​A collection of visions – My bloody hands

My bloody hands

I turned the tap to the middle and stared at the water for a moment, it raced around the bowl and down into the crusty hole of the bathroom sink. The blood dripped from my finger tips onto the edges of the bowl and formed puddles of red on the waters edge, merged, faded and then vanished into the abyss.

As I rubbed, wiped and scraped at the blood, their blood seemed to imprint itself onto my skin and into my pores. In that involuntary moment of internal chaos, morality and realisation of what I had done, the truth had finally been set free. I was no longer a caged, pent up, full of anger, full of remorse, full of morality and empathy… living with the handbrake on to doing what ever the fuck I wanted. I flashed back to that moment of pure freedom, they angered me and I finally did what I had thought of a thousand times before but never had the courage to do.

I unleashed my rage, my terror, my true power, the power of a thousand men before me, from the rock to the rifle, a genetic trail of murderers and animals. I grabbed the sharp object and I slashed and I stabbed and bit and kicked and spat. Through the tears, snot and snarling teeth, I could feel my heart beating my venomous cruel and destructive life force.

Am I evil?

Or am I just what any other creature would do? Do animals fight with such hatred? Or are they both doing it to show dominance? The last to flinch wins? Natural instinct or murderous intent?

The mirror reflected cold blue unloving eyes that stared back at me, nothing there but empty space, a vastness of isolation, a demon, an external voice, anything to excuse me of the reality of the truth to what I had become and what I would be named and forever looked upon… My good name, besmirched by one foul, everlasting, thoughtless and unnecessary act.