Just Crimson

Blood stained the floors. It stained the walls, the air and even the sky.
It flew with the wind, into the oxygen the Black Crimsons breathed, soaking their hearts and soul to continue on with what they are.
All the while, cheers echoed out of the spectators, into the ears of the entertainers whose pride grew stronger with each applause.
As for the weak Crimsons, the human, red-blooded Crimsons, they were only seconds from fatality; it only took one more drink.
For them, blood was no where to be found apart from the liquid that dripped from their necks and wrists and the liquid that rushed through their veins too quickly for sanity.
Too weak to stand on their own two feet, they stood on their knees, which were bound to only hold for a small moment longer.
Horror had already far from shielded their body, and trapped their soul, piercing their heart with the stakes of fear the entertainers had easily managed to stab in.
Wide grins of pleasure stretched the Black Crimsons’ pallid faces as they approached them not for the first time that night.
Then, with one last cheer, a lift, a thrust and a last bite, the Crimsons’ tortured souls drifted from their bodies and high up as far as they could go.
But, it wasn’t far enough, as everyone in Black Crimson knows, no one could leave to the heavens once they are drained of all the purity they ever had.
It was a curse to live what they had just did, but a bigger one to have to witness it for the rest of time.
As the poor souls have no where else to go, they will forever be trapped in Black Crimson, obliged to watch the many more tortured deaths that were very soon to come.