Cut On My Hand

First off, don't ask me about the logic of that blood flow, there isn't any.

But, this fellow does have a story. Or, well, the beginnings of a story. He's lost his family, how I don't know. He's been taken by some scientist, whether government or freelance, I don't know. He's been experimented on, tortured, perhaps. Isolated, abused, hurt, and now, driven near to madness. Perhaps, in this scene, he's escaping. Perhaps, he's breaking out of the lab, insanity numbing the pain in his hands, his face, his chest. The person responsible for hurting him is cowering against the wall, eyes wide, hands trembling.

"What's wrong?" the boy might ask, looking up from his sliced palm. He steps forward slowly, lips twisting into a smile, eyes wide with psychotic mirth. White light reflects off the spatters of blood on the wall. It sparks a deadly glint in his eyes as he adds, "I'm just taking back what you stole..." He raises a bloody hand, nails sharp as knives bared for the kill. "... my freedom."

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This is completely mine, the art, the story, everything. Copyright and such. I know I said we were done with creepies... but come on, if you know me, you know I'm never done with creepies.

- Carina