#sb79

Blood splatters against the cup, blocking out the reflection of the carnage in front of it. Maybe he should've been more careful, more clean, but Sammy's never been that. Instead his hands bleed as he grips the skate blade harder, the sharp edge cutting into his bare palms. It plunges into the man below him, tearing through the blue jersey and the flesh underneath. Blood stains everything he can lay his eyes on, smudging against the metal of the Calder Cup once more.

It feels as if it's in slow motion. Nobody around as Sammy screams out once more, the blood potent on his tongue. A sickly smirk looks up at him through the blood, familiar in a way it makes him want to tear his throat out with his teeth. He can get rid of it- has to get rid of it.

But all he can see is Blue Blue Blue. Blue despite the red that pours from the wounds like fountains. Blue despite the sweater being stained beyond belief. It will always be blue. It pissed him off.

Another growl escapes his throat as he hands wrap around the neck of the body below. It continues to smile. Even as there's the sickening snap of bone as he presses down as hard as he can against the ice. A neck guard would hardly do anything to protect it, not like he wore one anyway.

You can stay in the past if you want- or you can kill it to secure the future. Sammy knows his bloodied fingerprints have marked the cup forever. Painting himself on there for others to see for years to come.

His body is cold under him. Maybe because it was never truly real. Or maybe because all his blood as pooled along the ice, mixing himself into the arena. A mark that will stay forever and echo with his name against the walls. It's whatever now.