BLOOD.
That’s the only thing I’m able to understand and not understand at the same time as a voice at the back of my mind repeats it over and over again. It’s on the floor, staining the cream-colored tiles red as it spreads, becoming much until it seeps under my dress, soaking through it.
Even my palms that are pressed against the floor are now wet with blood, I can feel its warmth, and all I can hear over the distant screams and gunshots around me is the sound of my heart thumping wildly, as if fighting to leave my chest.
I’m also frozen, still seated on the floor and I feel like my whole body is tied invisibly in place as people scramble past me, but even then, I can make out a figure also lying before me. The person is barely moving.
I am snapped back to reality by the sound of a gr
