Descriptive Essay About The Poison Room

Decent Essays
The Crimson Room

The deep red blood coiled through my hands like snakes, ever changing, ever flowing. The crimson drops soon fell between the fingers and puddled together on the floor. She was no more. Many a times had I imagined this situation, however, I never imagined myself truly doing it. However, no amount of remorse or regret can bring the lifeless chunk of flesh lying at my feet back to life. Her eyes were still open in shock and awe, and her cold, stale face was still distorted into the grotesque image of fear, a mask she never thought she would be wearing in her single last experience.

Her blood pooled itself quickly, almost as if trying to escape the terrible and single truth of life, that all life must at some point or another
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One could have called me mad, if her death was so traumatic as for me to not be able to even accept her loss, how could I ever have been able to feed her to a couple of starving hounds? As one could expect, I neither have nor had an answer to this.

Within a few days the scratching on the door of the basement and the loud whimpering from it had ceased, and the last hound had fallen victim to the terrible sickness one calls living. The dark, black door easily slid open with the slightest push of my cold hands. The three hound lay silently by the door, deep bloody cuts covering their bodies, not like that of claws, but like that of a long knife. In the middle of the room, right where I had laid her, she laid, not a scratch on her body, aside from the deep wound stabbing through her back and out her chest.

Her body was soaked in crimson, like the deep, red petals of an autumn rose. However, her face had, instead of the pale mask shaped and twisted with fear, her face was calm. Her mouth was closed in a slight smirk and her eyes were closed in peace. Not even a wrinkle on her face could even indicate that she ever would have felt even a trace of the terror i knew she had felt in her moment of
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