Blood

There was Blood on the paper and he continued to stare at the cut like it was some form of beauty, a perfect materialistic circle that even Plato would bow his crystal-clear ideas to. He continued to stare at his own red substance, wondering why do people call it Blood? His hand was starting to feel somehow numb and maybe a little bored. All he wanted to do was stretch it to the extremes or even better smack it as hard as he could to the big bookshelves that were all around the room. Yet, he just continued to stare until his vision started to feel that soft sense of a dreamy air.

The world became small and he was upside-down. His eyes, coughing merely mascara-toned looks, and his nostrils were perfectly smooth and hairless. Then he touched his shirt with fingers that had no nails. The shirt felt strange, like a combination of animal skin and flower pores. Obviously, the pants were followed by the same combined nameless material. He looked somewhere down. Interestingl y, there were people staring at him, doing gestures, dancing, burning animals, crying, screaming at him, singing and even bowing their heads in respect, like he was some kind of Supreme Being

They all looked miserable to him, and while he wondered why were they doing all that stuff and why was he so high, on top? Gradually a woman came up.

Who are you?, asked the man eagerly. Your companion, your servant, your love, your hate, the mother of your children, maybe your own mother. I am your boss, your neighbor, your past, your present, your future said a unique voice. Stumbled, but more eager the man asked again: Why did you come up here?

The woman responded: To protect you, so you can be afraid; to be protected, so you can be proud. I came because you came first; I arrived because you could never be here without me. The man studied her. A human masterpiece he thought, and asked again: What is your name? My name is not important, she said, You will love me as a woman, and in other times you will turn me into a man. This response stuck him. It made no sense at all loving a woman and turning her into a man Was that possible? He looked down. People were more miserable than ever. Activists and protestants with big posters where was spelled an unknown word FEMINISM were everywhere. In front of them other people. Angry-looking shapes and sizes, ready to blast and explode on whoever was going to disturb their way. Sad faces, dirty eyes and tears everywhere What is going on? he asked her.

This, the woman said, is called the modern world, where every inch you look, you will find something modern, different, strange, but acceptable; weird, but beautiful; not equal, but living. Come with me and lets become a part of it. This is the hidden past, the growing present, and the damned future. As long as we are together the strings shall remain tuned. Ill bring you happiness and youll bring me joy. Give me your hand, come with me

She started to come closer and closer, until his hand felt that sharp sense again and he came back to his monotone reality.

No! Dont leave! he thought. But the woman was not there anymore. All of a sudden Life seemed so far away and for the first time he knew he was going to miss it. But his mind was getting colder, every second, or it was just his body He couldnt tell. All he could realize was that he kept staring at that red substance people called Blood, while it flowed from his wrists like a river filled with emotion.

Author:: Arber Spaho
Keywords:: Blood,Goth,Gothic,Literature,short story,Suicide,Death,Life
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