Untitled

The plodding monotony of the drip soon made itself very clear in my mind as I snapped from my trance-like state. It's was completely silent in the room, save for that drip, I wondered what it was as I noticed a salty taste in my mouth. It was dark, but I could still make out the unmistakable scarlet now staining my fingertips. What had happened I wondered, why was there blood in my mouth? I glanced down upon my form and noticed the same scarlet staining my shirt, it was like a dark crimson beacon trying to remind my what I'd done. My mind was too warped from whatever had happened to clue in however, as I refocused my eyes about the room, familiar shapes started to creep out of the shadows. This was my apartment... I've lived here long enough to recognize it in the pale light that refracted in through the small window.

All was silent and calm, except for the drip... Looking around myself I realized I was not the source. A bit of exploring in the blackness proved to me a horrible event had just occured. There was a body forming out from the shadows, it hung silently in the darkness, swaying ever so slightly in some unfelt draft. I cried out in terror, but the words from my mouth were foreign, the were my words and my voice, yet somehow it was all distant. I approached the body, my footsteps echoed throughout the apartment. I thumbed my pocket for a source of light and found a matchbook. Quickly I snapped one to life and cried out again, this time in anger and fear. Once again my voice seemed to fall on ears that would not hear it, the light provided to me the last emotion scrawled across my dead sister's face, despair.

There she was, my baby sister, hanging from the ceiling of my home, gutted like a flounder. Vengeful thoughts took my already weakened mind as tears seemed to streamed down my face. Who had done this? Why? I felt the last moments of pain that were deeply engrained within her wide eyes. It made me almost sick to see one loved so dearly in a condition like this. I screamed in rage, but once again my voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. The last moments of conciousness were fleeting, as the match burnt out, so did my will to live, and so it was that I was taken from life.