Red

Red. Dark and deep, a few shades off of black in the shadowed room. Red overwhelmed my vision as my eyes adjusted to the dim light. Red was everywhere, even the ceiling, I realized  as I realized that was what I was looking at. I was laying on my back, staring at a poorly painted ceiling. Trying to sit up I encountered resistance. With an extra push I managed to sit up and found the red continued over me. My pants and  shirt were dark red, sticky and stiff. I was stuck to the floor. Looking around confirmed that the entire room was painted, so thoroughly I'd be hard pressed to guess original colors. 

A wave of dizziness rolled over me as I tried to stand, I grabbed the edge of the bed waiting for the spots to clear from my eyes. 

Grimacing, I pulled my hand away from the blanket, now dripping red paint. No not paint, I thought, blood.

The smell was what decided it, what had cleared my foggy mind enough to realize that the room was not covered in paint. I was not covered in paint. I was covered in blood. The coppery sweet odor became strong in that discovery, overwhelming and demanding. My stomach churned and I clamped my hand over my mouth and nose. Remembering too late my hand was drenched and dripping blood, it now covered the lower half of my face. I lost the battle with my stomach and fell to my knees as I emptied my stomach.