Micco jolted awake; his lids half-closed as he attempted to rouse himself. He lay still, trying to remember last night’s events but they were lost to him. As his eyes opened, he was greeted with darkness. Tiny sparkles with hints of light floated around him.
The glow was shining through, past something. It was hard to make out exactly what. His eyes hurt when he attempted to stare at the brightness, so he closed them. Initially, they burned but this eventually subsided, allowing Micco to relax.
In an effort to sit up, heaviness weighed upon him. It vexed him. With closed lids, he tried again, this time prevailing, forcing through his restriction.
He felt his mind was floating through a haze. His body ached as he moved, so he laid back down, allowing a warm breeze to sweep across his face. He welcomed it, though was still not fully aware of his state.
Once his senses came alive, a strong, sour and putrefied odor caught his attention. It was somewhat metallic. He opened his eyes, but flinched against the burn. His head wrenched to the side, trying to find the assaulter. In doing so, something stiff brushed against his face.
His breath contracted slowly. He scanned the surroundings more vigorously only to find not only a hand but several body parts touching him, lying next to him, covering his lower extremities. In a moment of panic he became paralyzed; fear caught hold. But the desperation of escape overpowered this gruesome shock. He eased through tangled limbs, inching beyond the lifeless burden. He scampered as far away as possible, climbing over a sheet of bodies, slipping on eviscerated tissue and cold, wet blood.
Shaken, he fell against a nearby wall to examine the array of strewn bodies that lay within pools of bright red liquid, as if time had stopped. For him, time had indeed stopped. There were more than twenty bodies in his presence, their eyes locking on nothing because they were dead. All of them.
It was a massacre.
The only immediate movement was the curtain flapping in the wind from a shattered window. A lonely arm claimed what was left of the glass, letting flies in to settle upon the cold corpses. A chill ran up his spine from untainted fright as his breathing labored. Who are these people? How did I get here?
A sharp twinge shot across his shirtless chest that was adorned with only scratches. They appeared to be claw marks in the middle of his torso. Saliva struggled to travel down his throat as he swallowed hard in disbelief. Instinctively he touched the slashes, then noticed caked blood on his abdomen and hands. Reaching for his face, he felt layers of the same.
He was mortified, sickened. He had seen blood many times but not like this. Before today, he had never been covered in it. He wanted to vomit, but a car sounded in the distance, stifling that need. He maneuvered around the bodies to peer out of the window. A teen boy was walking towards the door. He stepped back, tripping over a leg. He scampered up, trying not to make noise.
How do I get out?