Blood

A big drop falls to the ground. My wrist is covered in blood, and the sleeve that I have pulled back has turned red. The liquid keeps oozing out, and I watch, my eyes glued, fascinated. I wonder how long it'll take to drain me. I wonder if I'll faint. I admire the rich red colour, and feel proud of it. I am excited, mesmerized, lost in a world of my own. I wish I could live my life like this, watching blood. Maybe I should become a doctor when I grow up, but then I'd have to stop the patient's blood flow and I didn't want to do that. I wonder what it'd be like to become a murderer. Maybe I could slit somebody's throat; I'd seen them do it in the movies my elder brother watches. Mummy doesn't let me watch them, she says I'm too young. But I watch anyway, secretly. The blood hasn't stopped. I don't know how long it has been. Mummy comes in to call me for dinner. She screams when she sees me. I always thought she was too dramatic; must be all the serials she watches. I tell her I'm fine, but I've started feeling a bit dizzy. She shouts out to dad to get cotton immediately. She walks to me, and takes my hand to examine the cut. She looks at the hand, and then at me, confusion, worry and pain in her eyes. The last thing I remember before I faint is the smell of freshly baked cake wafting from the kitchen.

 
 

ps: I was quite obsessed with blood when I was little. The fascination hasn't quite left me, but it's been toned down. I stick to watching gory movies now. I can't explain this charm, there's something ethereal about it. I am not a violent person, and I did not end up as a murderer. Close though. I'm in law school, and have vague plans of specializing in criminology.