My feet are wet, I think as my vision clears. What did I step in? I can't remember. It hasn't dried. I'm probably still standing in it.
I look down and catch a splotch of red and dark hour-glass form. I focus on the dimly-lit room ahead of me and notice more red streaks, more dark forms gracing the cold stone floor. I touch a wall to steady myself as realization strikes me and notice that my hands, too, are wet and red.
What is this? Blood? Can't be theirs. Must be mine. Am I hurt? I don't feel it. I swallow, suddenly aware of how dry my throat is. I taste blood.
My mind starts to swirl as the dark forms begin to take on the shape of people in black uniforms, the red splotches pools of fresh blood and boot prints, each marked with an eye, leading to where I stand, bewildered and bloodied. An accidental killer.
