The red, red vino...
"If the body’s nostrils worked well they would smell the cordite still thick in the air, the copper scent of blood, so much blood, not to mention the cloying stench of burnt hair and open-air spleens and bowels; the sub pump of the human body so willing to stink like an open sewer and for good reason."
"Bodies…you never imagine how much blood they have, gallons of the stuff, it sprays from still beating arteries, spurts from the ruined stumps of hands and knees, gurgles and gushes from opened stomachs and necks, it only ever calmly pools and commingles after the bodies are prone. The blood is pooling now all around us, slowly flowing rivers of the stuff that threaten to breach the place between rubber soul and leather upper. The stuff is dark red, blue black, mixed with greens and yellows where unfortunate spillage of other natures threaten to ruin the singular signature of the night."
"Multiple murder, spree killing, unhinged slaughter, those are all meaningless words. The body is coated in gore, it stains the home-made bullet-proof vest that got so much use tonight and it has soaked through the bandages, giving the body the sensation of being hot, for once. That sensation will turn to cold soon enough."
"A hand moves away from the blade still unsheathed but resting across the body’s knees, it comes back coated in jelly. Brain matter, tissue wrenched and torn until it’s so much fatty pulp, shredded veins and homeless lengths of tendon all make a meager pâte."