Blood Flows Between Worlds

This day started as every other day started until now: boring, with a yawn, a shower and a coffee. What I didn't know was that I wouldn't live to see the moon rise again. That I would see the stars for the last time. Oh, this beautiful sight of the shimmering stars in the darkness. It always makes me feel hopeful, and it always makes me remember that there is more than just our little world.

My name is Phoenix, by the way. I love that name. I always was interested by mythical creatures, and the phoenix is one of my favorites, only topped by dragons and argonians. Well, I consider argonians some kind of dragon. Not exactly dragon, but dragon-like. And I think that there is a dimension out there were all the mystical and fictional worlds exists. Else we couldn't think of them. But that is just a theory, just a hope of mine.

I should soon come to accept that there really is more than just our world, but first, I had to go to the city. I had to work, so I went to the train station, the icy wind blowing and the glissening stars still up in the sky, barely visible through the thin layer of clouds in the sky.

This morning didn't feel strange at all. No sign of a tragedy taking place in only a few hours. Only work, a discussion between two coworkers how the work should be done and so on. I drank two other coffees, as always, tried to learn the functions of the new tool I should use and was looking at some websites from time to time. Nothing special.

Then lunch-time came. I still ask myself what would the outcome have been if I hadn't chosen to eat a pizza this day. I probably wouldn't have gone through the main-station and I probably wouldn't have been attacked.
I walked past the first few stairs, leading to the crowded tracks. I reached the small bookstore. I like to read while I'm in the train, and the last book I read, a military story from a lesser known author, has been through. I looked what they had, when I noticed a girl with purple hair and radiant purple eyes standing right behind me.

I turned around. She was beautiful, and I wanted to greet her. For once, I wanted to be in the initiative. I opened my mouth, when I noticed the sadness in her eyes. I kept silent, cursing myself for being thrown of the tracks, trying to talking to a girl. AGAIN. Then she whispered to me, "I'm so sorry", and made a small movement with her arm.

The first moment was strange. My stomach felt cold inside, but outside it got warmer. The girl ran off, in the opposite direction to where I came from. I looked after her, touching my stomach, irritated by the feeling of the warmth going down my legs. I touched the hilt of a transparent knive, barely visible to the eyes, if it were not for the hole which opened in my body. Then I fell on my knees.

The blood was spurting out, as I took the knive out. I knew that I shouldn't do this, but my hands were faster than my mind. I dropped the knive on the floor, where it shattered into an uncountable amount of pieces. The pieces than turned to lucent dust, glissening in the dim sunlight of a cold winter day. I never felt this cold before. I sat before the window of the book store, hearig the screams of the people fade as my thought began to wander around in my past.

The first thing I remembered was this girl, which killed me. And another girl. A girl I once loved, with blonde ,radiant hair, blue eyes with a sad yet hopeful look and the wisdom of someone who has either lived for a long time, or witnessed a dire tragedy.

The second thing was my own tragic past. The suicide thoughts in the face of hopelessness, only evaded by the strength my family gave me, unknowingly. It might sound a bit harsh for some people out there that had suicide thoughts because they lost a family member, but my fear wasn't as present as their grief, my fear was far into the future, the hopelessness of not achieving anything in life, dishonoring my family.

And than I thought of my family. The grief I felt this moment was only trumped by the anger I felt towards myself, letting my family lose a member of theirs. I wanted to beat myself up, hurt myself for letting this happen, but I lost control over my body. I was to weak.

The last thing I felt was that I had been lain on something out of cloth. The voices were mere whispers in my head, the thoughts started to change faster and faster as I drifted towards death. The picture of a grim reaper sitting on a clock appeared frequently, accompanied by the pictures of my family, the blonde girl, my tattoo (a sun surrounded by the zodiac symbols of my family with the Ankh in its center) and my murderer. The purplehaired devil that looked at me with does sad eyes and excused herself for murdering me.

Than, there was only black. Time and space lost their values, and I forgot what it meant to be alive.