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墨書 Inktalez
The boy gasped for breath, his hands gripping the corner of the sack tightly as he summoned all his strength to drag it to the wall. The veins on his arms bulged slightly from the effort.
The chandelier swayed unsteadily, and under the dim yellow light, a pool of intermittent blood stood out starkly, its vivid red seemingly narrating a brutal tragedy.
With an expressionless face, the boy crouched down, dipped his finger into the blood, and brought it to his mouth. He frowned slightly and murmured, "It’s bloody."
The sack shifted slightly, producing a rustling sound. The boy's gaze sharpened instantly; he furrowed his brow and took a quick step forward, crouching down to loosen the sack's opening with agile and decisive movements.
Inside lay a girl on the brink of death. Her face was pale as paper, her damp bangs clinging to her forehead like seaweed. Her eyes were filled with a dying light, and her frail body trembled weakly.
As if sensing the light, the girl's eyelids fluttered open slightly. In a voice so faint it was almost inaudible, she looked at the boy and pleaded desperately, "I feel like I'm dying... Please, take me to the hospital. My parents will pay you anything."
The boy's previously indifferent expression changed dramatically; his eyes ignited with fury. He rushed to the corner of the room, picked up an iron rod, and gripped it tightly with both hands. He began to beat the girl mercilessly, each strike fueled by overwhelming hatred as he panted heavily, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.
The girl could no longer muster a sound; she could only widen her eyes in terror as she watched her crimson blood and shattered flesh splatter around her, her gaze filled with despair and helplessness.
Screaming in rage, fear, and resentment—an amalgamation of emotions twisted into a grotesque mask—his neck veins bulged ominously as he unleashed his fury.
After about half an hour, he finally slowed down, leaning on his knees as he gasped for air. His eyes fixated on the devastation before him. The sight was horrifyingly drenched in red, unevenly pooling and flowing around him. The room was saturated with a putrid metallic scent that formed an eerie tableau, sending chills down one’s spine.
The girl was dead. The boy slowly straightened up, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe the blood splattered on his face. Then he spat contemptuously onto her corpse, a look of disgust crossing his features.
Next, he expressionlessly tied up the sack's opening and raised his foot to stomp down hard on the Guess glasses that lay shattered on the ground. The lenses cracked beneath his foot with a sharp sound.
The boy rubbed his temples vigorously with both hands, his brow furrowed as the pain in his head intensified.
Everything around him felt surreal, as if he were trapped in a dream. He stared in disbelief at his blood-soaked hands, his eyes filled with fear and confusion. He murmured to himself, "Another life taken..."
His body began to tremble, shaking violently as if his soul were being deeply shaken. A maddening pain surged from the depths of his brain. He clasped his head with both hands, burying it between his legs, slowly sliding down against the wall. He curled up into a ball, as if this position could shield him from the terror before him.
Why is this happening? Why must there be killing? There was no grudge or enmity... His tear ducts had run dry, and his expression twisted in agony, teetering on the brink of collapse as his teeth chattered.
He decided to close his eyes, surrendering his body to another soul amidst the screams of pain. His fists clenched tightly, nails digging deep into his palms.
With each deep breath, the rapid beating of his heart began to slow. The tension gradually gave way to a profound and haunting resentment, and his gaze turned resolute and cold.
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