Crux

Author's Note: This little short story took me about 2 hours to write and 2 more to refine to where i thought it was fairly presentable. Alot of what had to be changed were the protagonist's pronouns (and pronouns in general), which i overused quite a bit. Anyway, please send a review and tell me how i did. What i wanted to achieve with this was readability (Regardless of the spotty flow), so if i did that i will be happy. I hope you enjoy it. 


The room was illumited only by a sterile light through a crack in the heavy satin curtains. Like a snake, the stream slithered from the floor onto the bed looking for it's next prey. The end of the beam sat in the man's trembling hand as he stared at the dark crimson liquid dripping from the tips of fingers.

His body was paralyzed, but his mind raced with curses and fears about the lifeless body next to him. It's back was silhouetted against the lighter colored wall next to the door, the damp silk sheets draped over smooth feminine curves and long curly locks spread over the pillow.

"The door...I can leave!" he thought. As soon as the image of departing the women's cold corpse crept over the surface of his mind, a tear streamed down his left cheek into the stuble of his goatee. An uneasy breath crept out from between his lips and a pair of eyes flashed through his mind.

The paralysis lifted and he propelled hiself out of the bed as fast as he could, hitting his head on the artificial hardwood floor. He stumbled to his feet and backed away from the scene, a thousand suggestions darting in and out of his attention as he felt the curtains on his bare back.

His nude form stood in the darkness for an instant more. He quickly threw on a pair of, what he could tell by touch, were his dingy jeans while he looked for a shirt. A dim white mass resting against the baseboard in the corner of the room caught his attention, snatching it off of the floor, it saturated with blood almost instantly. His eyelids lowered as he squeezed the once-pure shirt to hold back the tears. He finished wiping his hands as well as he could and then darted through the door, shielding his eyes from the overwhelmingly bright light.

Between his dark brown locks he surveyed a luminescent hall, devoid of decoration or light fixtures, stretching to his right and left. Which way... He strained to see some indication of direction, in vain. He looked into his right palm at the oddly shaped birthmark visible through the faded blood stain. It was the only thing familiar to him other than a pair of old jeans.

As he ran down the seemingly endless straight, the only thoughts in his mind were a pair of striking golden-hazel eyes and the frigid figure laying motionless in the dark room behind him.