The Dead One's Weeping

Just a Puppet on A string

She sliced her skin open as the warm, red liquid tricked all down her arm. She began laughing hysterically, and doing the same to her other arm. How she loved the feeling of warmth. Usually the happiness was given to her from her friends and family, but now she was the one to do it. Many drawings were hung up in her room. Each drawn with blood. How she loved the decorations and the joy they gave her. One was a painting of what seemed to be to people. One where the organs were being ripped out with a knife. She heard someone coming, but didn't bother to check this time. Unfortunately, she saw who she wanted to see the least.

~5 Years Later~

Now, in an asylum, she still does her drawings, but not only with her blood, but of the others blood she had collected...