Loki

It’s not like I drink my blood for sustenance, I just like the taste.

I first got the hint of its exquisite taste when I lost one of my teeth and I continued to tongue that gaping hole where it had been, trying to coax more blood out of it. I hated pulling it out, but after the heavy friction, the root came loose and I found taste I couldn’t forget.

Over the course of grade school and into high school, I was the victim of several bloody noses or bloody lips. They thought they could take something from me, but they were giving me so much more. I would hold my mouth open and my eyes would roll back into my head with blissful satisfaction as the blood drained down into my mouth.


“Just open the door.”

I couldn’t hear her now. She was too far away.

The bathroom door bent inward as she pounded her hands against it in frustration.

The tiny little metal lock set in the wooden frame is all that keeps my dedication fast. There was no reason left for sticking around. Time for my last meal.

Blades cut through these pale arms like butter. The plastic stick drops to the floor with the three blades on its head. With the clumps of hair from past shaves. With clumps of flesh from its last.

It crawls down my arms and drops to the white linoleum floor and the blue rug beneath the toilet. I hold my arms up and run my tongue up the slow trail that crawls downward.

Starting to get tired, my eyes grow heavier and heavier with each blink. Now, the screeches behind the door seem even further away. I hope her parents don’t hate me for trashing their bathroom, but there was no way I could have put my parents through this.

There was no way I could have done this without an audience.

The color drains from my face and I drop to my knees.

“It’s over, now if you don’t get the fuck out of my house, I’m calling the cops.”

Swaying for a moment, my head rolls on my shoulders and crashes against the white porcelain bathtub.

The floor is cold at first, but it slowly grows warmer and when it reaches my neck, I find it has a strange stickiness to it.

These teeth, this floor, this carpet, this bathtub, this life. Manufactured. Bought. Installed. Befriended. Loved. Ruined. Stained. Wasted.

I hold my eyes open for a bit longer and stare at the white ceiling. The only thing in the room that seems unaffected.

I cup my palm and wait as the blood drains down into it and with my last bit of strength, I sling it to the ceiling and watch a dark spray of maroon dart into view.

As my eyes drift closed, I wonder if this was such a good idea.

__________________
"You don't die enough to cry." - Kerouac

Chris Miller

Hi Loki,

I really liked this little suicide story. Very good character development. Nice description.

For some reason it's not depressing like a lot of these. I found it sort of uplifting and peaceful. Except for the last sentence. It doesn't seem to go with the whole rest of it. I realize it provides contrast, maybe even a little shock value. But it felt somehow inconsistent. But you could be right. Have to think about it.

Nice character work. Perceptive.

Especially like this paragraph. And the part where she sullies the ceiling.

(Reading this somehow got rid of my headache. Better than ibuprofin Thanks!)


Chris

__________________
the fairwriting blogs

Barcelona Review story: http://www.barcelonareview.com/64/e_cm.html

gohn67

Hey Loki,
I liked this also, very original suicide story.

I agree with Chris on the last line aslo. I think it's kind of a cliche way to end a very non cliche suicide story.

The only thing that sort of bothered me was why he did it.
I know he likes to taste blood, but was slitting his wrist becuase he was too depressed to live on or did he do it becuase he wanted to taste blood?

For the first one, I don't think you gave us enough clues or reasons to understand why he would do it.

For the second, It just wouldn't work for me unless he was really that dumb. But even though he liked to drink blood, he didn't seem like that to me. I would think he would know that if he slit his wrists that he would die. Better off going to the grocery store and buying a bucket of frozen pork blood.

Nice opening sentence, makes me interested in read on. Becuase I want to know why.

Nice image. Great!

Maybe a different simile here. Kind of done too many times.

My favorite paragraph.

Anyways I liked this story. Original way to do a suicide story, just got to fix some of the kinks.

__________________
The Frowning Dog Blog

Taz

Just like the others i found it origianal it was well writen and you drew out the readers emotions. Good job i'll keep reading your stuff in the future good luck with your next story.

__________________
With passion and enthusiasm we shall succeed!