Amy: ExcessMature

I woke up lying on the sidewalk, my arm and hand now drenched in blood. The sidewalk underneath was the same shade of red as the crimson that dripped down my forearm and off my fingertips; the wound was still gaping open. I gagged at the familiar sight of open flesh, the muscles in my stomach repelling the few crumbs I'd managed to get today. That liquid mixed with the blood on the sidewalk was not a pleasant sight at all, but I've definitely seen worse.

Luckily, someone had finally cared enough to take more than a two-second look at me. "Hey, you, over there! You alright?" I heard footsteps coming closer. Quickly, even. It was strange anyone cared; it's rare that somebody would. I've bled for a long time many times on the familiar sidewalks of this damned city.

"No," I rolled over onto my back, realizing that the side of my face was also wet with blood. I attempted to reach up and wipe it off, but none of my muscles seemed to function correctly.

I looked up into the wide brown eyes of a businessman now. When he saw all the vomit and blood next to me, he had to oh-so-politely cover his mouth so he didn't add to the horrible concoction with his lunch.

"We've got to get you somewhere," he remarked.

"No shit," I whispered under my breath, but fortunately he didn't hear.

The man put his briefcase down shortly, wrapping one of his arms around my waist. "Come on."

I could feel his pulse against mine as he lifted me onto my feet, the blood rushing through his veins. An excess of blood that needed to be spilled--to be emptied.

He's lucky I'm here.

The End

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