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Description
I woke up alone. I didn’t go to sleep that way. The sheets are all knotted up and wrapped around my legs. Wait a minute, since when do my white sheets have red spots on them? Better question: since when do my white sheets have blood on them?

Bed is no longer a safe place and I jump out onto the floor. My balance usually isn’t the best, especially when I wake up in the middle of the night, so I don’t mind falling on my ass when I hit the floor. I stand up quickly and look around. I have a strangely accurate internal clock, and it feels like four o’clock in the morning. I really don’t know what woke me up; no one shook me awake, which is really the only way to wake me up, so I’m wondering why I'm up.

I see the hall light shining under the crack at the bottom of the door and I contemplate whether it’s a good idea to venture outside. I don’t hear any noise, which is very strange, because I don’t think my house has ever been completely silent. I grab a flashlight and decide to brave the world outside my door.

I see that the hall light is swinging above my head and I reach up to stop it; the shadows it was casting were making me nauseous. I started walking down the hall and I caught a glimpse of red out of the corner of my eye. My eyes immediately focused on that spot and I brought the beam of the flashlight to the spot. I almost dropped the light when I saw what it was.

A bloody handprint smudged on the wall.

Crap.

I swallow the vomit I feel creeping up my throat and continue on. I start praying to every God and Goddess I know, from Allah down to Zeus. I didn’t know why I was praying, I just knew that there was something bad coming, and it was a good idea to have a little Devine Intervention on order.

As I continued down the hall, more red splotches and smudges make themselves visible. There are no more hand prints and I’m not really sure if that’s good or bad. I reach the stairs and see that the banister is covered in blood. I think I’m in shock, because my first thought is that the wood is ruined now.

I walk down the stairs and look around carefully. I’m not really sure if I want to find more blood or not. More blood would lead to a body (preferably a live one) and then I could figure this whole thing out and probably help the person. No more blood would probably mean that the person was in another part of the house, or they were gone. Mostly, I was hoping that they were gone. It’s decided: I want the blood to go away.

It didn’t.

I started to walk through the kitchen. There were no more blood smudges on the walls, but now there was a trail of drops on the floor. Was that better or worse? I continued to walk and finally came to a puddle of blood. “Ow!” I hiss. I was too busy trying to see how large the puddle was to notice the knife that was laying at the edge of it. The blade cut my foot when I stepped on it.

Looking back, I can tell that I was truly in shock right at that moment, because something made me pick up that knife. I picked up the knife, even though everything in my head was screaming at me to leave it alone. I know that I don’t listen very well, but I usually listen to myself. Definitely in shock.

Before I even had a chance to process everything in my head, the room exploded in sound. I had never been up close to a running helicopter, but I had seen enough action movies to know what one sounded like. In addition to the roar of helicopter blades, I heard sirens. There was a loud voice, like someone speaking into a mega phone. The door was pushed off its hinges and several SWAT officers ran inside. Lights flooded in and blinded me. I dropped the knife and the flashlight, holding my hands up by my head. And that’s when I realized.

I was holding a knife.

I was covered in blood.

I was now a prime suspect in the murder of my lifelong partner.

I turned my head, so that they lights were no longer shinning in my eyes. That was when I saw the calendar on the refrigerator. It was July twelfth and I remembered going to bed on the fifth. I know that I wasn’t asleep the whole time, I know what heavily over sleeping feels like, and this was not it. If I wasn’t asleep, that meant that I had no memory of the past week. That was the moment that I discovered the worst thing that could ever happen to me: having no memory of anything.

This was a pivotal moment of my life, and I couldn’t remember anything. I looked as guilty as sin, and I wasn’t getting out of this. I looked around once again. With the SWAT lights casting shadows and reflecting all over the room, I could see everything a lot better. Blood coated the walls, refrigerator, counter, stove and table. There was even blood on the door that SWAT had broken open. I looked back at the SWAT team and one of them was walking towards me. Even though he was wearing a face protecting mask, I could see the sweat on his forehead and I could see the fear in his eyes. I looked back down at the puddle of blood at my feet.

Maybe I didn’t want to remember anything.

Description
I woke up alone. I didn’t go to sleep that way. The sheets are all knotted up and wrapped around my legs. Wait a minute, since when do my white sheets have red spots on them? Better question: since when do my white sheets have blood on them?

Bed is no longer a safe place and I jump out onto the floor. My balance usually isn’t the best, especially when I wake up in the middle of the night, so I don’t mind falling on my ass when I hit the floor. I stand up quickly and look around. I have a strangely accurate internal clock, and it feels like four o’clock in the morning. I really don’t know what woke me up; no one shook me awake, which is really the only way to wake me up, so I’m wondering why I'm up.

I see the hall light shining under the crack at the bottom of the door and I contemplate whether it’s a good idea to venture outside. I don’t hear any noise, which is very strange, because I don’t think my house has ever been completely silent. I grab a flashlight and decide to brave the world outside my door.

I see that the hall light is swinging above my head and I reach up to stop it; the shadows it was casting were making me nauseous. I started walking down the hall and I caught a glimpse of red out of the corner of my eye. My eyes immediately focused on that spot and I brought the beam of the flashlight to the spot. I almost dropped the light when I saw what it was.

A bloody handprint smudged on the wall.

Crap.

I swallow the vomit I feel creeping up my throat and continue on. I start praying to every God and Goddess I know, from Allah down to Zeus. I didn’t know why I was praying, I just knew that there was something bad coming, and it was a good idea to have a little Devine Intervention on order.

As I continued down the hall, more red splotches and smudges make themselves visible. There are no more hand prints and I’m not really sure if that’s good or bad. I reach the stairs and see that the banister is covered in blood. I think I’m in shock, because my first thought is that the wood is ruined now.

I walk down the stairs and look around carefully. I’m not really sure if I want to find more blood or not. More blood would lead to a body (preferably a live one) and then I could figure this whole thing out and probably help the person. No more blood would probably mean that the person was in another part of the house, or they were gone. Mostly, I was hoping that they were gone. It’s decided: I want the blood to go away.

It didn’t.

I started to walk through the kitchen. There were no more blood smudges on the walls, but now there was a trail of drops on the floor. Was that better or worse? I continued to walk and finally came to a puddle of blood. “Ow!” I hiss. I was too busy trying to see how large the puddle was to notice the knife that was laying at the edge of it. The blade cut my foot when I stepped on it.

Looking back, I can tell that I was truly in shock right at that moment, because something made me pick up that knife. I picked up the knife, even though everything in my head was screaming at me to leave it alone. I know that I don’t listen very well, but I usually listen to myself. Definitely in shock.

Before I even had a chance to process everything in my head, the room exploded in sound. I had never been up close to a running helicopter, but I had seen enough action movies to know what one sounded like. In addition to the roar of helicopter blades, I heard sirens. There was a loud voice, like someone speaking into a mega phone. The door was pushed off its hinges and several SWAT officers ran inside. Lights flooded in and blinded me. I dropped the knife and the flashlight, holding my hands up by my head. And that’s when I realized.

I was holding a knife.

I was covered in blood.

I was now a prime suspect in the murder of my lifelong partner.

I turned my head, so that they lights were no longer shinning in my eyes. That was when I saw the calendar on the refrigerator. It was July twelfth and I remembered going to bed on the fifth. I know that I wasn’t asleep the whole time, I know what heavily over sleeping feels like, and this was not it. If I wasn’t asleep, that meant that I had no memory of the past week. That was the moment that I discovered the worst thing that could ever happen to me: having no memory of anything.

This was a pivotal moment of my life, and I couldn’t remember anything. I looked as guilty as sin, and I wasn’t getting out of this. I looked around once again. With the SWAT lights casting shadows and reflecting all over the room, I could see everything a lot better. Blood coated the walls, refrigerator, counter, stove and table. There was even blood on the door that SWAT had broken open. I looked back at the SWAT team and one of them was walking towards me. Even though he was wearing a face protecting mask, I could see the sweat on his forehead and I could see the fear in his eyes. I looked back down at the puddle of blood at my feet.

Maybe I didn’t want to remember anything.