Slash

My head is empty. It hasn’t been so empty for years. Or rather decades. I feel drained.

Slowly opening my eyes, I notice the knife in my hand. My steps are heavy, and, from the knife, beads of blood are dropping on the paved, yellow and black road.

I don’t know what happened, but that scarlet juice doesn’t seem to be oozing from my own hand. I taste it. It’s full of iron. It’s a female one, and she is pregnant. Or... was?

People stare but I look straight ahead. Still, I stagger. Not an ounce of energy. But I don’t feel it’s sleep that is coming. No. It’s death.

Finally.