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Crimson screamed like sin, screaming for someone to notice the difference between the purity and the mess we have stumbled upon. Towels soaked up the blood like a sponge, and a good thing. He certainly didn’t want to ruin the lady’s lovely bathroom mat.
Our Incredible Brain lay, sprawled out in submission, keeping his focus on himself. That beautiful reflection. He couldn’t help but smile. He didn’t notice the holes in his wrists, proper slits if we may call it that. Oh no, Our Hero could only note that his complexion was perfect, his hair—so strategically messy. The right clothes off, the correct staging on.
This was an occasion. Celebration. Another first impression. Must we go on?
He could feel no pain.
This was his creation.
His resurrection.
The tick-tock of the clock couldn’t have been louder, sounding off and seeming to bounce erratically off pretty walls. It was all a song and a dance for this special occasion. It was a familiar part of the plan. Although there were always different bathroom floors, different pretty women, the clocks always seemed to be the same.
The count-off until Our Brain was all brand new.
Like manufactured goods.
Tick, tick, tick.
His breathing got faster as his eyes forced to shut. This little fucker so confident in what he was, who he was and who he could make.
Maybe this time, he had assumed too much? How ridiculous.
Time went by and went and went by. Just as a wave of unfamiliar panic began to settle into every corner of his body, just before thoughts of no arrival could cloud his every thought, before he actually doubted his beautiful mind, the familiar creak of the front door put Our Hero at peace.
He let his eyes shut, his bloody grin ear to ear-- or would have been if that were even humanly possible.
She had made it in time.
They always did.
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Posted by StayingAlive on 2008-06-20 16:04:48 | Rating: | Views: 69
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