Chronicle2012

Blood. Andrew had never been too fond of it. Yet, why was he now sitting on the floor of a dirty public restroom stall, marveling at it? What exactly had changed? So much had changed. Andrew's hands were covered in the crimson liquid as he held up some stray teeth – his proof that what just happened was not a dream. He examined each one in turn, admiring the neatly cut shape of some, and the not so neatly cut of the others. He would have to practice. He smiled at his camera, at whoever his audience was supposed to be, before throwing the teeth into the toilet. He then noticed for the first time his hands, distractedly wiping them