There were pluses and minuses to my plan. For starters, painting in blood is something generally done by homicidal maniacs or total freakazoids, of which I liked to think I was neither. Also, it's mega-creepy. On the other hand, Third Big Man With Pipe's blood was black, not red. Plus, it was available, and my brain was about to explode.
I crawled over to the body. The flood of ick had withered to a trickle but the dagger remained standing straight and true. I yanked it out of the really and truly dead guy and tossed it aside--which was a big mistake both because I could have used a weapon and I could have used the dagger to write. I ripped open the guy's jerkin and was rewarded by a plain white t-shirt underneath - destined to become my canvas. Left without the dagger, I dipped my finger
