Prompt: Terror. Disgust. I don't really know. It's kind of a toss-up when you wake up covered in blood.

***

Terror. Disgust. Confusion.

I don’t really know.

It’s kind of a toss-up when you wake up covered in blood.

Depends on whose, anyhow, I muse drily as my gaze settles on the crimson stained sheets tangled around my legs. Wait, crimson? Oh, that’s right, blood. Disgust, confusion, the whole shebang. What a way to start the morning.

Reluctantly, I sit up and shakily swing my legs over the bed, unable to bear the feel of it any longer. With only a slight tremor in my step, I vehemently curse Mother Nature and her flair for the unexpected and unwelcome, bunching up the sheets and tossing them somewhere into the blue. Or dark. Whatever. It was too early for whatever this was.

Speaking of tossing, I wonder where that knife of mine went. Good blade - sharp, serrated, able to cut flesh like paper at a moment’s notice. Only the best for my bagels, after all. I step into the corridor, bumping into the most random of things as I go. I hop around on one foot, cursing a wayward...thing. Where on earth had that come from, anyway? Now limping, I soldier on, enduring the onslaught of objects that only seemed to materialize after I had bumped into them. My poor toes…

At last, I enter the kitchen, only to be greeted by tile as hard as my heart and cold as my soul. Well, in the morning, anyways. The point? It. Was. Cold. Holy mother of cheeseballs and beyond, this was a kitchen, not a frozen wasteland, dagnabbit! The screech that tore from my throat must have woken the entire house. Tiptoeing across the unforgiving stone best I could, a sharp glint in the pale morning light caught my eye. My knife! The one redeeming feature of an already insufferable day, I sigh.

I take hold of the handle, buried to the hilt in some body, and pull. It comes free in a deadly arc of metal, and with it, blood. Frozen from where I crouch, I take a moment to admire just how majestic those few seconds were. The blood was certainly a nice touch. Knife safely in hand, I step over the body to wash the blood off in the sink. Majestic or no, I couldn’t have the tang of it ruining my bagels. Ruin my bagels and you die, I declare, brandishing the blade as I spread the holy the holy pasty out on a plate.

Munching as I go, I gather the sheets and throw them in the wash, frowning at the damage. Definitely disgusting. I hop from the carpet to the rug in the bathroom, unwilling to repeat what happened with the tiles in the kitchen. Looking in the mirror, I groan. I looked like crap. Hair tangled, clothing rumpled, blood spattered across my chest. Scowling, I peer closer. Since when did I get that on my shirt? Absentmindedly, I twirl the knife, mind wandering. With a start, I think back to the body. Thundering into the kitchen, I take one look at the motionless figure sprawled across the tile, limbs askew, crimson pooling. Naturally, I do what anyone would do.

I scream. 

I’m sure the entire neighborhood’s awake, now.