If it makes you less sad, I'll die by your hand
He's stunned, the sense in his mind twisting. He can't quite seem to get a grasp on what happened, even though he knows it's real. Even though he can remember it with the clarity of it having happened only seconds ago.
--hysterical laughter threatens to spill out as he realises that he's won, he's finally won - but he chokes on it, his smile turning to bile in his throat and making him feel sick. He can't pay attention to the footsteps coming closer, not when the dampness in his knees from the pool of blood is sticky-wet and still warm--
He's covered in blood. The deep red draws lines across his hospital scrubs, marking where he's been wounded - a nasty gash down one thigh, parallel lines across his upper arm. The blood also marks what he's been doing, who he's wounded. The splatter is telling, splashed up his right arm and almost completely coating his fingers and the knife held in them. He's stabbed someone, quite probably lethally.
Shinichi's head makes a hollow thudding noise as he lets it drop back against the plaster, legs stretched out to meet the balcony rails. He can just about make out the marble floor of the lobby between the balustrade, the curve of the main stairs below. He doesn't care where he is, at the moment.
A slightly crooked smile crosses his lips and he chuckles without humour.
He'd finally done it. He'd killed 1412.
--hysterical laughter threatens to spill out as he realises that he's won, he's finally won - but he chokes on it, his smile turning to bile in his throat and making him feel sick. He can't pay attention to the footsteps coming closer, not when the dampness in his knees from the pool of blood is sticky-wet and still warm--
He's covered in blood. The deep red draws lines across his hospital scrubs, marking where he's been wounded - a nasty gash down one thigh, parallel lines across his upper arm. The blood also marks what he's been doing, who he's wounded. The splatter is telling, splashed up his right arm and almost completely coating his fingers and the knife held in them. He's stabbed someone, quite probably lethally.
Shinichi's head makes a hollow thudding noise as he lets it drop back against the plaster, legs stretched out to meet the balcony rails. He can just about make out the marble floor of the lobby between the balustrade, the curve of the main stairs below. He doesn't care where he is, at the moment.
A slightly crooked smile crosses his lips and he chuckles without humour.
He'd finally done it. He'd killed 1412.