Sticky, sticky red.

Why does it have to be so red? She stood there staring, thinking about too many things. She'd be late for her date. Her clothes were a mess. How would she get back into her house? I can't believe I'm just standing here. I usually puke at anything gory--like the rats we had to dissect in lab last week.

There was no place to hide the knife. Nothing to wipe off her fingerprints. Nothing to clean the blade. The red stuff was everywhere now. This looks bad. This is worse than the movies.

She jumped a mile, then relaxed. Just my cell.

"Drat it." There was blood on her phone now.

"Yes?" She was keeping her cool. She was glad for that. "Hello?"

That's odd. No one was there. Just dead air.

It rung again.

"Hello?"

No answer.

Now she was freaking out. Had someone seen? Did someone know? Would anyone believe her side of the story?

In the distance, sirens began wailing. They were growing louder, coming closer.

She froze, her hand firmly grasping the bloody knife.

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