The Scarlet Sins

Note: This marks my return to free writing or just writing in general. I made a new disc for Red and will be doing by best to write something based of all the tracks. Right now I plan on a hodge podge of things. I will resurrect some old characters or stories and do some introspective free writing. No rules, just whatever the lyrics remind me off. But I'll try to post links in case I am digging up those old bones. This first one is an example of such: The Hair On The Back Of Your Neck



"So you say you wanna lose control" Do You Dig Destruction - Turbonegro

He could no longer see the bloody face that his fists were contorting into a pile of mush as if kneading a piece of pizza dough. He was positive it was the rage welling up from deep inside his chest that blinded him rather than the gooey mixture of tears and blood forming on his cheeks. He finally had to stop, wiping the slop from his face. It gave him a chance to catch his breath. Then, the realization hit harder than any of the hay makers he had just thrown. There was no face staring back at him. There was barely a head on these shoulders. It looked more like some strange bowl made out of skull, lined with flesh and filled with blood. The red lake was beginning to overflow its banks, creating a new raging river out across the concrete. He quickly snapped his head around to look back out towards the street. It was dark, the street lights were too bright. No one would have been able to see him in the shadow of the alley. He could begin to feel his shirt sag, weighted down with the scarlet sins of what he had done. Quickly and with such ease for a person in his situation, he undid each button down the front of what used to be his gray flannel. He wiped his hands and face on the garment before carefully draping it over the upper body of the lump now lying in the corner. He grabbed the bottle of cheap bourbon the bum had dropped when he grabbed the man. It burned all the way down to his stomach. It was nothing in comparison to the sting of pouring it over his badly bruised knuckles. By the new throb he could finally feel, he was sure his left hand was broken, likely from a bad connection with a cheek bone. The rage was gone now. He could feel the last drops draining out his body. It tingled as it ran down his leg, out through his toes and off into dark. He knew this was what he had wanted to do. The aches and pains were just a dull sensation to him. The satisfaction out weighed all other feelings. He finally had quieted the urge, that burning desire he knew he couldn't control. His feet almost floated as he walked off, a certain swagger appearing in his gait. It will come again.