A Game Of Red
“We, as humans, usually fear what we do not understand. The darkness blinds us from that knowledge. Other senses become fine tuned to pick up any information. Our amygdala fires increasing our anxiety, for we do not know what might come out of the black. It has the potential ranging from nothing to devastating, and if it’s the latter…sometimes it’s too late to react.”
Dark shadows consumed the cold stone floor. The little drop released its grip from the edge of the gleaming knife. The pair of eyes fixated on the perfect sphere as it fell in what seemed like slow motion. In his mind, time crawled. He savored the moment. The gravitational pull reduced, almost like floating in space. It was perfect in its mold, round, and wobbled in the air as it fell. Slow, serene, no sound. The world around forgotten. The bright red color had a dot of white that reflected from a glimmer of light giving it a beautiful glossy look. Fresh. He watched it drop. The undulating sphere became instantly ruined by hitting the concrete slab forming a flat circle. It spread thin and some viscous liquid waved and rippled back to the center. The beautiful sound of a light tap echoed into his ears as the only audible sound. Later, it would darken and dry a crusty maroon color. He took a deep breath, a feeling of fulfillment and pleasure built within him, like a strange tickle in the back of his brain, caressing and loving his soul.
The blood looked magnificent. It is a vital fluid of the human body. It ran through miles of veins and arteries providing nutrients and oxygen to many systems in the body. However, it must flow inside to be beneficial to the host. Here, it wasn’t anymore. Perfect.
The figure stared at his masterpiece. The red liquid arranged in an intricate pattern, smeared all around with different strokes and pressures....like an artist. From smooth lines starting in the center to rough lines where the utensil lifted to create a wind-brushed look. There were several lumps where the liquid pooled and would dry in a ridge, like the arête of a mountain. The art beautiful, authentic.
Satisfaction took hold as the figure scanned the pattern for any variations or additions to add to his work. He scrutinized over every detail and pondered any changes. He had time. This was a carefully planned activity. He didn’t even glance at the body as it was not important anymore. The insides pumped out in a fashion to generate the most volume of art media coupled with making sure the waste was as little as possible. The body was just a vessel that carries his sacred paint, and that was all it meant...beyond the game. Every art piece was different as each paint container was different, like a signature fingerprint or DNA of an organism.
He stepped back and the shadows engulfed him as he spoke, “How do you like that?” The words flowed out like honey, relaxed as the recorder on his device received the vibrations and video feed. The man in shadow pulled out the ID and looked at the name, “Jen,” he spoke, saying it out loud. He smiled from the inspiring thoughts and felt the wetness between his legs.
Another day, more art, and a whole lot of pain. His job done well, his erection subsiding from being previously used, he slipped away into the blackness.