her wrists and ankles sticky with blood, but not her own but someone else in the room.
her hair pulled back into a bun, tight and firm, like the her grip on the knife she held with courage. whimpers coming from corners where families stay hidden behind desks and chairs. the lights dinted, and faded making the room dark and morbid.
the look on her face pure shock, not knowing that she was holding a knife at all. only moments earlier she pulled it off a man trying to kill her.