There is a red door on this house. Not white like everywhere else. I see red roses covering the wall, same color as the door. The roses where white yesterday like the other houses. It has become harder for me to differentiate what is real and what is in my head. I slowly grab the door handle. There is red under my fingernails, there is red in my scalp. I leave red trails wherever I go, I hope those are just in my head. I open the door and come in a red room. Everything is red in this house, it is beautiful. Some of the red color is dripping from the ceiling, like blood. Blood from the people, the ones I killed. I walk to my bedroom. I'm so tired. Soon everything will be red, hopefully.
