Bloodstains
[A/N: This is an ~ahem~ interesting short mono from Cassie's POV. It deals with what she might feel after killing someone in battle. Especially if it was a young human girl.]
The sour taste pervades me. My life. My guilt.
I can't seem to get it off, no matter how hard I scrub my hands.
Just keep on scrubbing, Cassie, maybe it'll all go away, hmm?
I wish.
I swallow back my tears, and try not to see her face.
Too much to handle. Too young.
Her eyes. Those eyes that seemed to see straight to my soul as I brought my fangs down, ripped her throat . . . .
I shudder, and turn the heat of the water up a little.
No, Cassie. Don't think about it all. Think about something else. Your history test tomorrow.
Napoleon. Waterloo. Some duke, whoever he was.
Innocent brown eyes . . . .
Algebra. Y equals MX plus B. A squared plus b squared equals to c squared in a right triangle. Isosceles or equilateral? I can never remember which of the two is the right term.
Light brown hair, scattered across the ground with crimson spots . . . .
I wince, and think of France. French. Ok. What French do I know?
Um . . . . French revolution?
Bad idea. It just makes me think of all the bloody killings back then.
"Cassie? You in there?"
My mom's voice goes through the door clearly, and I sigh. "Yeah, Mom. In here."
"Are you okay? You've been in there a while."
I laugh, try to make it sound real. "Fine, Mom. I'm just washing my hands, and thinking about my homework."
"Oh."
Mom goes away.
I'm glad, in an odd sense. Because I wanted to pour it all out to her, and feel her hug me with that warm security you have when you're six.
The blood, gushing in warm streams along the ground, drenching my paws, my fur.
I keep scouring my hands, polishing them to a shine. Making the warm ebony color stand out.
And yet . . . . . yet . . . . . yet I know, no matter how hard and long I scrub, the blemishes will always be there.
The tarnishes on my soul.
Her eyes will always be looking into mine, those child-like thoughts bleeding into mine, all terror and fear.
The images of her death; a death that I caused will be there.
The way I used my fangs to rip her throat open, to see the blood spurt everywhere. The way she was screaming.
The way that I knew that part of the screaming was from the human girl, trapped inside her own body.
The bloodstains will always remain.
[A/N: Well? Liked it, loved it, hated it? Send any and all replies to me at anifuture@hotmail.com. And take a look at my webpage, at http://anifuture.hypermart.net.]