Creeping. Cold. Cutthroat.

Desolate. Darkness. Danger.

Alone. Afraid. Alert.

I had just returned home. From where, I have no clue. When all of a sudden a massive bang. An explosion that plunged the world into darkness. The sort of event that was like an end of the world simulation. On the dying radio waves came a message: ‘Stay at home!’

Short. Serious. Simple.

So here I am, laying on my settee. Eyes fixed on the sulking light. A single bare bulb encased in a polka-dot lamp shade; lifeless. Shivering slightly in my damp hoodie, which confused me because it hadn’t been raining. Not a drop of rain for days now. Lightly running my fingertips of the wettest area I started to panic.

The substance was thicker, tackier, than water. Cautiously, raising my hand to my nose, I sniffed. Greeted by a faint coppery tang of old coins. It was blood.

How had blood gotten onto my clothes? Was I injured?

Rolling over to stand I heard a dull thud. Thud? I must be delusional, the perpetual gloom playing tricks on my senses. Stumbling, tripping, blind I managed to relocate my bag. Rummaging inside the clutter I tug out my phone. Dead.

Groaning I start searching for the emergency torch. I mean it would have been sensible to leave it my the front door or in a kitchen draw. Oh no not me, I apparently keep it behind the maps in the dinning room cabinet. Click. Luminous. Light.

The thin stringy beam of ancient yellow light, I welcomed with open arms. Awkwardly, I position my arm to illuminate the strange sticky patch on my dark hoodie. A patch. A splatter. An uneven shape. The colour of burgundy rust. That was definitely drying blood.

My hands also appeared to be tainted. Gently placing the cylindrical object on the mahogany table. Dipping my hands into the trembling golden stream…

Once I had finished screaming at the sight of the crimson and ruby tan. I chuckled as the phrase ‘caught red handed’ sprung to mind. At least no one would see the startling evidence in this global blackout.

Whispering in my ear. Tugging at my gut. What was the thud?

There on the chic navy rug, a knife. One that resembled one I had in the kitchen. Creeping forward I examined the offensive item. There was no denying it. That was my knife. Garnet lacquer covered the once shiny slate blade.

Frozen I searched my memory. Except there was no recollection of having wielded my kitchen knife in anger.

Feet shuffled. Finger snapped. Lips pursed.

Fragments of broken memories. Swirling like lost snow flake on a teasing breeze. Drifting to the uneven ground. Gradually building up; filling in the gaps.

Realisation struck me roughly to the floor.

Stalking through the fading light, your eyes squinted. Slits of deep brown. Hiding in plain sight, blazing sunlight beating down on your back. You were on the hunt.

After several hours of searching you found your prey. Sharp ears detecting the obnoxious shrieking grating voice. Stalking them at a safe distance, instilling the unsettle fear.

Flicking your tongue out, you moistened your lips. You could taste the sweetness already. Touching the pocket of your jumper you felt the distinct outline of your weapon of choice. Twisting. Turning. Ducking. Dodging. It appeared your quarry was growing weary. Head down. Slender hands on hips. Erratic rise and fall of ribs.

Small puffs of air exploded into the cooling atmosphere. They were out of shape despite their belying willowy frame. Unfair fight, perhaps. In nature there’s always a weaker individual. There’s no place for weaklings.

In a swift explosive leap you drove home your claw. Latched onto their shoulder, giant paws easily engulfing their delicate features. Yanking your blade free, you heard it hum through the air. Slicing hamstrings with liquid movement. A muffed howl as they crumpled to biting concrete.

Liquid rubies began to flow from clean seams. A graceful swing. Tiny droplets leapt up soaking you in shame. Choking, rattle breath escaped their destroyed trachea. Death came swiftly; mercifully.

My knees gave way, as I returned to the moment. Had I really killed a person? All the evidence would suggest so. Just then fizz and pop. Order restored as the electricity jolted back to life.