Trapped Soul in a Dead Body

Her head tilted off the queen size bed, like a sand bag loosing weight. Eyes wide open. One hand bound to the head rest and the other hanging off reaching the maroon stained cement colored carpet. Her nude body, discolored in rays of blues, yellows, and purples, she made no movement. To her left, two glasses of wine, one filled half way with red, one was toppled over. Bloody foot steps approached me and descend from me. They were approximately size ten in men shoes. Within ten steps it began to fade away from me into the hall way and down the steps. Back in the bedroom, her panties laid torn and bloody in the left bottom corner of the room, away from the entrance. Her blue blouse hung off of her bed to her right. Her denim skirt was lifted around her, ringing her waist like a napkin holder. Her white skin, oozed from both sides of the denim like melting bleached lava. It smelled of the end, of death. The taste of blood tainted the air. The screams echoed in between the cracks of the peeling wall paper. The walls, splattered with blood, poured to the bottom like a prayer coming to an end. I touched the walls, in hopes of feeling something but all I felt was the reaction of my large latex gloves that were two sizes two big for me. She still laid there hanging off the bed, reaching for the end, reaching for help, reaching for comfort. The blood that was once dripping off the bed, now frozen in motion like an icicle that hangs from below a car after a snow storm. The blood still coming from between her legs, down to the side of the mattress into a puddle in a thick layer, dried and flakey on the once cement colored carpet- now the color of wine. She laid there, eyes still open. The end came as quickly as it had begun.
As I approached her, I noticed a powdery residue left at the bottom of toppled glass. I kneeled closer to it, without moving any evidence around and sniffed the powder. In my mouth, I suddenly gained a metallic taste. Bright red lip stick rimmed the toppled glass in three different spots. I looked at her, and in her eyes the veins burst from the center of her eye like an ecstatic star eager to shine in the dark sky. She was shocked, caught off guard but knew it was coming. Her lips, had bite marks from her own teeth. Like cherry juice, her blood seeped down her lips and onto her neck and rimmed the back of her ears. Her left ear was missing its matched pair of pearl earring. Her right hand, meticulously bound to the metal head rest, the gray duct tape rhythmically spun layers after layers around her wrist and the bar. Her wrist wrung out like a turquoise towel once wet and wrung dry. She smelled like old dried salvia mixed with rotten blood. Her blouse, the buttons missing except for one round black pearl laid to her side, dry blood met it too. Its left sleeve was half torn. I walked around the bed and noticed a bloody finger print on the side of the white bed sheet. I bent my knees, and met the print to my eye and gazed at the multiple ripples that held the identification of our possible mystery. It was large and missed a few ridges to the left, perhaps from a cut on the finger or something blocking it. It looked like a thumb of a large hand. I walked away from it, and approached the panties, which were obviously torn and soaked in blood. It seemed to have been ripped by a jagged-edged knife, because it had left a rippled pattern on the blue silk which once was sown together. I looked own, to notice my foot had been aligned to the bloody foot print. It was twice my foot’s size. Each foot step as I followed it looked angrier, more violent, and manic. I closed my eyes, and saw the brutality which had occurred. I opened my eyes, walked back over to her, and looked into her eyes. Her soul looked trapped inside of her like it could not come out. Her life has been taken, but her soul will forever be kept captive.