working at night can be creepy.

Walking down the road. Its dark. The moon is full but its light is dim. Enough to see by but not enough to illuminate. Just enough to remove concealment. Not enough to hide.
Ahead, red stones. Rocks wet, splatters here, puddles deep and rich there. Wetness everywhere. Blood on the concrete. It stains the soul, a visual that can never be unseen. Life spilled callously on the path. The choice made, the chance set. Blood dries slowly.
Trees on either side. They grow together, bowing and scraping, hiding their shame. Vines hanging down above the road. Long, thick, strong ropes. Necks broken, feet dangle, shoeless. Toes exposed. Blood drips, a tiny noise in the night, overwhelming. Drip, drip, drip. The wind is absent, the blood drops straight down into wet slick puddles on pavement.
The bodies sway despite the wind's betrayal. Ever so slowly. The smell is bad. The view is worse.
Fingers twitch. Reflexes. Skin crawls. The moonlight caresses the pale skin. No where to go. Drip. Slowly spinning. Drip. An ankle spasms. Drip. A tongue lolls. Drip. There is so much blood. It stains the moon and floods the eyes. Its all over, all over everything. It will never wash off, you'll never be free.

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