"Two strokes." My fingers trace the letter onto the walls that hold me, the blood slowly oozing from my scraped fingers. Faces fly past my mind's eye - Derrick smiling; my mother, Darlene, kneading bread dough; Dante on the ground, bloody
I bite down on my lips and move to the next letter, forcing myself not to remember his death. The word I'm writing describes me, and I know it all to well.
"Four strokes." The blood doesn't write this letter well. I momentarily consider using the blood trickling from my lips to write, but discard the idea. "My name begins with 'e'. Evil beings with 'e'. Evil Edward." Bitterness rests in my eyes as I continue with my task.
"One stroke." My tongue darts out to lick my bloody lips and I muse over the letter that has most recently flowed from my fingertips. "What show was that detective Derrick liked from?" I knew I wouldn't remember, but I asked myself despite that fact. I hadn't watched television with the rest of them the last time I was alive. I didn't like it.
I write the letter before I realize my arm has moved. "'E' again, eh? Damn, I want a puzzle. No, a cigarette." I mutter, holding my bloodied fingertips level with my sapphire eyes. A sigh emerges from my lips before I insert a finger and gently suck, barely tasting my blood before gagging and spewing a mixture of blood and saliva onto the wall before me.
"Two strokes." I half-heartedly laugh and lean against the wall opposite my graffiti. "All the time in the world and nothing to do." Tilting my head back, I stare at the ceiling and think, idly tapping my fingers against my thighs. "'Teenagers scare the living shit out of me.' Derrick's favorite song. He was a tainted teenager." I laugh again, more bitterly this time, as I remember the first time Derrick heard that song. He smiled when he listened to it.
"Four strokes again." I count them as I trace the letter again, managing to eke a small amount of pleasure from the pain dancing around the edges of my consciousness. "Entombment begins with 'e'. Entombment, what an amazing word. Three syllables with such a dark meaning." My eyes dance around the small room I've been placed in before I start the next letter.
"Two strokes, technically." I whisper, cocking my head to admire the rough letter. "Reality. Remembering. Regret." As I whisper the last word, my eyes dropping my ragged shoes. Blinking back tears I rebelliously kick the wall I've been writing on, ignoring my body's protest.
"Three strokes. All completely straight lines." I've stopped kicking the wall and I idly lean against the wall behind me once more, folding my arms across my chest as I intently study the partial word hovering on the cement blocks before my eyes. "Ignorance invites indignation." I murmur, remembering the look of disgust on Peirta's face whenever she spoke those words. "She always wanted to educate the world about us. Too bad the world never wanted to listen." A sigh escapes from my chapped and bloodied lips
"One stroke, a circle. Perfect in its imperfection." I mutter, ruefully noting the unevenness of the shape that flowed from my middle finger. "Only one, never more." The words fly from my lips, causing my mind to unwillingly conjuring up the face of the speaker, the face I was trying to avoid. I saw Father's mouth, its roundness another imperfect 'o', opened in surprise because I had attempted to splatter my brains over a cement wall similar to those that now imprison me. A smile darts across my face before I move to the next letter.
"One stroke." A strand of my hair, now long and thoroughly annoying, drops into my field of vision and I reach up to brush it back to its resting place behind my left ear. "A forgotten letter, until you really need it." The light from the skylight wavers slightly, distracting me. I study the opaque glass that separates me from the sky and a plan forms in the recesses of my mind.
"One stroke, as convoluted as I am." My eyes fly over the word, revealing in its completeness. "Seven times written. The number of perfection." My shoulders droop slightly, grateful to know they have completed their task well. I ignore the shaking in my fingers and stare at the skylight intently.
"I am deleterious to the world. I will be deleterious to evil in my next life." I state firmly as the skylight shatters, raining shards of glass onto my head and shoulders. I turn my face into the end of the shower and smile as my eyes see the icy coldness of the winter sky.