Canada looked down at his hands, and watched with childish fascination as the blood ran down his fingers and left a trail of glistening red leading down his wrist. It was a beautiful, deep red, and certainly one he could learn to appreciate. The droplets stopped just short of his elbow, and he looked again at the source of the fluids. The mangled body in front of him showed no signs of motion, just the steadily growing puddle of blood. Canada dipped the tip of a single finger into the small circle of cooling fluids, and started drawing simple patterns on the snow. In not such a long time, the puddle had grown to be nearly a lake and a complete semicircle of scribbles and swirls surrounded the executioner, not unlike those painted on an Easter egg. The bloody marks served as a sort of wall, holding the reality of the situation back, and giving the boy a chance to become accustomed to the cooling life of another on his hands.

By the time he was found, the blood had gone cold.


This will be multiple short pieces, about this size, posted over a couple of days. This part is the best, honestly. I was venting, and it was born. I'll probably put a second one up later today ,and then updates sometime in the next few days.

~Ali.