I felt a tiny bit of pain suddenly. But simply ignored it. The next thing I knew, I got curious of that tiny bit of pain, so I looked at it. And I found out that I was bleeding. I stared at my own blood. It fascinated me. The redness of it against my pale skin seemed beautiful. A few seconds after that pause, I washed it off with tap water. It didn’t sting. Later after that, I went and pour ethyl alcohol over it. I still didn’t felt the sting. I went to get a cup of tea and took a sip of it. And I grabbed the ethyl alcohol again and pour it to my wound. I didn’t stop until I felt a tiny bit of sting on it.
After which, I reflected on what I did. I couldn’t come up with a rational explanation to it, even if it’s just something made up that I would later on believe to be true. The only thing that I could accept was that I wouldn’t get satisfied playing with my would of touching it until I feel pain over it. Just like a typical child who wouldn’t stop running around until he gets himself wounded all over.
2 Comments
i feel you — i do!
This may sound weird but that’s kinda cool. I’ve had moments like that werei would be cute and just stare at the blood like it was amazing or something and felt nothing from it.