I approach the room.
Door's closed.
The smell hits me first -
Putrid, rotting stench,
Makes me gag.
I continue nonetheless.
Forward, forward
Towards the door.
Now I can hear it.
Drip, drip, drip of blood
Falling inside the door.
Faint rustlings and whispers,
As if of spirits.
Again I continue -
Closer.
Taste of copper in my mouth.
Metallic - blood?
I think so.
The door looms in my vision,
Here I am.
Reach out, turn the handle,
Open now.
The smell hits me again,
A thousand times worse than before.
Still I carry on,
Through the doorway,
Into the room.
My eyes open wide as I see,
I see the horror of the room.
Walk forward, kneel down at her side,
Touch.
Blood coats my fingers -
MY blood.
The sickening realisation dawns on me:
MY blood?
MY body?
Dead.
Strange that...
