I stared down at my hands and saw the blood coat them, how warm and real something felt when it wasn’t just ink and stains. This was life and I was holding it in my hands. I drew my eyes back up and beneath the flickering streetlight and the throng of drunken cattle, I saw nothing else but the dead girl. Somebody out there had taken her life, her heart, and there I was with her warm, sticky blood. Feeling the most alive I’d felt in years.I had to find him. I just had to.
Charlotte Munro, Down by The Mausoleum
blood, dark, dark-scene, depressed, depression, disturbed, gore, gritty, heart, homeless, horror, horror-fiction, horror-short, horror-short-story, horror-writer, killer, knife, knives, murder, revenge, scary, serial-killer, short-stories