“You bleeding,” a witch called at me this afternoon on the street. I reached my left hand to my face, felt the blood, and she started laughing at me. She had a table full of fetishes in front of her, even had an old-school gray-brimmed hat, but the malice in her laugh sounded like she knew more than just how to cure a cough. Fuck, I thought, pressed my hand against it as far as I could, made a beeline for my office. I’ve never had a bleed placed on me though I’ve obviously read about it — thing is, there’s no way to stop it because you can’t find a cut to place a bandage over. You just keep making the same trip to the bathroom over and over again to rinse the blood from your skin. It doesn’t hurt, doesn’t even make you feel woozy the way giving blood will. But…it’s something, to get stuck on the street, bleeding. Some people tried not to stare out of politeness but I could feel the fear radiating out from them anyway. By the time I got back, my hand was scarlet red. Even now, after I’ve washed it a bunch of times, it still looks a little redder than the other.
I don’t know why she did it, I certainly know how to mind my business on the street. I guess you can’t question witches. The whole rest of my day was blown.
Maybe tomorrow will be better.
Tagged curses
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