Born in blood; it was a phrase that Blaine had thrown around in his head ever since the night that changed him forever. It was like a rebirth, violence and pain were his parents and the death of his date was the afterbirth that was tossed away and forgotten by all but him. After that, he'd felt hollow, like he'd died that night as well. The things that had once meant a great deal to him were suddenly meaningless. People too meant little more than the objects that held no favor with him. Before that night his life had been a kaleidoscope of colors and that just made the lack of meaning more vivid and obvious to him. It made him angry and unpredictable, the type of person people whispered about. He knew he'd never be the same, and soon the feeling of isolation from the people that had once been his peers and the itching feeling that he'd regret staying sent him looking for an alternative. The carnival had laid itself out before him like destiny's red carpet and he was glad to never have to think about anything that anyone expected of him at home ever again.
The sharp silver almost sparkled in the lighting that the caravan had to offer. Blaine was acutely aware of it as he laid out the roll of fabric that kept his throwing knives safe while they weren’t in use. There had only ever been this one set, which might have been why they were so important to Blaine. When he had first begun feeling dark impulses, he had scrambled to compose himself. He hadn’t felt like it was possible until he came across these knives. They drew him in more than once. There they had been, laying in their case behind the thin sheen of glass. He’d been looking to get something for his father, some kind of hunting accessory, and there they had been. He made up excuses to go back, until he felt like he couldn’t come back without arousing suspicion. Seeing those knives was like looking upon the calm that he’d felt before these thoughts had driven him to murder. So he bought them and he never returned. Then he took them with him when he left town.
They sat in his room untouched for quite a while, until they felt like a fixture in his room. They were hidden, obviously, but it felt like they were out in plain sight. The tremble he felt in his heart as he fell asleep every night was indescribable. They were with him, he truly felt their presence and longed for them when he had to spend long periods of time outside of his room.
When he finally used them, he knew he would never use anything else as a weapon if he could help it. They sliced so cleanly, and they felt right in his hands. The red of blood looked divine mingling with the intricate designs on them. They were practical too; easy to clean, easy to transport, easy to hide, and if things got too dangerous to have them anymore he could throw them out. He never touched them with bare hands while he was out on a kill, and he always rid them of fingerprints before putting them away. He was incredibly strict with himself, creating rules for their proper treatment.
There had come a time right before he first joined the carnival and the investigations started piling up for his murders and he felt like he’d need to get rid of his knives. It felt like if he did, he’d be throwing away his composure. But the truth was, he was already losing it anyway. So when July’s carnival came into town and drew him in, he couldn’t help but feel the pull. The shows were spectacular, the audiences were riveted, and it just seemed so glamorous. Blaine had always been around money, but this was different.
Once he joined the carnival, his knives became his trade. They stopped hiding in closets and under floorboards. That’s when they started to glisten like this. It was like holding them under the carnival light had cast a spell on them. Or maybe it was the fact that they didn’t have to hide anymore. They got to share their glory with audiences in cities around the country and that made them want to glimmer brighter like any performer would.
His bare fingers traced over the cool metal and he imagined it being Levi’s hand on them. He was a sweet transgender boy. Sarcastic, perhaps. He was somewhere in between a potential friend and his next victim. Sometimes, he was both and he was always an obsession. Would he know their true importance? Obviously, Levi wouldn’t know why they were so important, but Blaine wondered if he’d be able to feel it. Since his first performance, part of him had wondered if other people saw his knives as magnificently as he did. When he performed, he wasn’t the star of his act. His knives were like the magician and he was the assistant. He was sure that everyone could see how glorious that they were, but he was relatively sure that he was the only one that they spoke to. That just made them even more important.
Maybe he’d go into town after the show tonight and check out the townies. It wouldn’t be smart to kill on the first night, and he tried to never go into anything without a plan, but it would be a good idea to get to know the feel of the town and it’s inhabitants. The jitters he felt that made him eager about the planning and the process was only intensified by imagining Levi touching his knives. It felt like electricity flowing through his veins. If Levi touched him, he was sure they’d both be prickled with static shock.
And he was sure they would adore Levi and the feel of his soft fingers upon their smooth surfaces.
READ ON to chapter two!
thomas mathew 123 on December 09, 2017:
nice story man i loved it!!!