Today, my hands were spoiled with blood.

My hands: weak, numb, unconscious - could not believe that the woman underneath had her final breath decided by sweet-faced naivete. They floated, fixed in their place. The world was disconnected.

The life taken had been invigorated before, and yet now it had disappeared into nothingness.

Upwards, the small, irregularly-shaped hole on the roof had let the smallest amount of moonlight sneak inside, its brightness inadvertently hitting an insignificant object. 

It was still dark inside.

I stood and affixed my limited sight to the woman’s gape, the tears soon drying and the blood turning into a complete halt. I covered my face, and took a peek at the uninvited moonlight.

It was still dark inside.

My feet dragged themselves unwillingly inside the bathroom. My hands served as navigation. My eyes tried to look for something that would catch attention. Small hops of touch stepped on the walls, and to the sink, and to the mirror, and to an opened stall.

A tiny flicker of the moonlight stole my interest, and shone its light on an insignificant part of the stall. When my eyesight slowly moved to the center, I had become fixated to the woman’s gape.

It was still dark inside.