Drawing Red

He sighed, picking up his pencil at the teacher's third request. Drawing was not something he enjoyed. Not anymore. But it was too late to change classes, and to be honest, what else would he change into? He had friends in this class. It didn't matter if he failed. Nothing mattered anymore. Today, they were drawing the human form. At least, that's what he assumed they were doing. The last time he'd actually paid attention, that was something that had come across. He been scratching away at the paper roughly, a man's torso. The muscles weren't too defined, and he did that deliberately. Slashing over the paper skin with his pencil scar after scar, stitches and smudging. Bruises. Blood. He silently burrowed a red pencil from his friend's pencil case to add in the detail. Great droplets dripped over the page, horrible and staining...

"Nick!" he looked up to see the teacher's concerned expression.

[154 words]