Prompt #31: They're not mutually exclusive. It's like how all blood tastes salty, but not all salt tastes like blood.

            There were two sisters.

            Every night they each sat at the head of their very own tables. Huge basins, one blue, one red, were placed in front of them. They waited.

            And the basins would fill.

            The first sister’s bowl would fill with blood. The second sister’s bowl would fill with tears. Then they would drink.

            When the basins were empty, they were taken away and the sisters were sent back to their room.

            “I am so tired of tears,” said the second sister to the first.

            “And I am so tired of blood,” said the first sister to the second.

            “Tears are so thin.”

            “Blood is so thick.”

            They sighed.

            They looked at each other.

            “What if I were to drink the blood,” said the second sister.

            “And what if I were to drink the tears,” said the first sister.

            The sun rose and set. A knock came at their door just like every night before. They rose and walked to the dining room.

            The first sister walked to the second sister’s table. The second sister walked to the first sister’s table. They seated themselves as if all was normal.

The basins were wheeled into the room. The red basin was set in front of the second sister. The blue basin was set in front of the first sister.

The bowls filled, and the sisters drank.

When her bowl of tears was half empty, the second sister peeked at the first. When her bowl of blood was only half full, the first sister peeked at the second.

            “This tastes just like tears,” the second sister said to the first.

            “No, this tastes just like blood,” the first sister said to the second.

            The second sister rose to her feet. “Why didn’t you tell me blood tasted so salty?”

            The first sister stood. “Why didn’t you tell me tears tasted so salty?”

            “This is your fault.” The second sister began to cry.

            “Nay, I say this is your fault. And your tears will do you no good.”

            Anger boiled in the second sister’s belly. She picked up her basin, still half empty, and threw it to the ground. It shattered

            The first sister yelled as a shard bounced from the impact, cutting her arm.

            The second sister cried harder with shame and anger and disappointment. She could not stop crying. And the more she cried, the darker her tears became. Until she cried blood.

            The first sister pressed her hand against her wound. She would not stop bleeding. And the more she bled, the clearer her blood became. Until she bled tears.

            “Oh, what a bad idea this was. What are we going to do?” the first sister said in despair.

            “It’s obvious, is it not? I must drink the tears and you must drink the blood. That will put it all to rights,” the second sister replied.

            “But there is no more blood and you have broken the bowl.”

            The second sister dipped her hand into the blue basin and brought the tears to her lips. She didn’t answer her sister until her fingers scraped the bottom.  “Then you must find the blood somewhere else.”

            “Quick, let us catch your bloody tears,” the first sister begged, but the second sister no longer cried.

            The first sister continued to bleed. Salty water spread across the floor as her arm gushed tears. She struggled to get to her sister, but the water weighed down her dress. “Help me.”

            “I told you, you must find the blood somewhere else.” The second sister smiled and picked up her basin. “I’m sure it won’t be that hard to find.”

            “Give me some of your blood. Hurry, sister.”

            “I would rather not.” She wrinkled her nose. “Too painful.”

The second sister turned to leave but stopped at the door. The first sister held out her hand. The second sister sighed. “None of this would have happened if you had just been satisfied with blood.”

The first sister was alone.

She screamed and wrenched a piece of the broken bowl from the ground. More tears fell as she sliced through her other arm. She hacked at her skirt. The material dropped to the ground with nothing to hold it up.

Water splashed against her bare knees as she hurried through the house. “Sister, sister. Where are you?” she yelled. “Give me your blood.”

The pieces of broken clay twitched each time she called. And they stretched. And they grew. And they became sharks. And the sharks hungered for blood.

The first sister stepped out the open front door, soaked to her waist. Clouds hung heavy overhead and the thunder accented her voice. It began to pour as she stepped through the front gate.

A stream followed behind her, as did the sharks, as she searched for her sister. A lake grew, then a sea, then an ocean. Still she bled, and still it rained.

She sent the sharks to search and they were all too willing. The waters stayed pure for many days. Their hunger grew

Then, came the smell.

The smell of blood.

The sharks flew into a frenzy.

Her sister was merely scattered into leftover chunks of flesh when she arrived. She dipped her cupped hands into the red-stained water and brought it to her mouth. She smacked her lips at the taste.

The rain stopped.

She guzzled the water, sticking her face in it.

The bleeding, finally, finally stopped.

She looked up, watching her sharks snip at the last pieces of her sister. One last tear rolled down her cheek.

There were two sisters.

Now, there is only one.