This is a new piece I’m working on. I will share it in snips
When I woke up, I guess it was ‘waking up’ because it seemed I had been sleeping,, though I can honestly say I don’t recall falling asleep that night. Buster was cleaning me up. He was licking me, on the spot where the blood had been, the spot where the wounds, still deep gashes in my soft tender wrist, had only slightly started to close up. The spot that covered many other scars from the other attempts, also failed. My other arm, also slashed was stuck to my bedsheet by a thick crusty trail of crimson liquid, crust on my skin, on my hair, a thin covering of not quite dry blood on my pillow, blankets and my shirt.
This time, I did it the right way. This time I cut in the proper direction. Straight up and down, not across the vein like they show in the movies. Up and down, a thin slit on the vein, nobody ever thinks of doing it that way. Not at first. But this time I did it right. Deliberate, methodical, perfectly planned. Careful not to make any of the mistakes I had made days before. Razor was sharp, I I was alone, I cut the right way, and the blood was flowing out slow and thick. I hadn’t anticipated how thick it would be. And slow. It oozed, rather than poured, and crawled down my hand slowly in gel like globules. Gobs and gobs of slow moving shimmering dark plasma, out of the gash and trickled in a determined march down my hand, over my fingers and onto that spot on my pillow.
