Dry Blood

The blood is dry and crusty with a rust-like color. Deep grooves cross it, running parallel to each other. These hands have old blood on them. Denise closes her eyes hard.

“It’s not real, it’s not real, it’s not real!”

Slowly, she opens them and stares down again at her hands. The blood is still there. Her head turns to the side, unable to stare at her hands. Carlos eyes meet with hers, they are holding that glassy, faraway look of someone who checked out permanently. The red stain on his shirt must still be moist.

She would laugh at the random thought that popped in her head, but only a whimpering noise comes from her mouth. Her mind is a complete blank on whatever happened in the past hour. Denise appears to not listen to the distant wailing of several sirens coming nearer and nearer to the house.

“Sometimes, bad things happen to good people.”, Carlos once told her.

Denise stares down at her bloody hands once more and waits for them to come.


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