Part One
"Good Morning"
"Egads!" Shouted Arthur from the bed where he lay, "What the heck is that!" On the ceiling right above him was a drawing. He was not quite able to make out what the drawing was, nor was he able to determine who might have drawn it. Aside from the fact that it was all one color, a maroonish-red, which reminded him of pain, there was nothing all too remarkable about it. The strokes were all made quickly, yet accurately, as if the drawing was drawn many times before. Keeping his eyes on the ceiling, Arthur stood up on his bed to get a better look at the drawning. It was then that he noticed something that he did not notice before.
"Oh, my God!" He exclaimed in utter disbelied, "David?" It was now blatantly obvious that the drawing was a portrait of David, one of his poker buddies. In fact, he and David had played poker last night. Arthur lost a lot of money during the game. He was never very good at poker and often thought that he should just give up. Nevertheless, David's portrait was very clearly painted on his ceiling in deep red paint.
"I don't understand why he would paint on my ceiling." Thought Arthur to himself, "I suppose we could have gotten drunk and then when I passed out David could have decided that it would be fun..." Arthur was utterly clueless. After staring at the painting for a few more moments he decided to go and call David to yell at him. "He'll probably remember something." Stepping off of the bed, Arthur felt a strange squishiness between his toes that was completely unfamiliar to him and deffinately should not have been on his bedroom floor. As he looked at his foot he saw that it was covered with the red used to paint the ceiling, but it wasn't paint.
Arthur's foot was buried deep into the stomach cavity of a person lying dead on the floor. Thier endtrails were scattered about and thier stomach itself rested about two inches from his big toe, hanging on by one, last, dying thread. He looked at the rest of the body. It was horribly bruised. The left leg was broken and bent in the wrong direction; he could see the white bone protruding through the flesh. Up and down both legs there were huge chunks of skin and muscle tissue missing, like it had been ripped apart by vicious fangs. He moved his head up the corpse with his foot frozen in the endtrails and clotting blood. He stared at the mangled face. One of the eyeballs had been ripped from its socket and its jaw was broken and hanging onto the skull by a few visible viens and nerves. Holding back vomit, he looked hard into the one remaining eye.
"David?" he whispered to himself. The sudden realization that he was standing with one foot in his friend's intestine took him aback. He ripped his bloody foot loose and hobbled backwards towards the corner of the room.
"Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God..." He trailed off searching for sense as he stared eternally at the rotting corpse. He looked again at the painting on the ceiling: a portait in blood. He fell to the ground and went to bury his head in his hands, but as soon as he saw his hands he screamed. They were stained red... blood red.
TO BE CONTINUED...
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