Doll

She wasn't gone yet. The rain was pouring outside the window, big, fat drops of icy water. She was still lying on the floor like a broken doll, the last lazy drops of blood falling to the floor in the same rythm as outside. He wasn't moving either. The room was cold aroud him. The cynical part of him regretted it. The other part of him was still caught in the horrible frenzy, cutting deep gashes in his own arms. It hurt on the outside, but inside he was completely numb. And she lay there, bleeding. Bleeding, like a doll.