Latest Blog Post

into my eyes.

She watched the man from afar and wrote everything down in a wine leather notebook. He always drank at the same bar, went out on the same side street, stumbled up the same steps on his way to his house. No one would miss him.

It took her about thirty minutes to get to the house.

The room that Ruby had transformed was in the back, with no direct contact with the other rooms. She ripped up the carpet and applied a thick layer of gray concrete. The walls, previously yellow, were now painted with white paint.

Placing him on the stretcher was difficult, he was way too heavy. She adjusted the leather straps around his wrists, ankles, thighs and chest. A thinner strap crossed his forehead, holding it down. He wouldn't be able to turn his head to look to the sides. When he started to wake up, his head was pounding, his mouth was dry. He tried to move, but his limbs wouldn't obey.

Ruby was sitting, legs crossed, a white lab coat over dark clothes. She leaned forward, watching him try to scream. Ruby took a syringe from the tray and walked next to him, her movements were slow, almost tender.

"I always liked playing doctor." She said, injecting something into his arm. "This won't kill you.." The drug burned as it went in and the man screamed. Ruby stepped back, took off her gloves and ran her hand through her hair. She had seen and done worse, it all felt too casual. But this seemed to be personal.

That was just her way of dealing with mourning.

---