Blood is a blur

Blood is a blur

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WpMetadataReadContinúa<5 mins
WpMetadataNoticeÚltima publicación jue, abr 9, 2015
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Ficción
Terror
I awake my eyes fluttering open. I feel a sticky wet substance upon my hand moving my fingers as it runs through my hand. I've done it again, sighing softly I swing my legs off the bed to the bathroom. I wash the blood as it washes down the drain turning a slight pink. I can't keep hurting people like this. I dry my hands on the towel rack starting my daily routine. I knew by the end of the night I knew I'd be in another blur of blood and another victim down.
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I woke up in a room I didn't recognize, my fingers tracing the rough fabric of a bedspread that wasn't mine. The air was thick with something unfamiliar, and every small difference in the space set off alarm bells in my head. My heart raced as I scrambled for the door-locked. Panic clawed at my chest. Then he appeared in the doorway, his smile crooked, his eyes dark with intent. He spoke no words, but his presence alone screamed danger. Every exit was sealed. Every attempt to call for help met with eerie dismissals from voices that seemed in on the nightmare. And as he handed me a letter-a love note scrawled in childish handwriting-I realized this wasn't just a kidnapping. It was something far worse. I don't know who he is. I don't know what he wants. But I do know one thing: I need to escape before it's too late.

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