I could still taste him, the blood on my lips, the fire in his eyes, the smoke on my tongue.

I could still taste the last of his life as I held him and watched him go. He was the prize of my collection, the fire in my heart.

He didn’t even know it was me that betrayed him; I wore a mask as I bled him dry, as the fight poured out of him and into me.

He was my everything. We had had such dreams together, such bliss, such wondrous nights. Our plans and hopes rested on one another.

I didn’t quite feel hollow, as I went back out into the night, into the music, straightening my mask. My belly was full of him; he would always be with me.

About Catastrophe Jones

Wretched word-goblin with enough interests that they're not particularly awesome at any of them. Terrible self-esteem and yet prone to hilarious bouts of hubris. Full of the worst flavors of self-awareness. Owns far too many craft supplies. Will sing to you at the slightest provocation.
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0 Responses to Carnivale

  1. Trent Lewin says:

    Can taste blood on my lips.

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