When they caught him they’d shut him away.
He’d been sitting next to his latest victim spattered head to foot. Lost in thought. His fingers idly drawing patterns in a pool of blood. Almost playing with it. The knife tossed carelessly aside.
They thought he was crazy, He could see the pity in their eyes, once you looked past the horror and disgust.
They just didn’t understand: he only did for the colour. That colour of colours. The colour of rubies. The colour of life. And fresh blood.
What a pity it dried to such an ugly rust brown.
The 40th edition of the 100wcgu: Ruby.