723. His Knuckles

His knuckles still drip blood from the night before the marks added to the scars on his body each one with their own tale to tell not that anyone can be bothered to hear it His eyes blaze with flames of darkness each radiating their own chill whatever was in them was sucked out long ago not even a glimmer of life or joy remains He looks down cast as if defeated not wanting the gaze of anyone around him trudging off alone on an unknown course in an opposite direction to everyone else Where he is going no one knows in his mind it is doubtful if they even care he is tired of waiting for the reaper to help considering his options to proceed He wants all his being to be drained away not worried what may happen when he is gone his love of life has been dripping into the abyss just like the blood on his knuckles from the night before