I decided to make one the writing prompts, this one is

BEFORE

thats all, before, however you decide to decide to interpret that, I’ll be on a trip for a couple days, but I’ll read all of your stories when I get back (except for the ones with swearing) and even add my own, can’t wait to see your ideas

A ribbon hung down in front of Venzel's face, tickling his nose.

He reached out and grabbed it, pulling it loose from the tree branch it'd caught in with his chubby toddler's hands.

"Got it, Ven?"

"Mm-hm!"

His father laughed and lowered Venzel from his shoulders, back to the resplendent spring grass. "Good. Here, hand me the string, I'll show you one more time. . ."

Venzel passed over the kite, and watched with as much attention as his five-year-old self could muster when his father lifted the kite and pulled it into the breeze, and guided it with the string until it soared up into the endless skies.

*

Mariana climbed into her brother's lap, already holding the brush and her hair ribbons.

Venzel smiled and took them. He gently brushed through her brown curls, taming the wild things. His mother sang a silly folk song in the kitchen; he hummed along as he parted Mariana's hair. His fingers deftly wove one braid, then a second, tying each with a bow.

He wondered if maybe, for a moment, he felt his father's hand on his shoulder.

*

Venzel's hands were bound with a ribbon.

Blood painted his skin, cold and congealing, but the binding remained white.

It was the only thing his eyes could focus on.

*

When he woke up, his mouth was full of the taste of blood, and every inch of his throat raw.

Venzel didn't know how long he'd been passed out. Not very, he guessed, since they had yet to discover that the lock on his cell was missing.

He struggled upright, his burnt hands singing agony whenever he forced them to do as hands should. The world tipped jerkily back and forth. His ears had stopped ringing, but they heard nothing, and when he lifted a hand to touch one, it came away sticky and wet with red. He wiped his face and found more blood there. Whether the bleeding had stopped or just begun, he couldn't tell.

He had to get out of here, before his chance was gone.

I wish I could go back in time. Before everything. Before the drugs. Before the blood. Before the gunshots.

I could still hear them in my mind. The six gunshots. Echoing in my thoughts. Together with the screaming. throat raw. Choking on my own blood. Clawing at his chest, shreds of skin, dotted with blood, floating down. And... Oh, wait. The screams are mine.

I could see the sticky red everywhere. Everything was stained with it. Like the dark crimson against his pale skin, like the six wounds on his body.

And the drugs... Taking them lets me sleep. At first, I started screaming inhumanly, waking up in the inky darkness of the night, screaming at the shadows pooling on the floor. It looked so much like blood, so so much like his blood...

But the drugs, they helped me sleep. Retreating into the deep, shadowy depths of my mind. Finally, no more blood. No more of him. I don't want to take them, but every time I try to quit, I started screaming at night again, clawing and biting like a wild, savage animal. When I close my eyes, all I could see was

Blood

Blood

Blood

But I gave it up. Yes, I did. But it was more like giving up living. Giving up everything. Withering away until I am an

Empty

Hollow

Shell.