you to take to your God on the way out:" "When you cut the devil's chest, cut deep with all your heart!" Laughing historically, I thrusted my blood soaked knife into the detective's chest plate. If only they were all this challenging.! Humming my favorite Mozart piece, I ripped the detective's badge from his suit pocket and placed it in a box full of my many "trophies" I'd collected over the decades. I gleefully got on my knees and began sculpting my latest masterpiece. One slit at a time....
I blinked as I regained consciousness. I had hit my head hard, or had someone hit me? Then I realised I was holding a bloody knife in my hand.
All was dark and blurry. My head felt like water was filling my brain and my ears. My chest felt like the world's weight was crushing my lungs. I try my best to gain ground and stand, only to have my balance defeated by the blood soaked floor below me. Coughing, gasping for breath, I grabbed my chest. Rubbing my palm against it, I felt what seemed to be ragged and mangled material. A startling realization came over me when I looked down at my chest. What I thought to be material from my undershirt, was flesh from my chest, torn as if slashed by claws. Taking deep, short breaths, the sting of my wounds began to accompany me along with my moans and whimpers.
Reality of my situation came into fruition as my hearing and sight began to deteriorate. I was dying and knew that if I didn't get up, this bloody floor was going to be my last resting place. I was not going to die! Not like this! Not this way! With every ounce of my will, I managed to pick myself up from that floor. Upon gaining my footing, I could feel my life slipping from me. I could feel my heart slowing down. I could feel my body growing colder. The bloody knife in my hand fell from my grasp. I began to see my entire life flash before my eyes "No Godammit!" "Not now!" "Not here!" I shouted, desperately. Just when I thought I was done for, miraculously, I regained consciousness. I could hear the normal beat of my heart and could see the lighting in my dining room.
I look down upon the bloody knife that laid next to its victim, as he laid slipping away into a permanent slumber. Along side my blade laid my other tools I use for "my work" my hammer and scalpel. I firmly placed my blade back into my palm. I must finish what I've started. He gave quite a fight, this one. "You should be proud of your efforts, my dear boy!" "No one has never gotten this close to capturing me!" "A little advice for you to take to your God on the way out:" "When you cut the devil's chest, cut deep with all your heart!" Laughing historically, I thrusted my blood soaked knife into the detective's chest plate. If only they were all this challenging.! Humming my favorite Mozart piece, I ripped the detective's badge from his suit pocket and placed it in a box full of my many "trophies" I'd collected over the decades. I gleefully got on my knees and began sculpting my latest masterpiece. One slit at a time....
