Um okay so I watched the end of Cocaine Bear and was inspired to write a brutal murder so here we are Ig?? The characters are not characters from an actual book, nor one I'm working on writing. They were originally just called A and B but I decided to give them names so yeah.
TW: Blood, gore, suicidal thoughts
Keiran's blood coated Birdie's forearms. Her chest heaved, she wanted to vomit but hadn't eaten in days. Nothing came up. "No no no no no," she muttered, her hands on the slit in his neck. It wasn't really a slit, more like a violent slash. She'd underestimated how sharp his knife was, and gone into the thrust with more force than she needed to. As a result, he was nearly halfway to decapitated, blood gurgling slowly out and dripping to the floor, the pool around them growing.
Some of the blood was Birdie's own, of course. The shattered edges of the window they'd fallen through had torn at her skin, cuts and scraped littered her exposed forearms, face, and feet. The thick canvas uniform had protected her core for the most part. In one spot near her waist it had ripped, though, and a deep red gash marred her pale stomach. Her teeth chattered, her head spun, she was crying, but didn't remember the tears beginning to fall. She reached up to rub them away, but only managed to wipe blood all over her face. She screamed and lurched backwards. Her whole body shook with sobs and dry heaving, she couldn't stand to look at his body.
As she stumbled away, her feet found more and more of the shattered glass with each step. She collapsed back to her knees. The only thought in her head was 'I need to get out of here.' She tried crawling on her hands and knees, but the crystalline, blood soaked shards of glass dug into her palms and she cried out, collapsing forward. Glass dug into her cheek, but she barely noticed it. She could hardly move. She was shaking. Her muscles were weak, she could hardly clench her fist. With all her heart she longed to drag her stinging, bruised, exhausted body over to where she'd dropped Keiran's knife and plunge it into her own heart, to end it all. She couldn't deal with it. Keiran may have worked for terrible people, but he wasn't terrible.
And now he was dead.
This boy, who had a family, a best friend, a girlfriend. The only person in this miserable place who had treated her like a human. Who she'd almost come to consider a friend. Who was now nothing but a memory, a corpse that, though it still bled, no longer had a heartbeat.
And that was because of her. His family, his loved ones, they would never again see their son or brother or friend smile at them, or hear him say that he loves them. They would never again see him with color in his cheeks, or without a long, ugly, bloody gash across his neck. A mortician could disguise it, make him look pretty for the mourners standing around his casket, but it would never go away. Never heal. Because of her.
All of this crashed down onto Birdie at once, and the breath seemed to escape her lungs. For one moment that felt like an eternity, she couldn't think. Couldn't move, couldn't breath.
"Monster," she muttered, pushing shakily to her feet. "I'm... I'm a monster." She didn't care now, didn't care about the glass digging into her feet or the blood dripping from the wound in her side. She deserved it. Eyes wide with shock, completely dry now, she began to back away. She shook her head as she surveyed the scene. The pool of blood beneath Keiran's body continued to spread, part of her was shocked that one person could have so much of it.
She scanned the room, and found a door. Slowly, she stumbled towards it. When her bloodied fingers found the handle, she recoiled. She didn't heed a reminder of what those hands had just done. Quickly, eyes squeezed shut to block out the feeling of the metal in her grip—the metal that reminded her just a bit too much of the way Keiran's knife had felt between her fingers—she pushed the door open. Blissfully, it opened to fresh air. Air that wasn't tinged with the metallic scent of blood. Without looking back, she let the door slam behind her and took off into the forest.
The adrenaline pumping through her veins fueled her for a good thirty minutes, before it ran out and she collapsed to the ground. Panting like an overworked racehorse, she dragged her sore, limp body to the shelter of a thicket of underbrush. She had to be a good three miles away by now, and she could only pray she was safe. As soon as she curled her exhausted body up beneath the bushes and closed her eyes, she fell into a dreamless sleep.
