Untitled "Short" Story Collection

Nine

It was beautiful.

A strange thought to have, perhaps, but no less true.

Designs reminiscent of winding branches criss-crossed the handle. It was intricate, each bough seemed so real- or perhaps that was the delirium- like I could reach out and feel the uneven bark, the stubs of new and old leaves.

I wasn't sure where I was, or how long I'd been there, or how I had got there in the first place. A myriad of questions swirled around in my head- I got the sense that many would never be answered. Somehow that didn't seem so bad, because- in that moment- I knew I would find the answers that really mattered.

It's a strange state to be in, when there's so much adrenaline flowing that you can taste sounds and smells. They were bitter, and had an odd metallic tang. Everything slowed down to a snail's pace. Things are strange in slow-motion, lights are bigger- whiter. Everything is blurred, the line between reality and dream erased.

There were flashes that turned to events past. Figures with no discernible features yet I knew who they were, what they were doing.

A strange burning sensation took my attention, looking down I would have laughed- if I were able- it's funny how easily I'm distracted. I grasped the handle, winced at the shooting pains, my hand fell in a moment of weakness. I picked it up again, scrutinising it after realising it was wet.

The scarlet liquid was strange, dark and watery and thick and light.

Oh, so that's why it hurts.

I would like to say that I realised straight away, and dealt with it just as fast. But that would be a lie. It took a few seconds for it to sink in. I'm bleeding out.

The notion was, surprising, at first. But as things started flashing before my eyes again, it made perfect sense.

I recalled having heard something. Going to investigate. Thinking it's dark in here. A shuffling sound. Turning to look. The glint of a silvery blade in the low light. Turning to run. A fist catching my stomach. The force of the air inside me becoming the air outside. Stumbling back. Turning again to run back. Running into a knife. The realisation I forgot about the other one. Gasping and crumbling like the Berlin Wall. Shallow breathing. The assailants thrown into the wall- knocked out.

Someone crouched beside me.

"It's going to be alright. You're going to be fine!"

Lies, all lies. Lies for both our sakes, they think. I know it is more for them. I have accepted my fate- they wouldn't.

I wanted to tell them it wasn't their fault, I couldn't. I pulled my lips into a twisted rendition of a smile. Trying to resist the call of the dark long enough to reassure them. I hope it worked.

Such a shame it had to end this way. But, at least the knife was pretty.

No, not pretty. It was beautiful.

AN: Huge thank you again to my beta: fuzzyellie !
I wrote this because I saw a cool looking dagger in a museum and thought "what if the main character is bleeding out?" And now I look crazy but I hope you liked it anyway.

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Until next time!