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| Xeogaming Forums - Story Realm - COMPETITION ENTRY: Blood |
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Cairoi This isn't about you and your loud mouth, This is about me and my fucking beard.         Since: 08-29-04 From: PA Since last post: 4848 days Last activity: 4472 days |
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OOC: I got this story idea from getting cut on my right hand.  I hope you enjoy.
Of all the horrible little rules of life, this one I despise the most. I can be minding my own, walking down this disheveled and warped sidewalk, hands mindlessly floating about, and get nicked by a vengeful branch, shattering the tranquility of my mind’s serenity with an abrupt slash of pain. I look at my hand, and though I know I am cut, the sight of blood somehow surprises me. Why must we bleed? Death I accept, but why must we contend with additional suffering for situations in which we have no folly to account for? Rage builds up within me, and I angrily wipe the blood on a dangling leave before my face. My step begins to echo this newfound fury within me. I am disgusted with this. What have I myself done to merit this hole from which my body cries? Though my temperament tries to support my thinking and numb the pain, I still feel the throbbing and the sensation of blood dripping from my palm. No amount of mental force I can summon seems able to completely shun the pain from my memory. I knew then anger would not solve my problem, merely foolhardily try to ignore it. With this realization, I feel a strong chill as sadness enters my consciousness. How can I fight this curse myself? Maybe all injuries are meant to kill us, but we humans, being so foreign of this world, use this sense of disharmony with the planet to survive each time. I let the cut bleed now, accepting my fate. I harm the earth with my very existence, why should it not be allowed to taste my blood, which foliage and branch, once immobile stationary beings, feel compelled to attack me for? I sit now on the sidewalk, feeding this pathetic patch of grass jutting from pavement and asphalt my blood. It drips slowly, and the hand still throbs, but this grass has suffered far more than me, it deserves my blood. I squeeze my fist out and in, pushing the blood out faster. But something has happened that stops my eye; the blood has become diluted with regular water. I follow this newly formed waterway to the yard behind me, where a senseless senior citizen waters his foliage with earphones in. I come to the conclusion these plants don’t need the precious red that fuels me. I stand up and begin licking up my own blood, laughing at the pathetic plants that surround me. I am superior to them, I can move on my own, I am not dependant on nature! The planet can take care of itself; I need not bleed for it! I walk into the street, my mind cleansed of grief. Yet, I still bleed. I look at my hand with a disgruntled rebellion. Why has my wound not left? I understand now that though I must bleed, my blood is still mine! Why can I not retain it? I begin walking home, looking for answers that will be able to give me a sense of relief from this accursed pulsing and trickling. I walk into my home and wash the lesion, only now realizing how large it was. I laugh at my previous ignorance as I bandage it, feeling for once since I suffered this grievance against my well-being, a sense of relief. I walk out onto my porch, bathed in sunlight. I lay down on the aged forest green swing, using my wounded hand to eclipse the sun. I feel the warmth of the sun caressing my clothed hand, and my eyes are lulled into a wonderful sense of serenity by the dancing shadows of the leaves and the warm western wind. My vision leaves me and I lose sense of waking time until I am awoken by a shrill cry. I rise quickly to see two cars mangled in my neighborhood street, their spattered streetlights shining in the darkness. This feeling I derive from the scene sucks the life from me and its power magnifies as I slowly step closer. My vision is saturated with sights of blood, glass, and steel…A man climbs from his seat and cries as he looks at the female passenger next to him, bawling and screaming in heart-torn pain. I feel ethereal, as though I am a ghost watching this catastrophe from my own dimension. I am detached by a force I can not name, but the feeling haunts me. I see my neighbors dashing from their doors, phones in hand. Somehow I wander backwards, trying to pull this horrific collision from my mind. But it will not leave. I am hypnotized by the dark air around me, chiller then a summer’s night should be. The sound of the conscious bawling and crying makes me bleed inside, their pain becoming my own. Why must we bleed in such a manner, when there is no one to gain from it? There are those here whose tears are washing their own blood from their faces. Who does that help? Whose thirst does that concoction satiate? I hear the familiar song of the sirens in the distance, rushing across busy highways to save these poor people. I see now everyone involved: A man and his lover, the women currently unconscious. The other car houses a group of adolescents, at the prime of their life, once full of vigor and strength. One bears a child in her womb, crying and wishing her unborn son good health. I still retain my detached fear, but I regain a semi-working state of consciousness. I look down at my once bleeding hand and close my eyes, placing my other hand on the aging medical tape. I slowly begin to unravel it, the soft skin underneath tingled by its first gasp of air all evening. My wound has begun to scab, rebuilding from the pain’s wanton destruction. I place my fingers on the right edge of the scab and pick madly, drawing blood and making the wound much larger then it had originally been. I am a madman, desperately beckoning to suffer. And when the blood comes flowing forth, I let it flow into the puddle of blood before me. These people have no one they owe their blood to. Let me bleed for their well-being. Let I bleed so their wounds need not be open. Rush, my blood, feed this insatiable demon that causes these tragedies. I cannot stop Death, but I will stop the bleeding. Let them live, God, let them stop bleeding. I will gladly bleed to save them. (Last edited by Cairoi on 08-11-06 03:24 AM) |
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Elara Divine Mamkute Dark Elf Goddess Chaos Imp Penguins Fan Ms. Invisable  Since: 08-15-04 From: Ferelden Since last post: 100 days Last activity: 100 days |
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Results from judges, each category is out of 10:
Originally posted by venomouslobster Originally posted by Elara Originally posted by Zabuza |
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