I got something good to say.
He mumbles something--his windpipe is crushed; so its more noises. Still, I bend down, the yellow hair dyed a dull red.
``Anything else?``
He says nothing.
I shove another spear down his back--around eight in total now, as more blood pools from the wounds. The red liquid was everywhere at this point, and it spilled down his mouth like drool. I recalled when he first tried to resist; thirty minutes wasn't long ago.
The veins in his body were cut. He wasn't feeling anything anymore; still alive, though. That eye of his; could prove wonderful.
The squelch of plunging my hand into his eye went unnoticed. I cut the nerves connecting it; blinding him in that eye. He tried one last time to get up; but couldn't.
Yes, I had something good to say indeed.
Without another word, I walked away. What a good eye it was. What a good eye it will be.
