A blood-tinged orb in the sky preceded the night’s events, foreshadowing death and destruction as the night unfolded; they chilled me to the core.
Bodies with deep, savage cuts, leaking their lives onto the grass, were littered everywhere—the green of the strawberry fields hidden beneath gallons of blood spilled.
My heart rate pulsed considerably higher than usual, my exhilaration palpable as I plotted the details of my next novel. With each sickening paragraph of the gore expressed, I felt more and more diabolical.
Sometimes, even I am afraid of the things my mind comes up with. How sick am I?