Dark Portal 1/Dark Portal 1.adf/TEXT/Blood Rush

Text File | 1992-09-02 | 5KB | 97 lines

@"BLOOD RUSH" By Andrew Campbell 1993


 Carl sank the razor into his wrist and clenched his teeth, hard.
 Blood flowed quickly and freely, pattering the sink randomly with
red blotches. He was stood naked, legs slightly apart, muscles tensed.
In the mirror opposite, he looked like a pale ghost with hair over-
hanging his face in a loose, dead spider.
 "Carl? Are you home?"
# Mother!
 The razor jerked and sliced flesh. Carl's hands shook vigorously.
The razor clattered into the sink, stirring a graceful stream of
fresh blood. His lips curled and his eyes watered.
 "Yeah," he managed to say, through chattering teeth. "I-I'm home
mum."
 Blood pumping out of his arm, Carl gripped both taps and swirled
them into action. The sink faded from red to pale green - its natural
colour - and the carnivorous plughole gurgled with satisfaction.
 "Carl? Are you alright?"
 "Sure!" he almost screamed, rumaging through the medical cupboard in
search of bandages. He toppled three medicine bottles, emptied a
lidless tub of paracetamol and drenched the whole compartment with
thick, red gore.
 "Oh shhhhhit!" he hissed, realising he had nothing with which to
conceal his self-inflicted wound. There were no bandages, no plasters,
the toilet roll was done-
# Wait.
 He spotted the bathroom towel, cursed his own idleness, grabbed it,
tied it around his wrist. Instantly, circles of maroon began to form
on the outside.
 "Got some fruit from the supermarket, love." his mother called from
downstairs. "And some bandages. We ran out, you know."
 "Tell me about it." Carl muttered, dragging up his jeans from the
floor. As he fastened his belt, the towel fell away and a steady
trickle of blood began to patter down on the lino.
 Angry and frightened, he struggled to cover his arm again. He smeared
the puddle of redness into the floor with his foot.
 "The market was packed." his mother informed him, as he slipped his
tee-shirt up and over his head. "I bumped into missus Drake and she
said the school might be closing down because of those new lads from
America. Do you know which ones I mean?"
 Carl zipped his fly, slammed the medical cabinet closed, covered the
coppery blood on the floor with the toilet rug, flushed the toilet and
shouted, "Yeah, I know." Then quietly: "Believe me, I know."
 "If they ever touch you Carl..." she called, clanging pots and pans
around in the kitchen.
 Carl took a deep breath and unlocked the bathroom door. He strode out
onto the upstairs landing and remained still for a moment. He could
feel a thick pulse throbbing in his neck. Sweat was trickling down his
back. His wrist had gone cold and numb, yet the pain was still almost
unbearable. He felt sick, dizzy and weak.
 He began to walk towards the door of his room.
 "Carl?" his mother said. She was standing not far behind him, and her
voice contained tones of disbelief. "Carl, what've you done?"
 Carl swung around, clutching his wrist tightly. "Nothing Mum. I-"
 "Oh my God!" she shrieked and staggered forwards, arms held out like
some kind of zombie from a horror film.
 Carl looked down at the towel. It was soaked and dripping. Bile rose
in his throat. He released his grip and the soggy mess splattered
onto the carpet like a gigantic lump of half-chewed bubble-gum.
 He stepped backwards, crashed into his bedroom, kept his balance, saw
a figure coming for him and slammed the door, hard.
 "Carl! Carl open this door right now!" his mother screamed. "We have
to get you to-to a ho-hospital! Caaaaaarl!"
 She thumped the door frame and wailed. Carl heard her feet squidge
into the discarded towel. He winced with disgust.
 "I'm alright Mum." he said, blood gushing from the open wound. "Not a
thing to worry about. It's just a little cut."
 He stared at his bed for a moment. Could he run behind it and slide it
across the room before his mother shot inside? He doubted it.
 The chest of drawers? Too heavy. She'd be inside the room before he
could touch the darn thing.
 What about his computer desk? Not big enough. And there were too many
wires to consider.
 "Go away, Mum." he demanded. "I'll be fine. Just go away."
 She stopped crying and said,  "I'm calling an ambulance! You stupid,
stupid boy!"
 Carl took a step forwards and fell to his knees. The room was small
and dark and cold and the air was so heavy he could hardly breathe.
 His arms and legs felt icey, lifeless... wooden.
 Again, he looked at his wrist. The gash itself was no longer visible.
Everything was just dark red and runny lines. The carpet below was
glistening.
 He crawled for the bed, arms held out desirously. Every time his
knees thumped on the carpet, pain soared through his body. Fuzzy balls
of shock and terror flashed through his vision.
 All of a sudden his eyesight cancelled completely.
 He lay still.
 He couldn't see, hear or feel ; all he could do was think.
 And he thought:
# Those kids from America won't be able to get me now, haha. They
#won't get me now, and they won't get me ever, haha. Hahaha... haha...
#ha...
 Moments later, Carl died.