That Time of The Month

Prompt Day #214: Craft a new piece using this sentence as your opening line: “Bloodstains again.”

This is a sort of stream of consciousness piece. I knew what I wanted to say so I tried just letting my fingers go. I know it’s short but I think it makes it’s point. Enjoy


That Time of the Month


                Bloodstains again! Damnit. Every month it was the same thing. No matter what she did to prevent it, she woke up to bloodstains on her clothes, sometimes her bedding too. She got up and showered, washing herself clean and headed to the laundry room where she worked magic with peroxide and baking soda.

Her shoulders ached, her back and stomach hurt too. All she wanted to do today was lie around popping Motrin and watching old horror flicks. But she needed to clean up all the blood first. Then, really, she ought to try to better prepare for tonight. Nights were always the worst. That’s when the pain was almost intolerable and her cravings were completely out of control.

This went on for three sometimes four days and had been part of her life since she was thirteen. It was a curse, her mother and grandmother had warned her when she was young and asked her questions. She remembered how she couldn’t wait to grow up and be like that. To her, blood was power.

But now, she understood, she didn’t want this anymore. Why couldn’t there be a pill or something she could take that would make it go away forever? She watched Netflix all day; all her favorite horror films. She laughed through so many of them, they were so unrealistic. It made her feel a little better to know how clueless everyone was when it came to blood curses.

But now it was growing dark and she could feel the aching in her bones. Her head ached, and she had to put the chips away because it hurt so bad to chew. The Motrin wouldn’t help now. She would just have to wait it out. She fell to the floor. Rolling around in the fetal position while her body revolted against her, forcing her to become something she wasn’t. She felt bones snap and pull apart seeking new and strange angles. Her jaw dislocated itself and jutted outward spreading her nose wide with it. Her fingers and toes stretched impossibly as if being punished on the rack. Joints popped and her fingernails were pulled out and rolled pinching her skin beneath them. Her canines pushed her other teeth out of the way as they grew from her gums like Jack’s beanstalk; one of them pierced her lip and she smelled the blood running down her chin.

The smell put her in a frenzy. She was salivating and her heart (now 3 times the size it had been) was pounding with adrenaline in her now elongated chest. She wanted meat, fresh bloody meat now. She tore through the doorway and into the wild sniffing out warm-blooded creatures to maul and eat. She ran the night, killing deer, rabbits, a jogger and finally a raccoon before returning instinctually to her home, her room and crawling wet and clotted with blood into her bed.