Thirst

"Not again," he thought.

He was bleeding again, having accidentally cut his finger. This was not the first, and it would not be the last either. He looked on with morbid fascination as it continued to bleed profusely. Though it was not a big cut, it ran quite deep, and he could feel the flap of skin if he moved his thumb around. He was dripping blood all over the counter and he should try to stop the bleeding immediately. But no, he continued to let it bleed, feeling the sensation of pain in his thumb. He was oblivious to the rest of the world as he stared at the blood. It was deep red in colour.

Thoughts of how it would taste ran through his mind. Slowly he lifted it up to his mouth and gave his bloodied thumb a lick.

Ooh, the taste of his own blood sent shivers down his spine. It was electrifying. It tasted like rust, yet there was another indescribable taste to it. He just couldn't find the words for it. The blood that he had licked travelled down his oseophagus, into his stomach, awakening something that had been lying dormant. Something stirred inside him.

Suddenly, it dawned upon him that he was still at work, and many pairs of eyes were now fixated upon him. With a flush of embarrassment, as if he was caught with his hand in the cookie jar, he quickly began to get back to work. Soon, that incident was driven away from his consciousness, like the others.......