22. Blaze - Prologue
It's not paint on my hands.
No matter what I tell myself, I know it's not paint. It's not the right colour of red. It's not the right texture.
It's not paint.
No matter how many times I wash my hands, it won't go away. It's not visible but it will always be there. It will never go away.
But it's not the blood on my hands that scares me. No, it's the thought that I enjoyed it. I enjoyed the shink as I unsheathed my weapon. I enjoyed the warmth of the body. I enjoyed the recognition on the face. I enjoyed the way the way that the mouth went into an o-shape - an eternal scream on his face that will never be heard.
I will never paint again.