The hall ran red. Caked blood covered the carpet, the walls, shards of broken glass. It wasn’t bright red, it was darker. Like the nail polish on my toes. I think it is called “Sole Mate”, very clever. My thoughts move away from different shades of deep maroons and purples back to the gore of the scene. I think of the worst possible outcome. Slit tendons. Cut, raw flesh. Fibrous tissues severed in fits of rage. But where were the victims? No sign of life taken, no sign of life at all.