Thursday, June 24, 2010
I was aware that I was standing in the center of the room. Bathed in a wash of red, my vision swimming with blood. The murderous rage that had overtaken me minutes before had played itself out, leaving me breathless and shaking, my heart racing. As I surveyed the room, visually assaulted by the mayhem I had created, I noticed the spilled roses that had so gracefully adorned the counter earlier this morning. Drops of drying blood dotting the pale pink petals. The knife slipped from my hand and dropped heavily to the floor, providing the only noise in this place that had become death. Stepping over the bodies, I made my way towards the exit, one thought now running repeatedly through my head…well, I don’t guess they’ll ever let me work the complaint desk again.