Drowning.
Drowning in blood.
It starts slowly, the red drops oozing from his hands, only it isn't his blood, because he feels no pain.
But then it reaches his neck, and he is turning his head this way and that, trying to breathe.
He can't, of course.
The pool of red closes over his head and he thrashes in it's hold, trying to reach air.
He never can though.
Eventually he's forced to open his mouth to breathe, and tastes iron as the blood runs down his throat.
Then he is dying.
He always awakens with a jolt. Breathing hard as though to prove to himself he isn't dead.
He knows the truth, of course.
He knows it every time he sees his reflection, the eyes are windows to the soul and his are blood stained.
He isn't drowning.
He's already drowned.
Drowning in blood.
It starts slowly, the red drops oozing from his hands, only it isn't his blood, because he feels no pain.
But then it reaches his neck, and he is turning his head this way and that, trying to breathe.
He can't, of course.
The pool of red closes over his head and he thrashes in it's hold, trying to reach air.
He never can though.
Eventually he's forced to open his mouth to breathe, and tastes iron as the blood runs down his throat.
Then he is dying.
He always awakens with a jolt. Breathing hard as though to prove to himself he isn't dead.
He knows the truth, of course.
He knows it every time he sees his reflection, the eyes are windows to the soul and his are blood stained.
He isn't drowning.
He's already drowned.