The Last Piece

The day was cold and boring. Ally, having not much else to do besides stare at her ugly beige wall, decided to pull out the dusty, white box that had long ago made its home at the top shelf of her closet. She'd seen it every day of her life and only now, at the hight of boredom, had the idea to open it up and see what's inside. Baby clothes, she had thought, old, dusty baby clothes or shoes that spent their time collecting mothballs after a few years of childhood.

Though, after opening the stiff white top to find an assortment of dull puzzle pieces, she found her assumption to be wrong. Intrigued, Ally carried the box to the living room and dumped its contents over the coffee table. There were hundreds of pieces, each a different shape and shade. She pondered whether it would be worth her time to put it together, but then remembered that all she had was time on this boring day. So she tied up her hair, plopped on the couch, and got to work.

Thirty minutes passed of tediously connecting searched for pieces, and Ally finally completed the border and most of the right corner. She realized that the picture being created was mostly a dark maroon color. If it wasn't for the dark brown specks in between all of it she'd think the puzzle was all one dull, red shade.

Ally worked her way over to the middle of the puzzle and began forming the frame of what seemed like a person. They were covered in the red stuff, lying in it as she came to realize. Was it paint? Blood? Suddenly, Ally was more confused about why something so gruesome had been stuffed at the top of her closet than where the next piece was. She was going to complete the puzzle, she had to at this point, but a strange chill worked it's way up her spine at the scene.

As she completed the figure, only missing its face in the midst of what Ally was now sure was blood, she searched for the persons face in the fray on the coffee table. Not finding it, Ally toiled around the rest of the puzzle and ended up completing it within the hour. All except for that one piece, the face of the person covered in blood.

Ally searched and searched, her confusion growing with every second that passed. Had the piece been left out? Did she drop it? Frustrated, she sprung up from the couch and searched the floor, spotting the small square of colored cardboard tucked under the couch. She smiled triumphantly, snagging the piece and pressing it firmly into the last space of the picture.

With a sense of finality, she gazed over the scene of a blood covered hardwood floor, familiar stained patterned rug, and a face that was her own.