Of Blood and Ash

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It's a bad omen when you come to with a knife in your hands.

It's an even worse omen when said knife is drenched in blood. You won't be the first to say this, but you're not much of a drinker. Sure, you've been to bars and nightclubs every once and a while but you don't tend to partake in the firewater. On the other hand, you're fairly certain you would remember not having a heartbeat.

Your hands are, beneath the splayed crimson, a pallid grey. Rigor mortis seems to have set in, and every movement is a struggle. You're also not breathing at all. Oddly enough you can't find it in you to panic, at least not fully. Emotions are... dulled to say the least. Your surroundings are equally grey, no lights to be seen. Even in pitch darkness you can still see easily.

Or is it because of the darkness?

Regardless, you're in a pickle. You... died. You remember dying. It wasn't as bad as you expected, a bullet to the chest and a minute of slowly passing out. At least you didn't burn to death. You'd been walking home from yet another day at your dead (heh) end job. A homeless man pulled a gun out as you ducked into an alley. You tried to hand over your wallet but he was probably high as fuck.

He shot you. And took your fucking shoes now that you think about it and look down, wiggling decrepit toes. It seems you... got back up. And walked here. And stabbed a lot of people. Some sort've homeless gathering pit, an abandoned building. Crackhouse. Man or woman, druggy or down on luck. You killed equally and mercilessly, Until you got to the man who killed you. He's there on the floor of this shitty bathroom. Where others merely had their throats shorn, he received the worst treatment.

Your clothes and weapon are a testament to the amount of blood a human body has. It's almost artful the way he's been killed. Wait... are those fucking bite marks? You've bitten chunks out of him. There's dried blood around your lips and you feel oddly satisfied thinking about it.

You don't want to look at him anymore.

>Gather your bearings. Try to figure out what the fuck happened and where to go from here.

>Leave. Immediately. You know at least one person called the police and they'll be here within' ten to twenty minutes.

>Freak the fuck out. Even if your emotions are shot, do it anyway.

>Write-in.