Bleeding Out

The builders were waving their rods around outside the window.

‘Shove that rod in ‘ere.’

‘I shoved my rod in ‘er!’


I thought about it for a while before deciding that the best way to deal with this situation was to put my fist through the window. Logical and sagacious, little bits of glass fell into the road and sparkled madly in the sunlight next to the builder’s cement mixer. Insignificant ribbons of red began to appear around each tiny laceration in my skin, trickling down the back of my hand like vomit over a kerb, the end result of an electrifying and disease-ridden night out. My hand grew cold in the winter’s air, shards of glass sticking out at jaunty angles. The mildly artistic could have appreciated it’s bitter sense of irony, likely fabricated for the purpose of sharing in basements, veins full of black and bread pudding, the communal experience of existence.

‘That rod’s too thick.’

‘That’s what she said.’

I started laughing, slightly overcome with insanity, mostly genuinely, fallaciously, entertained by their indisputable comic genius. I decided to withdraw my hand from the sharp embrace of the window pane and the jagged edges cut into the brainless flesh on the underside of my wrist. Meandering over to the sofa, the trail of red behind me seeped most deeply into the fluffy carpet and promised to give the landlord a talking point, at the very least. I sat down in time to see a man get eaten by a dinosaur. Don’t get cheap on me, Dodson. A brusque voice pulled me away, to where the glass fragments lay on the street outside.

‘We’ve ran out of rods.’

‘I’ve got a rod you can use right here!’


It was certainly a day to cherish, bleeding out and covered in distance.


12 thoughts on “Bleeding Out

  1. Haha classic builder banter, sounds like something Id say! I’ve been flirting with women over the phone at work today.
    “I’ll just give you my mobile number.”
    “If only it was always that easy”

    Such a pimp.


    1. Pete the Pimp has a sort of ring to it. This is how I will refer to you from now on, as Pete the Mighty Pimp, Pimpin’ Pete… or maybe just Pete, which serves as an epic and deserved moniker :D


    1. It might have to wait until next Christmas, or at some very unsociable time like the middle of summer. Just for irony’s purposes, and the suchlike.


    2. Eh, don’t pay attention to me, Lol

      The next time I act up, just slap me around, and say something like “You’ ll Read what I Write, and you’ll like it!” Lol



  2. Haha, no shortage of rods about is there? I hate bleeding out! It makes you feel so listless and apathetic. I couldn’t help reading “window pane” and thinking it was nice how interchangeable pain and pane were.


    1. I do too, although sometimes it can be rather calming. What I do happen to love though, is how you pick up on my little gory ‘Easter eggs’ in every story… I hide them behind bushes and inside cats for people to find. When you uncover them it makes me feel like I am worthwhile, almost :)


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