Bandages

When I was 13, my imaginary friend of childhood died by my hand. It was when I learnt that he was really real.

When I was 14, I killed my father in anger after he got drunk one night and hit me with the glass bottle. I kinda felt sad I did but I have since had no regrets the week after.

When I was just 15, my mother left. I think she knew. I’m glad I didn’t have to hurt her. She loved me too much and understood me, kinda.

When I was 16, I found out that my blood was like acid to the living. One drop could burn a hole in someone. Their own blood would not go near it. It’d sizzled near the drop. 

I had to be careful about myself. It’s dangerous to even spill just a drop. But, I did have those accidents where I killed those that didn’t need to die. Or worse. I didn’t want someone to try and do first aid on me.

Now, I wrap myself in bandages, to try and stem any blood I may start to spill. I also used to wear a mask. Used to.

Next thing I knew, it became my face. I can’t take it off, and my expression is shown on the mask. I probably lost my skin and adopted the bandages. I don’t try to see if I can take it off. I don’t have my skin melt off from my blood, but if I can forget long enough, I don’t have to think and then worry about it. But then after a while, I wonder about it. I mean, first the mask, why not the bandages?

It works, sorta. I haven’t killed anything yet and it’s been years. Well, except for breakfast, lunch and dinner. 

Having left home a week after my mum ran, I haven’t had a haircut since. It’s been 10 years. My black hair looks ridiculous dragging behind me, but living in the mountains, I kinda only have rocks to cut them with. I tried. It hurts. They even absorb the blood, which is kinda gross.

Yet, I’ve managed to adapt to this new life. It’s hard. But I know there are others like me out there. I saw one just before. A white mask wearing kid that makes me feel uneasy. Makes my skin crawl... I think it’s my skin and not the bandages. I don’t try and think about it.

But I could tell he was scared. He avoided me and my little camp.

I left food in the open a fair way away from the camp, suspended in a way that he may hopefully reach or manage to get down while still out of reach by nature.

One day, we’ll band together. I have that feeling... I like the thought and it make my masked face smile. Then I stop because I still miss having a normal face. Or is this normal and “normal” humans are in fact, the monsters?

There is a monster after me. I see him sometimes, looking down from a long ways above me, be it tree or rock. A plague doctor.

Am I his patient? Or his experiment? And how do I know he’s related to this?

The Doctor and the Crusaders

The Plague Doctor observed the blighted landscape. The universe was dying, crippled by its own inside elements it had been battered and now it was closed off with only holes left with reality leaking out and worse things pushing in. They had been cut off from their major selves and cast adrift in a dying universe. The Plague Doctor was attuned to humans by nature and had been suffering recently as they began the slow decline to extinction what was worst was strange new thoughts were entering his head. He hadn't even thought in the normal sense until recently but now things were slowly entering in, he hadn't been a “he” until only 2 months ago. 

He looked out towards a hill and saw 3 creatures standing there, they were new, some product of humanity's brilliance and strange science they should not have had. Once human they now transcended their species and would live on after its death. There were 4 of them in total: The drum, the spook, the vale and the knight. The knight never fought these days but the other 3 were forever striding across the landscape doing battle with those powerful enough to challenge them, he guessed that he counted. The Plague Doctor drew his cane, a blood red stick ending in a sharpish point which was twined with silver prepared to fight and then looked down and left.

He had never fled before, normally he would have fought and won; he was still immortal after all. But why did he need to fight? What was the point? The new idea's were cloying at his mind and it was affecting his decision’s. For a start he should not be making decisions he should be acting on what he knew and yet he knew less and less each day and had to rely more and more on bits of him that had not existed for the whole of the near infinity of his life. He glanced up at the sky, new stars were moving in all the time but there was one that was particularly larger. A pulsing mass of red and black with strange tendrils streaming behind it. As he watched it fell to earth.