Blood On Your Hands

My entire body was completely still. I crouched near the man's head, motionless, as if paralyzed. Nothing moved... except for my hands. My hands were still shaking. Violently convulsing, and whether it be from adrenaline or guilt, I couldn't tell. Slowly, I removed my fingers from their tight grip around the glass shard. As soon as I did, blood began to pour from the gashes my make-do weapon had made in my fingers and palm. With a clinking sound, the bloody window fragment fell from my hand and to the cold cement ground. My eyes drifted towards the face of the man before me. His eyes were closed, however the blood and bruises that covered his cheeks and forehead made it nearly impossible to get much else from his appearance.

I sat back into the hard ground, legs spread with my hands lying in between them. One thought had gone through my mind as I stared at my attackers lifeless body. One thought circulated consistently as I watched the red liquid drain from his neck. "There's so much blood..."

I ran my tongue over my lips and tasted the warm metallic liquid. In little time I had turned myself over and began expelling the contents of my stomach. The bile burned my throat and nose. Tears pushed over my lashes and streamed down my cheeks. The smell of the air was putrid. I found it hard to breathe as I had tried to crawl further from the dead body lying beside me.

As I attempted to haul myself away, I looked down at my hands. They were still shaking, only not as violent now. A trail of red had been left where ever my hands made contact with the ground. While I stared down at my blood covered hands, tears began to cascade down my face and I realized, it wouldn't matter how long I scrubbed them, I was never going to get this blood off my hands.