A mystery in the wall, a message of a certain person that had tasted blood, and when the cleaver came down, someone entered the living room and when she saw the first person that came in contact with her, she asked her, “Why are you my wife?”

The message appeared suddenly, screaming, “LEAVE, LEAVE, LEAVE!”

But the problem was they did not know each other, and when they tried to reconnect, they realized that they were not even each other’s type and never, not even in their wildest, most desperate dreams, they would have dated even with pity.

“We want to leave, we want to leave, but we can’t, where is your love, where is your compassion for the poor souls that inhabit this house? Do you want to understand us or what?”

“I lived here yesterday, so that means I should be living here today, right? But you do too,” she said and they both nodded at their reflections and then they turned to each other and screamed and then they laughed because they were becoming friends in a house that was turning into a murder house.

When she went to put her eyeballs to scan it carefully, she gasped in horror for it said, “THE MOMENT IS HERE, YOU WILL NOT ESCAPE, LEAVE FOREVER, TOMORROW IS NOW, OR DIE BY THE HANDS.”

“So many contradictory messages,” they both said at the same time and then shook their heads in contradictory horror in contradictory heads, for they knew one of them was the one who loved drinking blood eerily and had wanted the other one to leave the relationship for good.

“Let’s pretend that we are in a story. That we are in a movie or a novel,” she said and the other woman nodded very enthusiastically for she was very happy to be alive doing this.

They tried to leave holding hands but the moment they crossed the threshold they immediately realized that they were back in the living room and the message had coagulated in a nice, cute shade of black and was shining in neon, “LEAVE, LEAVE, LEAVE!”

“Why did you leave that message on the wall?” she asked back and hissed.

They tried it again and again but to no avail so rather than let themselves be put through more mildly inconvenient psychological torture, they decided to camp out next to the bloody message and the floating-when-seen-through-peripheral-vision cleaver, and wait for whatever weird death they were supposed to experience a thousand times over.

“But the message was left by someone and you live here, don’t you?”

“I’ll say something that reveals something about my character but also relates in a general sense to the themes of the story, that way, people can point to this and make very great analysis and perhaps, in a general sense, talk about the author in a way that can describe their style, their passions, and their interests.”

The moment had passed and it was then when the cleaver dropped itself into the floor and struck and began clawing its way to the floorboard, that they laughed until they could no longer breathe and realized that whatever it was that had called them did not know how to spell and was actually trying to say, “LIVE”, and they lived a life fully realized in the company of nothing. They were, after all, very uninterested in the outside world and the game of life had ended.

I like to write for some reason so I’m doing it here. I’ll try write something every day, and hopefully, get better at it.