“I hear myself laughing, screeching, cackling. The world is red hot and pulsing. On fire [...] I stroll down the corridor and the flickering fluorescents celebrate my passing, humming in praise. I spin, bow and hum along. Bloody footprints trail; bloody fingers smear the walls.”
“The remaining half of my gin stands before me, and yet, no amount of drink can quench this thirst.”
“The smallest lapse in emotion leaves me spinning, overcome with bloodlust.”
“He’s got a bad case of something I call ethnic PMS. I think it sounds nicer than ‘bloodlust.”
“I like a little bloodlust in a man.””