Blood on Blood

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The last light bled out of the sky like a violent smear onto the distant skyscrapers. At least, that was what Gar Sawyer thought he was seeing when he looked through the tiny rectangular strip of a window in the prison hospital. He stared at the red wisps and shook his head.

“Ain’t that some shit,” he muttered.

He hated that view, almost as much as he’d hated having no view at all in his old cell. He hated the people out there in the world who could stop whatever they were doing and stare up at the sky and see the complete expanse of the sunset. He hated that it was beautiful. He hated that he knew it was beautiful, and that his life was such that he now had enough time to think and reflect and realize there was some beauty in the world. And then he hated that beauty.

“Fuck the world,” he started to whisper, but a dull slice of pain cut him off mid-way through the first word. He grimaced slightly. The medication dispenser hung from the rail next to his left hand. He almost reached for it. He knew he could turn that dull pain into nothing more than a twinge.

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