It’s everywhere.

Seeping into cracks and folds ,

staining satin sheets,

angelic swaths blooming crimson.

Leaving me marked.

Stained.

Tainted.

I beat my hands against my head.

Hoping against all odds to shake myself out of this nightmare.

No such luck.

I’m still here.

I slap my hands against the blemished wall in frustration and despair.

Burn them in scalding water.

Freeze them with cold.

They remain painted a deep blushing pink.

I have to do something.

Anything.

Do I run? Flee the scene? Find an alibi?

Or.

Do I erase this?

All I’d need is a gallon of bleach to purge the floor of the evidence.

Gasoline and a match to burn the sheets.

Perhaps I can burn him with them.

Then I can run.

Change my appearance.

Start anew.

Yes.

That is what I’ll do.