Bloody Rorschach


I hold a tissue to her nose and when I pull it away to check if the bleeding has stopped there’s a bloody rorschach on it.

“This is so Pulp Fiction,” Dalton says, looking over from behind the wheel.

“Eyes on the road, Dalton,” I reply without looking up, focusing instead on the shallow breaths Miu is strenuously making.

“Where are we going, anyway?” Dalton asks.

“The hospital, of course,” I say, staring at the back of his head incredulously. The car slows perceptibly.

“But they don’t do that in the movie.” I don’t have room left on my face to register any further disbelief at this.

“Dalton, I don’t care what they do in the movie,” I say after grasping desperately for words, “we’re getting this girl to the hospital and saving her life if at all possible!”

“Fine,” he says grumpily from the front seat, and then – under his breath – “party-pooper

~ by Joseph Blame on September 28, 2010.

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