Note: This one starts off pretty well, but ends off pretty weird. I wrote this quite a while ago, and planned this rather well, but the problem is.. I don't think I made it clear enough how and why things happened, because now, when I read it, I have hardly an idea how and why things happened. Enjoy "Bleeding With Thoughts". :)

The constant tapping of blood against blood rang through the tranquility of my room. I stared ahead: at the dark ceiling. I could hardly make out its shape, could hardly locate its four corners, I thought with numb panic.

Perhaps the light would help, but doing this insulted my want for untroubled solidarity – just for a while… for as long as I could – to think things through.

With every new inch the scarlet of my life licked, it seemed as though the self-inflicted cut was extending further.

It felt extremely pleasing, but faintly so. It felt ethereal, and unreal… It cleared my mind of all unnecessary thoughts.

The hundredth tap on the ground of shimmering blood – and I knew, I understood.Carl entered my life and left it on purpose to make me suffer for the rest of it.

He chose to die in the most horrible way, leaving me helpless and at a aloss of what to do.

There was a ransom of five million. The demand did not alarm me – I was anxious only for his well-being.

The three days without his company left me pale and tired. I couldn’t eat or sleep.

The money was finally sent, and I thanked the Lord for my financial stability.

A day passed, then two. The wait was unbearable. I waited for his return. Silly me. I should have noticed. The kidnappers never promised the return of Carl at all. They did not fool me, I had misunderstood.

The authorities found him the next day, in a tiny hit in a secluded area. I was overjoyed. Was.

I noticed dully the men commenting on how lucky he was to have passed on in such a beautiful place, and how unlucky he was to have such callous kidnappers whip and torture him with salt water.

I remember glancing around at the rolling hills and green fields of fresh flowers, and voicing my disgust: Carl died in a happy place. His death was a happy one. We should be glad because he died?

This whole analysis took a long time. A very long time… and I felt the thousandth drop falling from my wrist.

It was a very small drop. I ran my fingers lightly along the cut from my wrist to the bend of my arm.

I shut my eyes from the darkness for more of it.

I shut my heart from the throbbing ache.

Then I felt a peace – far beyong that of the silent night and its blackout of sight.