Bad. This was very very bad. All my stuff..... gone, all my precious items...lost. My notebooks with all my story ideas, my laptop. Everything, my entire carrier as an author in that bag. Breath, just breath.

My hand goes to the unopened luggage and i tug the zipper open, maybe there’s something I can use to track down the owner, maybe they made a mistake too and grabbed my bag. The rooms freezing as I finish unzipping it, I was supposed to be here for a family Christmas get together, I was going to show my little sister all my notes and my story’s. Not anymore though. I flip over the lid of the suitcase. And a wooden board is there. Nothing on top of it, just a board that sections off the top from the bottom of the suitcase. Maybe there’s something under it, I think, wrapping my hands around the side and pulling up. I set the board down and peer into the suitcase.

A scream rips its way out of my throat as I see what’s laying at the bottom of that suitcase, the one that I mistaken for my own. I stumbled back blindly and realize I’m shaking. For in that suitcase, lying at the bottom, limp and dried with blood were.....fingers. Severed fingers, lying in a pile, and as I trip and fall backwards, I vomit all over the floor, clutching my phone as I dial 911.

If only I had had grabbed the right bag.