What's that? A soft dribble running down the side of your face. You look in the mirror. Is that blood? But no, it's dark, black even. You go to whipe the source, but your skin peels off at the faintest touch. The skin is rotten, you try to place the layer of skin back, but only manage to peel of more skin. Gooey black blood runs down your face. The more you touch it the more the skin peels. You check for a pulse in your wrist. Nothing. Black blood continues to run down your face. You lift up your shirt and check for a heart beat. Nothing still. You begin to claw, desperately at your chest, layers and layers of rotten skin are ripped off as you dig furiously towards your heart. You are stopped by bone. You are determined. You must know. You break open your sternum with a sickening snap and tear open the rib cage. Black goo is poring down your torso. The bathroom fills with the stench of rot weeks old. You see your heart, grey, shriveled and still, oozing black goo. You can escape the realization no longer. Despite the massive amounts of black, sticky blood poring out of your body you cannot die, because you are dead inside already. YOU. ARE. DEAD. INSIDE. ALREADY.
