In order to celebrate National Novel Writing Month and to support all you fine folks giving #nano a try, I just sat down and began writing. And yes, I know I missed a day. Shut up and read it. Just blame @reneenouveau if it's shit.

Dunno where this came from, dunno where this is going. I'm just letting it flow. Enjoy!

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I don't know what the fuck is going on anymore.

Honestly I thought it was gonna be just another regular day when I got up that morning. Sun shining in through the window, alarm clock going off set to the oldies station - I yawned, stretched, and rolled out of bed.

I landed in a puddle of blood.

I screamed, loud, skittering backwards. When I looked down I was coated. My t-shirt plastered to my body. The coppery smell of blood flooded my nostrils.

Oh god what the fuck what the fuck WHAT THE FUCK

You know that expression "I hit my head so hard I saw stars?" I always thought it was bullshit. I've been hit plenty of times, but never seen flashes of light before. Well, that changed this morning.

The blood was cold and tacky on the soles of my feet. I scrabbled, teetered backwards, and fell into my closet. The back of my head hit the wall. I must have hit a stud because the impact set off an explosion of sparks on the inside of my head that left me panting and barely conscious.

I writhed on the floor, a freshly-caught fish. The movement sent a rain of clothes hangers down on me. A heavy woolen jacket landed on my face, cutting off my vision and my breathing. With a cry that was more animal than human, I tore it off me and struggled to a sitting position amidst a tangled mess of clothes.

Jesus fuck, what the fuck, I don't know -

I darted my eyes around the room, trying to figure out where the blood had come from. I cleared out the clothes from around me and pulled off my t-shirt. The sound of blood-soaked cotton peeling away from my skin made me want to scream.

Okay, chill the fuck out. CHILL THE FUCK OUT, CHRIST JUST THINK FOR A MINUTE.

I checked my body frantically for something, anything, that would explain the blood. No cuts, no scrapes. Hell I wasn't even on my period. But the blood was still everywhere.

Is it not mine? OH GOD WHOSE IS THIS

I crawled out of the closet, a commando slipping under a barbed-wire trench. There were streaks across the floor where I had slipped and fallen backwards. Then there was the pool, right by the side of the bed.

I got to my feet, bare from the waist up and covered in smeared blood. I clutched my balled-up t-shirt in one hand. With the other I reached out and pulled back the duvet cover. I wailed, dropping the t-shirt.

One entire side of the bed was soaked, from below my pillow to nearly the foot of the mattress. Other than that there was nothing there - or nothing that shouldn't be there. Blanket, top sheet, fitted sheet. No sign of where the blood came from.

Nothing.

What is this? What happened?

I flicked the top of the duvet over. The front was completely clean. I looked up to the ceiling. No signs of anything that could have dripped down.

My eyes flicked to the window. The shades were up. I could see Gene, my next-door neighbor, as he came out of his front door to walk to his car.

"Oh fuck," I croaked. As if on cue he dropped his keys. I heard them jangle when they hit the asphalt, and the sound jarred me to action - I lunged for the curtain rod and sat there, panting, heart hammering against my rib cage.

Please just go, please just go, please don't have seen anything, Gene you fuck GET IN YOUR CAR

I heard the familiar beep of Gene's key fob, followed by the slam of a car door. His Audi A3 turned over. The sound faded as he pulled out of the driveway.

I was suddenly freezing. And, I realized, covered in what looked to be somebody else's blood. I whimpered and retreated, backing away from the abattoir of a bedroom and into the hall.

Gotta get this offa me GOTTA GET IT OFF

I rushed to the bathroom, stumbling as I pulled down my gore-stained sweatpants. I pulled the shower curtain back and tossed them into the bathtub, then screamed as I caught sight of myself in the bathroom mirror.

It hadn't just been on my clothes. It was everywhere. It looked like I had bathed in it from the nose down, or smeared it over my cheeks and neck, rubbing it into my skin like it was apricot scrub. Frantic, I turned on the water and plunged my hands and face into the sink, scrubbing hard. Blind, I reached out, feeling for the hand towel.

"You're up, I see."

I jerked at the sound of the voice, falling backward over the toilet with a scream. "Whatthefuckwhothefuckareyougetthefuckoutofmyhouse-"

"Jesus, calm down."

I pushed the bloody hair from my face. There was a short-haired man, dressed in worn street clothes, just casually leaning against my door frame. Like he did this all the time. He had my goddamned favorite coffee mug in his hands. Which he sipped from.

I got to my feet, clutching the hand towel. I started to twist it. "Who. The fuck. Are you." I bared my teeth at him, suddenly not caring that I was bare-chested and in my panties.

This fucker is in my HOUSE!

I squeezed the towel, my fear giving way to sudden fury. I wanted to take that mug from him and bash it against his skull, wrap the towel around his throat and just squeeze. I must have looked like I was going to, because he backed off a few steps, putting his hands in the air. Whatever was in the mug sloshed as he did so.

"Hey, easy, you got bigger problems than strangers in your house, lady."

"Shut the FUCK up and get the FUCK out before I call the FUCKING police!" I advanced on him, seething.

He took another couple of steps back, out of the hallway and into the living room. He set the mug down on my coffee table and put his hands out in a placating gesture. "Hey, you want me to leave, I'll leave. But don't you want to find out what happened to you?" He flicked his eyes to the bedroom. "It's like Elizabeth Báthory's bedchamber in there-"

"GET OUT!" I screamed with all my power. I put everything I was feeling - all my fear, my confusion, my anger -behind it. Damn if the walls didn't shake.

The man threw his hands up. "Fine," he said. "But don't come running to me once it happens again, sister." He turned. I screamed again, this time even louder it seemed. He opened the front door -

I know I locked that last night

-- and left.

I sank to my knees, clutching the towel to my chest. I looked down at the coffee mug. There was something red and viscous at the bottom.

A frantic scream, both inarticulate rage and horror, welled up inside me. I don't know how long I sat there on the floor, wailing. The next thing I remember was the sound of another voice.

"Miss? Miss, this is the police. Do you require assistance?"

I jerked up, crawling backwards. A county cop was standing in my open doorway. I could see his cruiser in the driveway, disco lights flashing.

I just looked at him dumbly. My throat felt like it was on fire.

How long was I screaming?

"Miss, are you hurt?" He looked past me into the bathroom. His hand strayed to his holstered weapon. With his other hand he pulled the microphone for his radio off his shoulder and barked into it. I didn't understand what he said. A burst of static answered him, and he turned his attention back to me. "Miss, are you alone?"

I looked down at his feet. He was wearing black shoes. "Blood. So much blood." My voice was a gravelly croak. I raised my gaze, squinting. "It's not mine, I don't know what happened, I just woke up and there was a stranger in my house and there was blood everywhere-" The rest was lost to sobs.

"All right miss, just try to stay calm. Emergency responders are on their way, we'll get you taken care of. Can you tell me your name? Do you live here?"

I sniffed. Clutched the hand towel to my chest in some attempt at modesty. Tried to answer the officer's questions. Finally an ambulance showed up, followed by another police cruiser.

Suddenly my house was filled with people. Walking around, asking me questions I could barely answer. It was loud, and cold, and then there was a clean blanket over my shoulders. I shivered, almost uncontrollably, and a paramedic ushered me to the waiting ambulance, helped me climb up into the back. It was clean, and quiet. I could breathe.

"We're gonna get you to the hospital," he said, adjusting the gurney so that I could sit up. "It's just fifteen minutes away. I'll ride with you back here, my partner will drive us." I nodded, grateful but unable to speak. The paramedic looked up as his partner came into view at the back of the ambulance. "We're ready to go when you are," he said.

The doors closed and my breath caught in my throat. Eyes wide, I looked around the inside of the ambulance, suddenly feeling like the walls were closing in. A whimper began to build in my throat as I heard the driver's side door open. The ambulance shifted as the other paramedic slid in, then once more when he pulled his door closed.

"It's going to be all right." The first paramedic adjusted the blanket on my shoulders. "Look, we've got a hospital gown in here, do you want that?" I nodded, taking it from him with numb fingers as the ambulance's engine turned over. The paramedic turned away to provide me a little privacy as I dropped the blanket, pulling the gown on. I shivered as the cotton slid across my skin. I pulled the blanket close, staring blankly out the back windows as my home, now surrounded by flashing police cruisers, dwindled into nothingness.

We never made it to the hospital.

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