The Uncaging of Bird
And he grabbed a whirring blade, determined to free his mind from its wretched cage. Blood was trickling down his index finger and thumb, or rather where those fingers were meant to be; both fingers were on the table instead, sank in blood, he had cut them off with multiple stabs. A messy cut by the looks of it. The room smelled of iron and clotted blood By accounts, no one could tell what was more haunting till this day; If it was that shrieking whirring noise, or the loud sharp cry that follow
