Myriad

Bloodstained fingerprints on your pillow.

How did those get there?

Fog. Haze. Dim.

What the fuck did I do?

Run to the mirror. Inspection.

No sores, no scars, no red. What the fuck?

You walk back to the bed and stare down at wher your head was a few minutes ago.

Fingerprints? Handprints? Who's hands?

You look down at your palms. Clean.

You measure your hands against the pattern on the pillow. Too small. Way too small.

Relief. Not my hands.

If not mine, who's?

Panic.

Fresh inspection. Hand mirror. You check. No bruises. No damage.

No rape.

You hope.

So, what the fuck?

Your mind races now. Where was I? Who was I with? What's the last thing I remember? Was I drunk? High? Sedated?

Stop. Calm down. Relax and breath.

You're alive and unscarred. You're at home.

Are you alone? Shit.

Where's that cricket bat?

Ok, bedroom is clear. Bathroom, same.

Step into the lounge. No-one. No signs of... anything. Kitchen is clear.

Front door is locked. No damage anywhere, no sign of anything.

Just some bloody prints on your pillow?

What the fuck?

Last night is... hazy.

Work 'til five. Drinks with friends. More drinks.

Pills?

Yes, pills. Definitely pills. You remember at least two, taken in the toilets. Maybe more.

You remember dancing. Throwing up at one point.

But then what?

Who can I call? Who was there? Who can I trust?

So you call the first name on your list. No luck. Doesn't remember a thing. Great minds think alike.

Second name. Saw you leave after midnight. Alone. To where? Who knows?

Third name. Dumped you in a cab at 4am with directions to the driver to take you home.


Shit.

Need clues. Need something. This is just too weird.

Alright. Bedroom. Fine-toothed-comb. Go.

Blood on pillow. Right. No-shit.

Anything else? On top, no. Underneath?

Is that a hair?

Yes. But who's is it? Mine?

No! I am definitely not a blonde.

We now have a mysterious blonde.

Not enough. Need to keep looking.

Sheets are clean. Floor is clean.

Fuck I can't do this CSI bullshit.

Ok. I know I was wasted. I know there is blood. I know at least one place I was last night.

Memory... she was wearing blue. SHE! Blonde. Blue dress.

She was wasted too. Just the way I like em. Oh fuck and she was ugly too.

And fat... fuck.

So where’d the blood come from?

You run into the bathroom. Open the bin… and there it is. Staring up at you.

Ever have that not so fresh feeling?

# posted by Sariel Thrawn @ 9:26 pm