Wapun Meadow boorish

A long pause. A long, painful pause. This is all he knew how to do: to stare, to observe, to take Xeroxes of normalcy. The tension leaves him like a rolling skein.
Sure you didn't. Two words in, he tastes blood and has to start swallowing. All he can think about is how much blood you can swallow without getting sick. He can feel the cut in his mouth like a ridge in the great, wet, rolling terrain. His lips and teeth are sticky with blood.
You forgot to make your eyes normal, Taylor. Have I been staring the whole time? I want a mirror. 
Muscle memory. That Xerox of normalcy is falling apart in his head. It's a copy of a copy of a copy, there's bound to have been some mistakes made. There was a man back where you lived whose leg was so badly hurt that all the blood was blocked up to the knee. When they tried to fix him that black blood went up straight to his brain and he died, terribly.
He kevlars his fingers together, steeples them. Just a nervous young man with sleeves billowing off the wrists. Sure...you didn't.