It hurts, The sensation of blood rushing out of my body is unbearable. I can feel my veins thrusting against my skin, crawling to pop out, as if parasites are coursing through my bloodstream. You might find this amusing, but I recall when we were kids, around 10 and 12 years old. We were once friends, sharing laughter and jokes, even playful threats of harming each other.

But that was before you pierced my stomach with a sword, shattering our friendship. Now, our shared experiences are tainted with real weapons and genuine hostility. The silence between us is deafening, punctuated only by my blood-coughing fits, like toy rockets launching into the air, except my blood is the deadly projectile.