Food for thought
Dirk sat outside the school building a helicopter. His hands moving insinctivly. Why did he think that earlier. About Rose and licking her blood from the head of John's hamner form. That thought hadn't been his? Had it? It did sound appealing to a degree. Metaphorically. But otherwise not as much? That's a lie. He really wanted to see her oily blood splattered on walls where he'd paint with it. What? Where'd that come from? Dirk twisted the rubber band controling the rotor letting it go to fly before it coming back down and crashing. He wished that was Rose's head. WHAT THE FUCK DIRK!? He stood leaving the helicopter on the step. Walking over to the wall he reared his fist back. Swinging forward he hit it feeling the burn of split knuckles he took a deep breath. Drawing his fist back wincing at the stinging of air on open wounds he looked at his fist. It was still red blood bleeding. If he wasn't aware of what rose had done he wouldn't have known the difference. He was going to mount her head on a pike and let it fester like an open sore. Staring at the blood he didn't hear anyone approach.
