I have sat on the good side of the fire. I have cried over young women. It is nothing but trouble.
These are the words I heard written in his skin. He made me kill her. I had to do it. I am not sorry. I knew. That is enough, knowing. —Paul Santell
( This suicide note was found near the charred body of Dr. Santell, who, Intercity Police say, apparently soaked himself with an inflammable liquid and then set himself afire. Dr. Paul Santell, twice recipient of the Nobel Prize in psycho-chemistry, had been experiencing .... —excerpt from Intercity Demographic Area Telepaper. )
The bleeding man, cured of bleeding, walked without haste toward the door leading outside. He remembered the taste of blood, he who no longer had need of it. He pushed the door open and stepped outside. The sky pulled at him, but he resisted for that last little moment. His feet touched the ground. His lungs filled with air. His eyes danced on the horizons of the world. Raising his hands into the air, he let the sky pull him away from the earth. He took the air in his lungs and thrust it out with a shout. Silently his lips formed words. And then he had no more need of air and words. His fingers curled into the hands of the sky. He disappeared in a cloud. He Who No Longer Bleeds is gone. He will return. To bleed again.