I look down at her again, to see her welled-up blood streaming to where I stand in a hurried fashion.
Slowly, I adjust back, one step at a time, and the more it advances towards me, the more I take a few steps backward until there's nowhere to go as my back is now to the wall.
My eyes are still fixated on her blood, thick and red, and not for once did I avert my gaze. The feeling of nausea envelopes me, cradling me in its embrace. I strap my hand over my lips to stop myself from gagging. The very sight of it irks me, and I still can't bring myself to look away, as though I'm hypnotized.
Images of Linda in the past come to mind. Her smiles when she interacts with my late papa and mama. A few times she made me laugh when my mama forced me to take cooking lessons from the great Linda herself.
