Blood

Blood


The clouds burned blood red as the sun left the city. Like in trance she dragged her body through the streets. She had felt cold first but now her body was warm, like the blood that had wallowed up on her arm. Her blouse stuck to it there, nearly dry now but still a painful reminder of what had happened, a little eternity ago.
Where she was going she didn’t know, just one thing, that she couldn’t go home, never again maybe. Then, as she looked up to the sky once more, away from the sun to the rising darkness, she felt the sadness again. She was all alone; there was no one else.
A gate appeared in front of her, suddenly, made of rusty iron, nearly double the size of her and behind it was the place that she had longed for for so long.
She knew of the hole in the fence a few feet away and after she’d squeezed through it, she walked over to that grave under the weeping willow.
Slowly she sunk to her knees and laid her heavy body onto the stone plate.
She could die here now, in this moment; deep inside she knew she wanted to, because then she could stay here forever.
She took the pocketknife out of her jeans. It belonged to her dad.
Even when she was a child, he had carried it around, always. He had misplaced it only a few days ago and she had found it.
She sat up and leaned her back against the gravestone.
She pushed up the sleeve of her silky blouse. Her arm twitched as she ripped off some dried blood from the wound. Slowly it wallowed up again from the deep cut, so beautiful.
It is something really special; blood. Nothing really but still everything.
She let the knife slip from her hand, to put her little finger into the warm wetness.
The darkness had nearly surrounded her now, as she put the tainted finger onto her cheek.
Gently she ran it over her skin, then over her lips. So soft, so human.
She picked up the knife and opened it. Stainless steel with red plastic.
Nothing special really.
In that moment she saw the faces of her parents again, as they had come from work, too early.
She had not heard them come in because she had turned up the music too loud.
They hated that; even she herself preferred the silence that surrounded her now.
But she had needed it, the music, because she had been afraid, not anymore.
Even if her parents still treated her like a teenager, she was older now and she knew what she did, would do, now.
She put the sharp side of the knife on the soft skin between the wound and her hand.
She knew now that she did not have to be afraid anymore.
Slowly she made little cuts and as the first tears of her warm blood dropped onto the stone beneath her, she looked up and saw him.
He was too far away for her to recognize but she knew it was him. He was here to save her, to take her with him and he would never leave her again.
Tears rolled down her cheek, like the blood on her arm.
She had loved it, when he had kissed her there with his warm lips. First on her forehead, then on her temple and then, finally, he had softly touched her cheek.
She felt the cold spread inside of her, as he still stood there on the same spot, not moving.
Inside her head the fight began between warmth and the darkness surrounding her.
Then she saw it again, the picture she had banished so deep in her memory, the picture that only sometimes appeared in her dreams, still.
The picture of him, drenched in blood.
“And the blood will bring us together, forever.”
Her eyes stared at him, as her lips barely moved, but he just stood there and didn’t move.
He should take her into his arms again, as he had always done, but he still did not move.
Even as the lids covered her eyes, she saw him standing there, not moving, just like she had held him in her arms, as the blood had begun to soak through into her lap when he was still shaking.
She had tried to warm his body with hers, but he had slipped away.
It had been too long, that she had not seen him, but now he had come and…

The End

Diese Geschichte sollte als romantisch aufgenommen werden und keinesfalls als Selbstmord inspiration.
"Das Leben ist schoen, du musst nur die Augen aufmachen."Gisa Wierzchowski, Anmerkung zur Geschichte

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