Not so much about the blood...
...well it was the blood that started it anyway. I was just a little 'un, maybe ten years old or something like that, and Hallowe'en was just round the corner. My mum had carved a turnip lantern for me (none of your American pumpkin nonsense back then) and left the room to get some candles. I decided that the lantern needed a hole in the top to let the heat out so I grabbed the forbidden knife and started slicing. Thank god for bones is all I can say, if we didn't have em to get in the way of knives and suchlike I'd be writing this with four fingers...

Anyway blood spewed all over the shop, more than I'd ever seen and I, in utter shock, made a beeline for the bathroom. I could feel a blood-induced spew building up in me so I lurched towards the toilet, just a second too late. The chunder exited my body with such force that half of it hit the wall and left a perfect outline of the toilet bowl, lid and cistern on the wallpaper. It was a work of art.

Almost as class as the look on my mum's face when she followed the screams and the red trails on the carpet to find her precious eldest son in a veritable slaughterhouse of a bathroom...
(pumpkinbug, Mon 11 Aug 2008, 22:57, Reply)