Baby Bleu

Curdled blood hung from the ceiling and the walls were made from veiny arms and legs, all reaching and kicking. Bile dripped from my mouth as a thousand eyeballs glanced at me from under the glass floor. The wind blew and I felt the ghost of a hand on the back of my neck, forcing me closer. He laid in the field, one eye skewed to the side the veins bluish and black tints caused by months of rotting. I could feel your bones as they ground together while I held you in my arms, and your mouth opened as if gasping for air.