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... I chewed a bit at my index fingernail, feeling a bit of grit hit the tip of my teeth.  The room was beginning to smell a bit foul.  I walked over to the window on the far south side of the room and opened the window.  The blood was staining the blue carpet a dark shade of purple, that remarkably matched the silk curtains that were now waving slightly to the breeze that was hissing in.  I picked up the cream telephone, that oddly enough still had a chord connected from the receiver to the dialer and the dialer connected to the hole in the wall.  I dialed the three numbers for emergency, which wasn't 911 as you always see on crappy cable movies, but 473.  The called local and got things done quicker other than calling a line that would more likely than not be busy and not helpful.  The quicker the better, too.  It's going to take forever to get that stain out of the carpet.  

Behind the Purplemature

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