Organization IV

I drew my Keyblade across my hand. A long cut formed over a few other new scars.
My eyes welled up with tears. I drew my breath in sharp at the pain. But I was glad it was there.
The pain meant I was still me.
It meant I was still evading the Darkness.
I watched the warm, sticky blood trickle out at a pace that would have alarmed others, but not me. I watched calmly as it began to drip off my hand. Soon, my entire hand was red, and I bound it once more with the dry, once blood-soaked cloth. Soon, the dried blood mingled with the fresh, but I had staunched the flow.
The pain was still there, jarring through my arm as the bandage bit into the wound. I bit my lip but remained silent.
The pain was good, I told myself.
It meant I was still free.