Blood: the substance of life, the substance of death. An oxymoron in itself.
Taste: metallic and bitter.
It plays in my veins, blue, red, blue, red. A dance with oxygen. It runs through me, happy and carefree. It multiplies to remain in my world. The inevitable spill takes it away from me. My blood is a part of me, as yours is of you.
That red inside of you, kiss it goodbye, because it will no longer be circulating within you. Warm, creamy tidal waves will pour out. I will destroy you. Your life is ending as we speak. I slid the blade so cleanly through your young and ever lovely flesh. No bone in my way, I end your life. Do not scream it will only take a moment. Our gory battles must always come to such screeching halts. Your red dances quick and frenzied. It jumps from you as though you were the hottest coals of a fire.
What is this? You say YOU will destroy ME? What a joke. You clearly cannot perform a more maniacal, more sinister conclusion. Simply cannot be done. Face it. You will end a victor-less, gushing, cold being.
I bleed out and die.
We are in chemistry and the worst is yet to come. I turn to my friend, look her dead in the face and say “Jenna, I pronounce you Limbless Chick.” She cannot handle the situation and laughs hysterically. The clueless instructor bumbles on with the day’s agenda. I decide this is not quite enough for my target. To add to the already useless body I have carved out of her, I rip out her teeth. “You know, you really don’t need these, you will run an applesauce farm. You can move to Applesauce Lane and just eat applesauce for the rest of your existence on Earth.” We giggle like our naive counterparts from elementary school. The exchange ends with that and we start recording our notes on atoms…again.
“I wish they would just shut up. Holy shit, they are SO annoying!” One of our biggest fans is having a fit at the end of the column we are assigned to be seated at. On a side note, I am disclosing their identity to respect their privacy.
It became a sort of game to see how irritated we could make this being. We would fight with our words in some of the crudest manners I have ever heard, no film could stand a chance to our brutality towards one another. We would escalate the back and forth a little bit every day. What else would do but to top the hypothetical violence issued the day before? The more we practiced this dialogue, the more frustrated our fellow student became. Threats and fits were frequent from that end of the room. These reactions, inevitably, only encouraged my partner in crime and I. I’m sure the individual must not have come to this realization because they did not waver the persistent hating.
“HAAAA!” Jenna is back with a vengeance. Our kickboxing classes have equipped her with the names of some impressive fighting maneuvers. She adds her own flare to the “hook” and “double-hooks” me. This is when she swings both fists in a hugging motion at the same time to squash her target. “Ultimate upper cut!” Her deadly double-upper cut sends my adrenaline level soaring. I am pulverized by her blows. She will not get away with this. I manage to resurrect myself from oblivion and defend myself. I retaliate with a round kick and a mind blowing jab-cross. The comeback staggers my foe. But, not for long. Our martial arts skills were tested by the equal match we are to one another. We struggle to gain an advantage and, finally, I am dubbed champion. Jenna bows to my power.
One thing you must understand about these violent and life changing confrontations is that they are all hypothetical. Not a single bit of them hold any truth value besides the fact that we have had these exchanges. I do not wish any actual harm upon any of my friends, or anyone for that matter. I only hope this is the same for Jenna. The slow decay of our physical body is, thank god, only for fun. Yes, fun. We greatly enjoy our rants about absolutely demolishing each other. Many are horrified of them, but what is so frightening about it? We are, by no means, harming, nor plan to harm, anyone. No, not even each other. People these days. Everything is literal.
My ability to defeat almost anything in my path has created new challenges in our endeavors. We must constantly create new and increasingly shocking material to use on each other. It is sort of like creating a horror script, only it is nearly all improvisation and pure imagination.
Jenna and my obsession with watching The Office causes us to quote entire scenes from time to time. Generally they go something like this. “In the wild there is no health care. In the wild health care is: ow, I hurt my leg, I can’t run, and a lion eats me. But I am not dead. I am the lion. You are dead.” We use these words to rest our imagination and to add to the hilarity of our ventures into our duels. I suppose you could say our humor is twisted.
Her hair is soaked in the blood from her back. The penetration of the dagger was deeper than expected, this pleases me. I twist it under her flesh. She cries out in agony. “You will never win, never.” She struggles to come to her own defense. The wound is too influential on her train of thought. She stumbles over and I have, yet again, claimed another victory. She seems to rise on one knee moments after the attack was thought to be over. Her drive is admirable, but useless. I finish her off with a swift stab to the head and send her crashing to the ground.
The red is everywhere. It is all I see.