Disclaimer: -Tamaki Corner- Lets not get into this again, please.
Summary: Just a little thing to work off anger at the world. Oh, and it stems from watching too much Kingdom Hospital, as well.
In My Mind
I think of only one thing: kill. Kill them all! Kill them dead! It doesn't matter how; chop off their heads, fill them with sand, bleed them dry. Puncture wounds, stabbing, let them suffocate. Just do something! I can't take the pressure!
It's like a pulsing in my head, a pulsing right behind these teal eyes. I can't take it. Pounding in the temples, fire coursing through these veins. Can you feel it? Can you see this anger and rage that races through my entire being?!
She can feel it. That's right; Mother knows what I'm talking about. She wants it, too. She wants them all dead. She'd prefer crushing them beneath our sands, but I don't approve of that. We've used those sands for far too long.
Bare hands would work better. Yes, using these hands stained in blood and scars to cut off that precious air supply. First they would panic, trying erratically to get more air. But it wouldn't work, would it, Mother? No, it wouldn't. Then they'd begin to see stars. Perhaps I'd bang their head a few times against the floor, watch some blood pool out from the wound.
Mm, that blood would taste de-lic-ious as well. Metallic, maybe a little salty, hot. Steaming hot, because it was fresh. Makes you a little dizzy tasting it, but they'd be much dizzier losing it. And oh, that sickening crushing sound as you continue to bang their head. Maybe a few punches to the face, watch that nose get broken in. Did you know it's possible to kill someone by pushing the cartilage in their nose up into the brain? Messy, but effective.
Give it all to me! Give me that hot blood; let it pour down my throat! It's the only thing that gorges my hunger, that guenches my thirst. Oh, you think I'm crazy, don't you? You haven't seen anything yet. Would you like to see all the scars on this body of mine? Scars that were caused by myself?
The first, scars from an animal, a senseless attack on the leg and pelvis. Hurt like a bitch. Oh, that dog died, though, didn't it, Mother? Yes, we killed it. Ah, the third victim to fall to our sand, its precious blood feeding Mother. Oh, it was so delicous.
For countless years, more scars I recieved, on my legs, my arms, even my belly. Those were from those sickening ninja that constantly attacked me. Hm, did you know that tasting your own blood is different from tasting another's? Yes, there is no distinct taste to your own. Salty, yes, but that's from sweat. Instead, your own blood tastes...normal, something you're used to. Not like losing a tooth, and having old blood pouring in your mouth. Old, dead blood tastes gross. It tastes rusty. But that isn't the point.
And then there are the more recent scars, this time on the feet. Yes, those were self inflicted. I couldn't hurt others, and I needed the blood. So, I slashed the feet. Hm, it didn't hurt as much as I thought it would; no, it felt...kinda nice. It became an addiction, actually, a few more cuts on the feet, a couple every day. They didn't scar after the first few, unfortunately. You don't have to cut far to get the amount of blood you want.
Scars. They truly tell the tale of your life, don't they? People who hurt you, times when you hurt yourself. Accidents, intentions, feelings. They are a drive, if you will. They inspire these thoughts of death and blood.
Mm, blood. I want others' blood. I want Father's; he needs to die. But he's constantly protected. Heh heh, he won't be for long. Four more have died tonight; the rest will come in time.
That fucking duck-head's blood. I need him to die. He hurt that which is mine. He hurt my kitsune! I need his blood! I need it now!
No, no, calm down. Soon, soon he will be mine. And with age, the blood only gets better. There will be more of it, more to feed us. Yes, that's what we want. More blood, more tasty blood to fuel our life.
It's a sin, isn't it? Drinking other's blood. But isn't it a sin to send assassins after your own son? Am I the sinner, or are you? Am I the victim, or is that you? Aren't we all sinners, aren't we all victims?
That doesn't matter. Hm, pink. The pink bitch's blood, that would be nice. She too, hurt my kitsune. I don't like her; in fact, I hate her. She's a whory bitch, who's a whore. Wait, I think I already said that.
Great, now I want the blood even more. I yearn for it. I can feel my stomach clenching at just imaging that taste...mmm, yum. And I've got the perfect victim for tonight. One whose death won't matter to what is mine.
The father of that Ino woman. Yes, he isn't needed. He's got a child to carry on.
It's as they always say, live by blood, die by blood.
Once you've had a taste, the first taste you've ever known, you can never go back.
Yeah, that was nice. No more anger! Until the next time, anyway. Hm, a next time? Am I planning on another fic just revolving around killing and blood and scars? Hopefully not. Well, I said it'd be dark. I think. Anyway, remember guys, reviews make my world go round!
Ayame