Pain rips me from the floor and stabs me, like a knife, back into reality.

In between convulsive sobs, I manage to wrap my shredded hands in… well, it used to be sheets. Broken glass is everywhere and from the state of my feet I’m either a very deep sleep walker or a tap dancing masochist. The floral cream pattern around my quivering extremities is turning red alarmingly fast. I don’t know how much blood a human body contains, but if the puddles over on the tile are mine I don’t have much time before I pass out again. Of course, that body with the chair leg through it’s belly probably accounts for most of the gore.

From the broken furniture and splintered… everything, it looks like things got a little rough last night. Today? There’s an old analog clock with the hands stuck at 2:23. No AM or PM. And no windows in this bloody bedroom room either. Who has a bedroom with no windows – I mean, really?

The only thing not wrecked in this room is a picture of…

Oh.

Well, that explains the body.