Blood and spearpoints

He started to get distracted. The blood, constantly dripping from the ceiling, started to get to him. The thousands of hearts, hung up on millions of the tiniest fishing hooks and tiredly pumping an endless amount of blood, created a never-ending drizzle in the dark room.

How long would he have to wait?

He was growing restless, his thoughts seeming to bounce against the drops falling around him. The constant dripping seemed to create a liquid wall around his mind, encasing it in dark notions. Then, something different suddenly swiveled on the surface of his thoughts. Something strange. Something new. Something old.

Why not just go home, open all the windows and sit down with a cocktail and a game of chess with a good friend, like you used to do?

The thought struck him like a blow to the head. Suddenly it was all clear. He got to his feet.

I've had it. Time to quit. Time to start.