Painting The Town Red.

The next morning my head was pounding. I could almost feel my brain protruding out of my skull. All of my senses were screaming at me not to move, listen, or think. I ignored what they said and got up off the ground.
I was in my friends house, on top of her dirty clothes. I glance around and she was barely sprawled over her bed. Her hair was pasted across her face and she had red paint all over her.
I sighed and got up to get a washcloth to wipe away all the grime she picked up.
I enter her bathroom and turned on the light. I close my eyes to shield from the bright and grabbed the rag next to the sink. I blindly turn on the faucet and before I turn to leave, I notice I’m covered in red. My clothes, my face, each inch of skin; red.
I run out of the room and race to the bed. “Hey! Look at me! Wake up! What happened yesterday?!”
There was no answer. There was no pulse. I turn her over and her throat was slit and her mouth was filled with dried blood. The same blood that covers me.
What have we done?

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