Honk-
You stand before them.
Now the silence reigns on the place. Before, filled with screams, moans of pain and the sound of terror raging slitting throats of your deceased friends; now it just low sings in drops of blood falling from your long fingers. They fall and fall, their beautiful colors are scattered on the floor dark, like a beautiful work of art.
The blood is cold, your eyes are cold, but the green and blue come together in such a wonderful miracle.
But miracles are fake, everything is fake!
Honk-
You are alone. In front of the departed, both before dared to challenge you. There would be better if there were more colors watching your screen? Sure, a few drops trickle several down of your clothes, giving more life to the net below you. Clowns need to have colorful clothes, and spread them around the world!
Almost like leaving a glimmer of hope in this sick world, without color, without miracles.
Your face hurts. Well, your whole body hurts, but your face hurts more. You still can feel the nails slowly creeping into your eyes, cheeks, nose and mouth, tearing the skin and meat naked. But you feel no pain! Only icy blood spilling on the wound, staining your face with violet, which is now also in your shoes, shirt, the ground you walk on.
Honk-
You smile. With sharp and long teeth, maliciously and dull eyes you smile. Hiding the nails and the dirty palms of your hands you close your fists. Looking again to your friends, who will remain silent for a long, long time, you turn your back. Turn around and the steps touch the paint, spilling blood, which is not only on your face and lips. You go, tasting death, despair, anger, and desire to want more.