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Deja Boo
#WritcoStoryChallenge
I blinked as I regained consciousness. I had hit my head hard, or had someone hit me? Then I realised I was holding a bloody knife in my hand. I looked at the knife, it was definitely one of mine. Why was there blood on it? Why am I lying on the floor? I looked down and saw that I was dressed in my best Zara dress. "What the heck! I hope I don't have any blood on it. How can I be so stupid!", I berated myself. Gingerly getting up, I examined myself - rather my precious dress - minutely. Giving out a sigh of relief that it was spotless. I rushed upstairs - dizziness and all not withstanding - to get out of it. While I was changing my expensive dress in to comfy house clothes, I puzzled over the knife and the blood conundrum, while hanging it up. Where did it come from and why was I yielding it. That, too, in my Zara! Some thing must be SERIOUSLY wrong with me! What if I had damaged the dresses. Or - the horror - got blood on it. I was glad the dress escaped without any marking. Phew. But the question still begged itself, "Why did I have the knife and why was it bloody. What am I up to?", I asked myself. Desending the stairs, carefully, holding on to the railing, I surveyed the scene in the kitchen. The carrots were chopped Julienne, and the tomatoes were half done. "Was I chopping vegetables? In that dress?", I thought. There was a wine glass, half empty. Or half full, if I were an optimist. Near the counter, on the floor, was another wine glass, rolling. Its contents were spilled all over, making a vibrant and meandering pattern of red on the marble floor. I picked it up and kept it on the counter, tearing a strip of tissue to soak the spilled wine on the floor. As I bent down, I noticed something on the floor, wedged behind the stool. It was a cardboard box, with a lid half open, but the contents were hidden. I leaned over and got it out. Curious, I opened the lid all the way, and dropped it with a scream, banging my body right in to the bar stool. I tripped over it on my haste, and hit my head on its chunky legs. "Why would someone send me a dead rat? Wait...it's all coming back to me.", my brain furiously pushed coherent thoughts in to my head, before it succumbed to the unconsciousness. But it was a little too late, I had already entered the alleys of darkness, and I felt it envelope me, as I gave in to it, the thoughts but a small speck of light.
I blinked as I regained consciousness. I had hit my head hard, or had some one hit me? I felt a deep sense of deja vù.
@writco
© Natasha Sharma
I blinked as I regained consciousness. I had hit my head hard, or had someone hit me? Then I realised I was holding a bloody knife in my hand. I looked at the knife, it was definitely one of mine. Why was there blood on it? Why am I lying on the floor? I looked down and saw that I was dressed in my best Zara dress. "What the heck! I hope I don't have any blood on it. How can I be so stupid!", I berated myself. Gingerly getting up, I examined myself - rather my precious dress - minutely. Giving out a sigh of relief that it was spotless. I rushed upstairs - dizziness and all not withstanding - to get out of it. While I was changing my expensive dress in to comfy house clothes, I puzzled over the knife and the blood conundrum, while hanging it up. Where did it come from and why was I yielding it. That, too, in my Zara! Some thing must be SERIOUSLY wrong with me! What if I had damaged the dresses. Or - the horror - got blood on it. I was glad the dress escaped without any marking. Phew. But the question still begged itself, "Why did I have the knife and why was it bloody. What am I up to?", I asked myself. Desending the stairs, carefully, holding on to the railing, I surveyed the scene in the kitchen. The carrots were chopped Julienne, and the tomatoes were half done. "Was I chopping vegetables? In that dress?", I thought. There was a wine glass, half empty. Or half full, if I were an optimist. Near the counter, on the floor, was another wine glass, rolling. Its contents were spilled all over, making a vibrant and meandering pattern of red on the marble floor. I picked it up and kept it on the counter, tearing a strip of tissue to soak the spilled wine on the floor. As I bent down, I noticed something on the floor, wedged behind the stool. It was a cardboard box, with a lid half open, but the contents were hidden. I leaned over and got it out. Curious, I opened the lid all the way, and dropped it with a scream, banging my body right in to the bar stool. I tripped over it on my haste, and hit my head on its chunky legs. "Why would someone send me a dead rat? Wait...it's all coming back to me.", my brain furiously pushed coherent thoughts in to my head, before it succumbed to the unconsciousness. But it was a little too late, I had already entered the alleys of darkness, and I felt it envelope me, as I gave in to it, the thoughts but a small speck of light.
I blinked as I regained consciousness. I had hit my head hard, or had some one hit me? I felt a deep sense of deja vù.
@writco
© Natasha Sharma
