Hour of Need

One large meat lovers pizza from my favorite restaurant sat in front of me. This time I had the ordered under "Captain Jack Sparrow." Recent orders for "Voldemort" and "Lord Rahl" had gained me a reputation; It was a ritual the waitresses knew me for. Next to the pizza was a home bred caged chicken, moments from death.

After clipping away a patch of feathers, I bit into the neck of the creature, its cries of distress oblivious to me. It was a ritual my family knew me for. What broke my daydream was the phone ringing, conveniently laying on the kitchen table meters away. My face covered in blood, I snatched the phone and placed it against my ear, downing a mouthful of that chickens life. It was Lisa. She sounded stressed and upset. I quickly learned she cut a large portion of her thumb off with a knife as she was cutting up meat. She was home alone, and was waiting for her mother to return to take her to hospital. She called me. In her 15 minutes of need, she called me. She was begging me not to leave her until her mum got home. Delirium had begun to take her, and I was forced to comfort her, not that I was upset about the loss of time, and the left over blood pouring out of the chicken (which was my only blood supply for the next few days). On the negative side, I feel this moment of comfort strengthened the bond between us. My heart faltered each time she failed to respond, for fear she would lose consciousness. Pacing the kitchen, covered in blood, I worried for my human friend.

Now, as I type, Lisa resides in hospital. My mind constantly questioning, do I visit her? If I do, it may further strengthen the feelings there. I know I won't be tempted to drink any spilled blood; the chicken Arthur is cooking right now is evidence of that. If i stay here at home, will it upset her? The one she was compelled to call when she felt alone and vulnerable remains at home, unwilling to visit. Which of the two would be more detrimental?

Sitting here in limbo, tearing my hair out from the stress, is not a comfortable feeling. Its times like these I wish I could bury my head in the sand. Or wish that I had a substantial supply of sand nearby. I may just resort to flipping a coin... A ritual my friends knew me for.