SPILLED blood is nothing like ketchup. Or cherry syrup. Nothing like the movies. It’s actually a lot less impressive. More liquid than you would expect. And yet something about it is far more terrifying. Something about watching that red, life-giving elixir fall to the ground like spilled wine. Feeling its heavy warmth as it splatters onto your clothing. That's how I knew that this was real. And if the two of them kept at it, only one would walk away.
I feel my heartbeat pick up, thumping wildly in my ears. I can barely hear myself shout, “Guys cut it out, it's not that serious.”
But there was no answer. I must not be close enough. As I get close, I see you with a knife pressing it up against his throat as you hold him down. The edge is digging into his exposed flesh, and a bit of blood begins to pool there as he struggles. All I can do is stare in horror.
“Please stop it! You’re- oh my God! You're going to kill him!” I should get over there and break it up. But my feet, they won't move any closer. I'm trapped by the painful terror filling my chest. It’s all I can do to watch. Staring as he twists out from beneath, flipping you to the ground. The scuffle continues, while the knife in your fist winks in the park lights. I pray help will come. Soon enough, the reassuring noise of sirens wails in the
Of Mist and Tin Gods
Nia Coleman