World Painted Blood by Slayer
The world is soaked through and through with blood.
Blood of a billion different colors.
Like a spraypainted wall, all the colors of the hemospectrum are shown.
The blind girl runs through the world, crying out the names of friends blood colors, but there are none.
There are no replies.
The world is silent, horrifyingly silent. She cannot hear anyone, there is no one.
It is so silent her ears ring and bleed with her deep teal blood, and she can hear it trickling down her hears, dripping at a steady rate. It is all she hears expect for the terrible sounds of her heart beating, all that reminds her that she is alive.
She does not know what's going on.
She cannot get away. Someone is following her.
There is someone behind her, she can hear him. But, then she cannot. She cannot hear his breath, or his heart beat, but she can hear him, him laughing, his whispering dark words from lands far away.
She cannot smell him. She cannot smell his blood, but that may just be because the world smells of so many troll. Maybe he does not have blood. She wonders upon this for a second, what if a person has invisibly blood? Where are they on the hemospectrum?
She does not need to care now.
It does not matter.
All that matters now is that she keeps running, that she gets away.
She keeps running, but she no longer knows where she's going...there is no where.
There is so much blood, so much.
She can taste it in the air, the colors, all the blood. There's so much, it's like an art exhibit.
There is no safe place, no where. The world is covered in so many colors, so many shades, so many of you friends.
There is blue, there is purple, there is orange and green, there is yellow, and there is so, so many shades of red.
She runs into a wall, crashing into it headfirst. She begins to feel dizzy, knowing she cannot escape.
The being following her does not say anything. She can hear it breathing though, each breath deep and large.
She knows death is coming.
When, she does not know.
How, she does not know.
With whom, she does not know.
She knows it is coming.
She can no longer run. She can no longer hide.
She does not speak, but accepts her fate.
She feels a sharp long, cold, blade or staff through her chest, which is left in it's sheath there. It burns, something in her, something made of steal—yes it feels like steal—finding itself in her, somewhere it was never meant to be. She touches it, feeling her own paint being added to the mixture. She does not understand the pain, it is so great, so strong, it is foreign.
She touches the wall with her paint covered hand, and drags her fingers over it, spelling out four final words, then collapsing.
TH3R3 1S NO JUST1C3.
She no longer senses anything.