His skin was stained in rusty red as the rich iron deposits that ran throughout the county. Red as the blood that still ran down his chest where shards of a broken bottle jutted like teeth out of the gaping maw of that fatal wound. He wore them like a church wears stained glass windows - with an indifferent reverence that almost made it seem like it was everything and nothing all at once.
The shirt was soaked to a deep red and the trousers weren't much better off. Even his worn leather shoes were dotted with blood that flowed like a small stream, like it would never end. I think I was the first to notice how it turned to mist where it would have hit the ground, like he was only corporeal in himself while the rest of the world struggled to catch up.
And there he stood in the middle of the pub like he was about to order a drink and he might well have been in his final moments. Now he served as a bitter reminder to the rest of the patrons to know their limits and stick to them lest they make company for our silent friend, our little ghost.
The shirt was soaked to a deep red and the trousers weren't much better off. Even his worn leather shoes were dotted with blood that flowed like a small stream, like it would never end. I think I was the first to notice how it turned to mist where it would have hit the ground, like he was only corporeal in himself while the rest of the world struggled to catch up.
And there he stood in the middle of the pub like he was about to order a drink and he might well have been in his final moments. Now he served as a bitter reminder to the rest of the patrons to know their limits and stick to them lest they make company for our silent friend, our little ghost.
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