I saw her lying on the marble floor, blood seeping from her annihilated wrist. Her eyelids had drooped low and there was a grimace of pain on her flawless face. Her lips were sealed tight, as if struggling to stop from letting a scream escape, and her legs lay lifelessly across the sparkling floor.
A rivulet of blood was trickling down from where her wrist had been sawed off and her weapon of self-destruction lay clenched in her other hand. The blade gleamed dully under the fluorescent lights of the bathroom, its edge smeared with drying dark red liquid.
I wondered how much time had passed since Miranda had been in this state, fear and anxiety gripping my mind. I tried to move towards her but something held me back, as if trying to warn me to keep distance. I heard a slight rustle behind me, but when I turned I could not see anything out of the ordinary. Everything was the same as it had been when I had left for my lunch break. Maybe something was going on here that I didn't know about, something that wasn't planned.
And just then David yelled, "Cut. That's the shot folks."