It was running down the walls, staining the previously clear, reflective floors a dark, mesmerising red. Some of the biggest chunks hit the ceiling with a sickening slap. They were dripping, no, they were pouring, with the rich juices of the person the was once below, comfortably tucked into the hospital bed.
Adrenaline woke from his trance by a warm liquid dripping onto him from above, dying his hair, running down his face. His shocked, confused, horrified face. This couldn't be happening, could it? What's going on? Head's fuzzy...
He woke up in his bed. Was it a dream? Please be a dream. Feel around the face, feel it. Blood? No blood. No blood? It was a dream? We went to look in the mirror. Was the mirror lying to him? He had big bags under his eyes. Where did they come from? He sleeps enough, right? What else... He had... oh. Oh god.
His hair. His hair was stained. Stained a deep red. It wasn't a dream, was it? He's... He's gone. Now he knew what the rustling in the background was. They were cleaning out his room. He felt... weirdly calm. Like Schön didn't really matter. Like... Like he didn't care? But that can't be true, right? He's only a piece of shit towards his brother because it's funny, it should've never evolved into this..
Was he really glad his brother was gone..?
