Wolf – Blood?

wolf

 

Have you ever noticed how far a single drop of blood spreads?

Maybe you’ve accidentally scratched yourself or cut yourself shaving, but the blood doesn’t easily stop and the vivid colour permeates everything it touches.

Why is it that when you cut yourself shaving, it’s always when you’re in a hurry?

Or do you cut yourself shaving because you are in a hurry and not being as careful as you normally would?

The worst part is that it won’t stop and as you get dressed, a piece of loo-paper stuck to your chin, it drops off and a drop of blood hits your white or blue work shirt spreading through the material and spoiling your look just before you leave the house.

That’s trivial. So you can imagine what it’s like when someone has a major trauma injury, the red stuff oozing or gushing from their wound all over your brand new flooring.

Inconsiderate bastards.

You’d think that they would have been more careful.

But was it really their fault?

Was it?

Are you sure?

I’m sure.

I have my story and I’m sticking to it.

I looked at her lying there unconscious, blood seeping from her head, running down the kitchen unit and already creating a small but growing puddle on my new flooring.

I assessed the situation in an instant, there was no way that this would clean up with Mister Muscle.

I kneel beside her, careful to keep my new 501s out of the carnage.

“Are you okay?” I ask, not really expecting a reply as she’d been silent for the last few seconds, her mouthing hanging open and her eyes staring blankly ahead.

Silence.

But I don’t think it was because she was still angry with me.

We had probably gone beyond that.

What would you do in the situation?

Grab a mop and some towels and start to clear up the mess?

Or call an ambulance?

This is the stuff of nightmares.

Dark thoughts flash through my head. Detective stories where the bad-guy mutilates the victim and tries to dispose of the body, only to be caught because bodies aren’t easy to dispose of and there’s always a trace.

Of course there’s a trace.

You met online for fucks sake. What do you think that does?

You are kidding yourself to think that you won’t be easily traced, when your date for the evening doesn’t turn up for her work or the family dinner the following day.

A quick look by the cops at her location history on the data provided by her mobile phone service and her last known movements prove that she was at yours on Saturday night at 2am.

Even if you take her phone and drop it down a drain or leave it hidden under the seat of a bus, there is still a record that she was in your house on Saturday evening. That isn’t going away.

Only an idiot would think differently.

Only an idiot would think that clearing up the mess and disposing of the body isn’t going to bring police to their door, then with the lame hastily made-up excuses offered, the forensics are going to discover her fingerprints throughout the house, never mind under your now ruined flooring.

Besides, what have you got to hide?

If you’ve nothing to hide, then you’ve nothing to fear, right?

I picked up my mobile and dial the emergency services.

This was going to be a world of shit, but what else was there to do?

 


 

Happy Friday!    🙂

 

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