Sightless Eyes

He was dead, there was no doubt about it. My fingers were clasped around the wrist of the corpse, intrigued, feeling for a pulse to ripple through the man: there was no surge of life through his veins, no heartbeat beneath his ribs, no breath in his frozen lungs.

My breath caught in my throat as the wind tore through my hair, rain stabbing our skin. The man had fallen beneath the watchful branches of an old, rotting tree; and the thought that he would rot with the debris which cradled his lifeless body placed a twisted smile on my face.

I placed his hand down beside his torso and ran my palm across his naked chest toward a bloodied knife protruding from just above his navel. Streams of crimson had poured, dried and stained his milky flesh with crumbling rust. Such a shame...

I wrenched the blade from his stomach and watched as fresh thick blood spilled over the wound and down the sides of his body, gathered in a pool in his navel, and seeped into the waistband of his tattered holey jeans. The streams of liquid rubies formed puddles in the palms of the leaves which cradled him and trickled over the ground. I couldn't help but watch in quiet fascination, the knife in my hand.

The knife felt frozen in my hands, the silver hilt embedded with a few black stones and carved intricate patterns shone in the setting sun, the blood dripping gently off the razor point of the blade. It fit my palm perfectly, I realised as I drove it into the ground beside the body and then retrieved it, the silver glinting in the air, it's metallic scream reverberating in my mind.

My eyes were drawn to the man again, and I focussed on his tear-, sweat- and blood-stained face and pale lips, his green eyes kissed by death. It was eerie the way he was still staring, staring up into nothingness, and for a while my thoughts were driven by curiosity: what was the man seeing at this very moment? What were his sightless eyes witnessing in a place beyond the one I haunt now? I would never know until it was too late. Such knowledge made me angry, a flash of temper boiling enough for me to plunge the knife into the corpse's chest, into his heart, a sick feeling of pleasure flowing over me as the blood trickled across his skin, meandering into the pool at his navel.

The End

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