Blood. There was blood everywhere. There was blood beside me, there were streams of blood, there was spurting blood and there was blood even on me. I only lay back and enjoyed the chaos. I heard some screams, I heard some heavy thuds and I heard a lot of frantic running.
Was I hurt? Not in the least bit. I was having the time of my life.
I listened to all the pained sounds around me, feeling the warmth of the lovely red fluid all over me and all I could muster was laughter. My body shook with my own laughter, so loud, so eerie and so unlike how I was expected to react. A part of my mind tried reminding me of Master’s instructions and I realized I could blow my cover. But an additional voice in my head overthrew the former one, “Screw Master. YOU are the Master.”
With that, I propped myself on my elbows to get a better view of this silly little drama involving all these nonsensical dead people and their dimwitted counterparts, wailing and holding onto the former silly beings. But don’t get me wrong. I live for situations like these. I’d like to think that with every dead human and with every pained scream, my soul gets infinitely stronger. This was my source of adrenaline rush. This was what life should be all about. Not all that other bullsh*t about money and relationships and this strange concept most humans chase until death – happiness. I can see happiness. I can see that swirly disgusting bright-colored emotion floating over some people’s heads and it makes me sick. What I yearn for is the darkness – that felt like home.
My suppressed laughter began to grow further, I could hear it resounding throughout the empty land. I could hear it in my own head and at this point, I had truly given up. My thoughts were nonexistent and the black sky comforted me.
Until John Cena fell out of it and crushed me.