A Marvelous Mess.

It's hard to speak your mind when your mouth is full of blood. It tastes terrible, which puts the existence of real vampires in serious doubt. It keeps dribbling out of the corners of your lips, and even if you do attempt to say something, words only come out sounding like "Bfollah glphx glblbbupss." Or something to that effect.

The circumstances of my condition of arterial material leakage and bad taste were caused by a singular person. Well, to be fair, a punch in the mouth from this person was the cause, but it's not like her fist gained a sentience all its own and randomly decided to cold-c**k me in the craw. She had a part in the decision, no doubt. But I suppose these things happen.

There's blood spots on the floor by my feet, and a few on my shoes. They're black (my shoes), so I'm not too worried about stains, but I'm trying to be careful and not spread the spots by stepping on them. This is becoming increasingly difficult, as it just keeps leaking out. You can apparently swallow quite a bit of your own blood without getting sick. Ask me how I know. No, seriously, ask me.

She's staring me full in the face, I guess expecting some sort of reply. Maybe an apologetic whimper, maybe even a gasp of shamefaced pain? Who knows. If I even open my mouth, she'll be bombarded by a gout of my lifesblood and will more than likely pop me another one. She didn't take her ring off, I just noticed. Some sort of cosmic symbolism, or proof that God's a prick with an ironic sense of humor? Whatever, it's done. We're done.

There's a sense of finality to that statement, one which only infidelity, a cracked molar, and a mouthful of blood can support. Don't worry about who did what. Things were done, things were said, and jaws were clocked. Well, "jaw", anyway. There's blood on my shirt, and it's staining an interesting pattern into the white cotton. I wonder if it will come out in the wash? Oh man, I'm starting to get a little dizzy. Shake it off, man, you'll be good, you'll be fine.

Still no move or response on either party's behalf, by the way. I'm afraid if I move she's going to slug me again, and I'm sure she's still waiting for a replay of some sort. Maybe I should. Say something, I mean. But what? "I'm sorry everything I just told you was true and you didn't like it"? Yeah, not gonna cut it. Maybe if I just step back a bit and ok that was a bad idea. I'm more dizzy then I thought.

There's a small pool forming by my feet, where is all this coming from? I don't think this is good, maybe I should say something quick before she leaves or I die of asphyxiation from holding my breath or something. Wait . . . That's it, I've got it, I know the perfect thing to say! I've got the answer, the best answer a man has ever given a woman in the history of oh god here comes the pavement.

Reviews

[Sash]

excellent story man i must say i damn near passed out from all the blood.
i had a good visual on the scene of blood flow holy crap she must have a great left or right hook to draw that much blood
thanks for the read very interesting indeed

[L.P. Hawkins]

Heh. I love the "oh god, here comes the pavement" line. One thing to think about: How does a punch in the face produce enough blood to pool at one's feet? What's good about this story is that something like this can happen in every day life...with the exception of the embellishment of the amount of blood. Keep it to a few shoe splatters and a soaked shirt and let the other descriptors tell the tale. I really enjoyed this piece. Good work!