Untouchable |h.s|

Six

Aubrey Hart

Blood.

The red life-filled substance fills my nostrils to the brim with its haunting iron-like aroma as I run as quickly as humanly possible with hopes of reaching the upstairs bathroom. My head stays down and my body remains stiff, staring at my feet with each quickened step as I try to escape at a good pace.

Blood coats a majority of the black and white checkered flooring of my yellow kitchen as I try not to slip on the smeared liquid, fallen white rose petals from the flowers I've used as decoration for ages getting caught in the thickness of it. Each and every vase and piece of glassware of mine is shattered and stained red, and I don't have any idea how.

I'm trying my best not to step on any of the sharp shards around me, being unable to slow down and dodging many pieces last minute due to my speed. I'd slow my footsteps if I could, but I can't. I hardly feel any control over my own body as I take in my surroundings, not knowing where this came from or how I got here.

I can't bring my head up. I can't stop running. I can't do anything.

Picture frames are cracked and strewn out on the floor as I make it to my book-filled hallway, each and every book from the shelf falling in my direction as I run through the now collapsing threshold. The pieces of literature I've always used as an escape make me feel as if I'm being pelted by bricks, the spines of thick novels bruising my limbs and making it nearly impossible to walk.

My mind is telling me to run, and I'm simply obeying the orders I've been given.

I firmly get ahold of the railing of my stairs as I make my way up them, trembling as my body feels overheated and sweat coats my forehead. I can't breathe, I can't talk, and I can't ask anybody for help. I'm all alone here.

That's what I think, at least.

I make it to the standing porcelain sink in the upstairs bathroom after slamming the door shut behind me in precaution, gripping the sides of the cold surface for dear life as I stop in my tracks and try to breathe properly. My chest burns and my mind races with untamable anxiety, feeling this unexplainable uncertainty about where I am and what I'm doing here.

When I will myself to look up at the reflection in front of me, my thoughts come to a halt and my body shoots three feet backward in shock. My eyes widen as I stare into my own two blue eyes, gasping for air and choking on my breaths through struggled coughs as my gaze runs over what's in front of me.

Six deep red letters have been written on the reflective surface.

It's very obvious what the red substance the word is written in is, a few drops trickling down the reflective glass from the bottoms of certain letters and leaving a bloody stream behind. It only leaves me with more utter shock and confusion, having no idea who could've done this in my own house or what they've done to me.

"Killer." I mutter the phrase I see drawn over my reflection as I'm taken aback by the person staring back at me, not realizing what I look like until now and hardly recognizing myself.

I'm completely covered in blood.

I see it. The glistening patches of it gracing my cheek, coating my hands and arms, and ruining the white tank top covering my top half. My previous grip to the sink has left smeared bloody handprints in its wake that I now see since backing away from it. The tone of my skin is nearly hidden in both the layer of blood covering me and the dim lighting of the bathroom, causing a further disconnect from myself that I can't say I've ever felt before.