the stench

he ran to the washing basin. his hands was covered in blood.

he tried washing it off but it was still there. he scrubbed his hand real hard with a bar of soap and in hot water.

he scrubbed his hands till they turned bright red.

finally his heads were clean. he felt relieved. however he smelt it. it was the stench.

it was the same stench of him. the filthy stench of the fat grimy boy. he had always stank of sweat and body odour. and even when he killed him, he still stank badly. his blood stank of him and even when he had washed it away, his hands still stank of him. it was as if, the grimy boy’s blood had seeped into his pores and merged with his very own blood and he had inherited grimy boy’s stink.

he rushed to the basin and scrubbed his hands again. yet his hands stank.

he scrubbed again and again and again. his heads were bleeding and yet they stank so much.

he couldnt stand the stink no more. he took out an axe and chopped off his left hand. he screamed in pain. blood was gushing. he lost control of his right hand and dropped his axe. he was hurting so bad and yet he still smelt the stink. he slipped from the blood and fell.

he had fallen onto his axe.

the stench still lingers.

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